Anybody who grew up playing Monopoly has a story about their most intense game. We’ve all played marathon games stretched to their limits by massive deal making and rapid turns of fortune.
My most intense game came at the height of a serious Monopoly binge. My friends and I played Monopoly exclusively for two months and were clearly ready for a showdown. It was me, my friend Duke and my other friend Brian.
Brian was out within the first dozen or so trips around the board. He had a very bad luck that game landing on the right properties, and had trouble making deals to get monopolies since he was cash poor. Brian was also a lightweight, usually the first to go out unless he got extremely lucky and got prime property by himself.
As the second hour of the game unfolded, Duke and I were locked in mortal capitalist combat. Duke had Boardwalk and Park Place, both fully developed as the crown jewels in his collection. He also owned the red and yellow properties that made up a whole quarter of the board, and about half of the rest of the board. My prime properties were the greens, and the railroads.
The game went back and forth for hours like most games, but what made this game so intense was range between the highs and lows. It was feast or famine, we were either broke with the other person wallowing in money, or, two or three turns later, the other way around.
The way the board was set up, every turn for me involved some peril, especially as I rounded the orange free parking corner onto Duke’s quarter of the board. With every turn, the only thing standing between me and sudden bankruptcy was the Chance space, my railroad, and my utility company. Somehow, through freakish good luck, I managed to stay out of trouble in that quarter by high rolls, landing on my free spots, or languishing in jail.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, for us, it was weekend, and my parents allowed the game to drag on indefinitely into the night. I had been on the ropes several times, being saved only by hitting the “Free Parking” jackpot three times when the final bell drew near. Duke had enough cash to institute a “no free rides” bargaining policy, which was the only asset I had left.
I landed on Boardwalk, and that was it. I paid my bill, but had nothing left. All my hotels were gone; my properties mortgaged. Even if Duke landed on my property, he wouldn’t have to pay. Sullenly, I took my next turn, which took me to one of Duke’s light blue monopolies.
It was humiliating to meet my final demise on Oriental Avenue, the crown jewel of the low rent district I once ruled with an iron fist. I should have conceded in style on Boardwalk, but my pride was too strong.
It was over.
I’d love to hear reader’s stories of Monopoly greatness, and your own versions of monopoly rules.