I flicked at the corner of my ten of diamonds and chewed my lip... stalling.
I don't even like “Hearts”. Maybe I played too much of it on my folks original PC as a bored pre-teen back in the 90's. But when it's your girlfriend's father asking you to play, and you are on the family camping trip; the first extended encounter with her family, you put aside your personal preferences and step up to the card table.
My girlfriend's dad had a nickname: “Guns'n'Roses”. When he was 17 years old, he dropped out of high school and started a business installing fences. He practically lived out of his truck for years while he ground out the long, slow, hard work of building a business. He had a reputation as a fair man, but a man who never pays full price for anything, and a man who can stretch one dollar further than most people can stretch ten. He was relentlessly competitive in just about every aspect of life, and despite a rather unorthodox style (usually typified by flailing arms and legs), he could hang with or beat anyone at just about any competition you could come up with – thus earning him the moniker Guns'n'Roses – guns blazing and always coming up roses. However, the first phrase anyone would use to describe him was “hard working.” His fencing business was now over 30 years old and worth a substantial sum, he owned multiple properties, and no one could ever say that he didn't earn every bit of it. A man of few words, his barrel chest, 6'4” frame, and permanent contemplative scowl were intimidating to be sure, but I had an immense amount of respect for this man. And did I mention that of his eight kids with his one and only wife (a really wonderful woman), I was dating his only daughter?
I had been forewarned about the invitation to play Hearts. It was Guns'n'Roses' preferred evening activity while camping, and as in everything else he did, he always would find a way to win. I did not much like the idea of wandering off to a card table to lose a game that I didn't enjoy in the first place, but my girlfriend had made it clear that running this gauntlet was a necessity, so I put a good face on, tried to remember the rules, and made a go of it.
To my surprise, the first few hands flowed effortlessly. The patterns moved predictably, and I was blessed with great cards. After half an hour's play, everyone else was hovering around the 30 point mark (not great) while I had a mere 3 points (which is excellent). A rush of competitive spirit washed over me; swallowing my former apathy, and I decided right there that I was going to beat Guns'n'Roses. I began watching cards like a hawk, counting and waiting. I caught the old man trying to dump his hearts on me, pinned the Queen of Spades on one of his sons, and successfully wove my way through hand after hand; finally finding the strategy that had always evaded me on my folks' old PC.
After a time - who knows how long - I checked the score card. We were in the middle of a round where my girlfriend's dad was taking on a lot of points. I was sitting pretty, two of my girlfriend's brothers were a ways behind me, and there at the bottom of the pile, with by far and away the most points, was Guns'n'Roses himself. There was a chance, if I played it right, that I could beat him on this hand right here... I started to count up the amount of points he had accumulated. As I reflected back over the individual tricks, I realized no one else had taken on any hearts; they had all gone to my girlfriend's father. I looked up, immediately alarmed; the Old Fox was trying to shoot the moon! And there were only four tricks left! My wide eyes met the crafty smile of Guns'n'Roses as he watched understanding and dread sweep my face. It seemed hopeless as the next two rounds unfolded; I had happily dumped all of the cards that would have drawn in points, and now he was just raking in the remaining cards, while his sons and I watched helplessly.
So now, with three rounds left, I flicked my ten of diamonds, chewed my lip, handed over another card, and remembered yet again how much I disliked this stupid game. Honestly, what grown person likes playing Hearts anyways? Couldn't we have played poker? With great effort, I began swallowing my emotions, so I might be in a frame of mind capable of passably expressing the sentiments of a gracious loser when the time came. But, with only two cards left, Guns'n'Roses did the unthinkable; he made a mistake. By necessity or by choice, he led the second to the last trick with a nine of diamonds; one of his sons followed with a four of hearts, the other with an eight of clubs, and my humble ten of diamonds, overlooked and neglected by us all, foiled his shot at the moon, and brought the final heart home to me.
The last trick of the game was inconsequential; and sure enough, as we tallied the points at the end of that hand, Guns'n'Roses easily broke the 100 mark, which ended the game, establishing me as the winner by a substantial margin. The man of few words looked over with a sort of grumpy expression that might hold some kind of temporary begrudging respect, and offered his hand. “Good game,” he mumbled. “Want to play again?” Confident and riding my obviously fickle love of the game, I agreed, and we all sat down to do it again.
The next time I saw that “grumpy expression that might hold a kind of temporary begrudging respect” was when my father-in-law handed his daughter off to me in front of a cloud of witnesses. Yes, I married his daughter; but since that day, I have never again been able to beat Guns'n'Roses in a game of Hearts.