There’s a trick to playing Hearts…it involves paying attention.
In 1989 I spent 10 days as a guest at the Jefferson County Criminal Detention Facility. Saying it fancy makes it seem less like jail. The reason why the judge invited me to stay has no real importance right now, let’s just say I did something stupid and followed up with even more stupidity.
Anyway, in the common room of the module, at a table strategically situated near the bathroom, four men sat and played Hearts. The played everyday…all day long. When the time came for lockdown or lights out, they would place whatever they had in their hands face down and go to their private cells. As soon as the time came to resume activity in the common room, they would take their positions at the table and continue the game.
No one knew when the game had started.
The only way to get into the game was through an invitation from the group. The only time a spot came open was when one member of the table got his walking papers and left the facility. They allowed no substitutes or sit-ins.
Early during my stay I wondered what would happen if somebody switched the hands, or messed with the cards on their way to lockdown. During my first trip to the chamber of near-death (otherwise known as the basketball court on the roof) I saw what would happen to an individual who tried such a thing. The game deteriorated into a mosh pit with an orange ball bouncing around. The offender had to be helped off of the court. The guards had nothing to say about the rough game…it was just cell block politics.
On day eight, a member of the table went home just as I was coming out of the bathroom. A man that was not quite as large or tattooed as the average Maori warrior told me to sit and play. I measured my five feet eight inches up to his better than six foot frame…and decided that I could learn to play Hearts.
In the first round I learned that I had to avoid the Queen of Spades at all costs. I didn’t want to take any hearts in my hand, either. I had to keep my points down. Sometime during the second round I learned that if a guy could take all of the hearts and the Queen of Spades in one hand, he would get 0 points and the rest would have 26. For some reason the other players who lost that hand blamed me for not taking the Queen when I had a chance.
Stupid me…how selfish could I get?
The last hand of the night gave me the opportunity to take all of the point cards, and deal everyone else 26 points. The reaction was better when I had blown the same hand earlier in the day. The call came for lights out and the other three men grumbled that they shouldn’t have asked me to play.
Apparently no one could rescind or reject the invitation to play. So when we came out of cells in the morning I took my spot and no one said anything. For the next two days I paid close attention. I won some hands, sacrificed when I needed to sacrifice, and lost enough hands to maintain a status quo. Day 10 came quickly from there, and I soon received my walking papers. No one said “Good bye” or “Good luck” or “Have a good time out there.” They just called someone else over to play.
I see now that Hearts gave me a social education of corporate America that I refused to learn outside of jail. I’m sure that the game goes on to this day. I hope that everyone is paying attention.
In 1989 I spent 10 days as a guest at the Jefferson County Criminal Detention Facility. Saying it fancy makes it seem less like jail. The reason why the judge invited me to stay has no real importance right now, let’s just say I did something stupid and followed up with even more stupidity.
Anyway, in the common room of the module, at a table strategically situated near the bathroom, four men sat and played Hearts. The played everyday…all day long. When the time came for lockdown or lights out, they would place whatever they had in their hands face down and go to their private cells. As soon as the time came to resume activity in the common room, they would take their positions at the table and continue the game.
No one knew when the game had started.
The only way to get into the game was through an invitation from the group. The only time a spot came open was when one member of the table got his walking papers and left the facility. They allowed no substitutes or sit-ins.
Early during my stay I wondered what would happen if somebody switched the hands, or messed with the cards on their way to lockdown. During my first trip to the chamber of near-death (otherwise known as the basketball court on the roof) I saw what would happen to an individual who tried such a thing. The game deteriorated into a mosh pit with an orange ball bouncing around. The offender had to be helped off of the court. The guards had nothing to say about the rough game…it was just cell block politics.
On day eight, a member of the table went home just as I was coming out of the bathroom. A man that was not quite as large or tattooed as the average Maori warrior told me to sit and play. I measured my five feet eight inches up to his better than six foot frame…and decided that I could learn to play Hearts.
In the first round I learned that I had to avoid the Queen of Spades at all costs. I didn’t want to take any hearts in my hand, either. I had to keep my points down. Sometime during the second round I learned that if a guy could take all of the hearts and the Queen of Spades in one hand, he would get 0 points and the rest would have 26. For some reason the other players who lost that hand blamed me for not taking the Queen when I had a chance.
Stupid me…how selfish could I get?
The last hand of the night gave me the opportunity to take all of the point cards, and deal everyone else 26 points. The reaction was better when I had blown the same hand earlier in the day. The call came for lights out and the other three men grumbled that they shouldn’t have asked me to play.
Apparently no one could rescind or reject the invitation to play. So when we came out of cells in the morning I took my spot and no one said anything. For the next two days I paid close attention. I won some hands, sacrificed when I needed to sacrifice, and lost enough hands to maintain a status quo. Day 10 came quickly from there, and I soon received my walking papers. No one said “Good bye” or “Good luck” or “Have a good time out there.” They just called someone else over to play.
I see now that Hearts gave me a social education of corporate America that I refused to learn outside of jail. I’m sure that the game goes on to this day. I hope that everyone is paying attention.
1 comment:
So, have you played Hearts much since?
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