“The Smells Of Carnage”
As part of my ongoing Back of the Bus series for the Diplomacy Briefing, I submitted this article on my first face-to-face tournament for its December 3, 2021, edition.
“The Smells Of Carnage”
“There is chaos. There’s bloodshed. There’s carnage.”
—Joan Baez
In fifty years round the sun on this planet, I have only played on an actual board once, and the game stalled after a couple of hours. Despite this history, I had high hopes for a positive outcome at Carnage, the first North American post-pandemic Diplomacy Face-to-Face tournament. I want to thank Dave Maletsky and Sabi Ahuja for running such a great event.
Alas, my hopes met reality, and I finished a smooth thirteenth. So, you won’t get a Champion’s Corner from your humble narrator. Nor will you get a Second Fiddle article. Instead, due to my insatiable need for affirmation, I will rely upon the catch-all column The Briefing carved out for me, my so-called Under the Bus series. (I think it should be called Under the Russ, as he continues to libel me online, but I digress).
My abiding hope is that you, yes, you, will go to a FTF tournament in the near future. Why do I want you to go? Well, that’s simple. Having attended Carnage, I’m hooked. If you’re reading this, there’s a probability you will be hooked, as well. Also, if I want to improve my performance in the future, I need attendees who don’t yet know my tricks.
There’s another reason I want you to go. They’re fun. Even when I was stuck on a stalemate line for hours in my first game, I had fun. I interacted with real people in real-time. I had to look people in their eyes, evaluate whether they were truthful or deceptive, and make tactical decisions without clear information on who owns which supply center and without the assistance of a sandbox.
I suspect most people reading this article have not had the pleasure of playing this board game on an actual board in front of real people. Isn’t that strange? I started playing Diplomacy seriously in 2018. Occasionally I would search online for upcoming FTF tournaments. I would see how close they were to Houston, think about playing, and then inevitably talk myself out of attending. My typical excuse was: “Why would I pay to travel across the country—on my dime—only to lose to a bunch of insiders who would gang up on the new guy?” I did a cost-benefit analysis, and I couldn’t make the math work. If I was honest with myself, part of me was afraid of being exposed as a player needing improvement.
No one wants to get embarrassed. No one goes on Survivor to be eliminated in the first Tribal Council. I wish to use this little corner of the world to tell you that I was wrong. Having played at Carnage, I can serve as a witness that the players—outside the game—are just good people. It’s fun to be around good people, especially as we near the hopeful end of a pandemic. Humans are social animals. It is especially gratifying to be around those with a similar passion (unless that passion is stabbing Ed Sullivan).
Here are some of the things that made my first FTF tournament special:
I shared a ride to the tournament from Albany with Ben Kellman. We got to know each other better and shared our fears about playing. It was cathartic to tell someone that I was worried about how the weekend would go.
Maletsky welcomed me to his tournament with a bottle of Talisker. I mean, wow. This dude is busy running a tournament with a bunch of sharks, and he took the time to bring me a bottle he knew I would like. On the flip side, I shared the bottle, and others soon drained it. It would not be my last unforced error.
You may not know this, but I’m deeply introverted. My charm, endless one-liners, and outgoing nature on DBN are just an act. I’m just a fat kid who is afraid that others will make fun of me behind my back. I am not amped after a Diplomacy game or DBN appearance. I’m exhausted from the strain of playing the extrovert. So when I forced myself to enter the hospitality suite—okay, it was Dave’s tiny hotel room—I thought I would just find a nice corner and be a wallflower for thirty minutes or so until I could get back to the safety of my computer. Instead, I received warm welcomes from Karthik Konath, Tanya Gill, Katie Gray, Morgante Pell, Zachary Moore, and Sabi. Even Jason Mastbaum gave me a hug and a smile. I was immediately at ease with everyone and had a few conversations with most of the players before my first game.
The pre-game dinner is a must. Don’t show up just for the games. The dinner is where you get to meet so many people and bond with them. I sat next to Morgante, Sabi, Karthik Zachary, and Katie. We talked and joked without the stress of a Diplomacy board. I learned more about them and their lives, and it was a simple pleasure.
I would be lying to you, however, if I didn’t mention some of the differences between FTF and online/virtual play:
It’s loud. Maybe it’s just because we were in a large room with other gamers, but man, was the noise distracting. I’m used to a headset, a nice scotch or rum at my side, and the ritual of quiet and concentrated virtual play. With everyone talking all around to you, there is just a low- to medium-nose level that the part of me on the spectrum had a hard time handling. It’s a humming noise that never stops. Once I forced myself to concentrate on the game and my conversations, it improved, but I hated the noise.
Even worse than the noise was the … well … how can I politely say this? All right, I’ll just say it, the smell. I gave great thought to my table image. I even wore a tie to the first game. It would be nice if we all showered beforehand, brushed our teeth, or, God forbid, used deodorant. Most of us did, but there were a minority of players who lacked these skills. In the future, the number one way I’m picking an ally is whether or not that person exercises basic hygiene.
You have to manage your adrenaline. I was so excited during the day leading up to the evening’s first round that I suffered an energy loss once the game started. I played in the game, but much of it was akin to an out-of-body experience. You have to understand how your body reacts to stress and plan accordingly.
I am only used to one interface, Backstabbr. No one has created a physical Backstabbr board. I found that reading an actual Diplomacy Board is difficult and confusing. I did not know who owned which supply center. Starting on the second day, I began tracking the orders on a Backstabbr sandbox, which significantly helped me.
Writing orders is challenging. You have to pay attention to every little thing under stressful conditions. To get a coast correct on Backstabbr, I just click the arrow to the proper coast. Here, I had to remember to write it down each time. I also had to make sure to write moves, supports, and convoys with precision. Have you ever made a mistake even after you have given it great concentration? That’s what it feels like when you flub an order.
There was a negotiation phase and an order writing phase. I kept writing my orders during negotiations in a sloppy way. Others could see them. I was surprised that people actually try to look at your orders. Instead, I should have just written down some preliminary orders before negotiating and then spent time writing changes during the order-writing phase. I didn’t do that because I was afraid someone would call time during the order-writing phase, and I would be stuck.
Watch the actual adjudications. Luckily, I never adjudicated the moves because I’m sure I would have made multiple mistakes. But, if you let others do all the adjudications, watch closely because otherwise, you’re just going to see the map at the end of adjudication without seeing what everyone else did during the season in question.
Like any variant of Diplomacy, there are peculiarities to the game that you must become familiar with to have a better chance of success. I have already helped you navigate the sights, sounds, and smells of a FTF tournament. I hope to see you at the next one, and if necessary, provide you with an Altoid.