Blog Posts

Life in the Playground

Throughout my childhood, I've spent one non-negotiable hour in the evening playing outside. Come rain or shine, unfinished homework or not, friends available all or none - at 5pm I would be halfway out the door before my mother could say "don't be late!"

It was a sacred ritual to me - time to connect with my friends, with the earth and the sky and its ever-changing seasons. To play with joyous abandon, a liminal space that no other concerns in my (admittedly concern-free) young life could encroach upon.

I bounced from door to door, rallying the troops as I made my way down the street. No one was spared a personal invite, complete with the details of who else had RSVPd so far and what the evening menu of games would be.

Cricket was a staple in the beginning. The pitch was the entrance driveway just in front of the park. We'd all scramble out of the way and pause every time a car crossed us from any of three cardinal directions. The neighbourhood roofs fielded wayward sixes and automatically meant an OUT for the unlucky batsman who hit the shot. The poor confused player would leave, shaking their head, unjustly punished for playing too well.

Football had its era. We played on the grassy lawn of the park, sprinting and weaving around the raised central garden plot. Many shrubs and hedges bore the brunt of our missed goals and many more lightbulbs and lampposts ended their service with us.

More than sports, I especially loved to play Running and Catching because it always had a way of morphing into another game in its family. At their core, a simple rule - the 'denner' had to catch everyone else to win, within some limited space or limited time.

This quickly morphed into Lock and Key which possessed the additional thrill for runners to press their luck when evading the denner. Calling "Lock!" and placing your hand on your head meant you were safe but also that you were frozen in place. You were only freed if another runner gave you "Key" by physically tagging you themselves. The denner would chase you to some corner of the park till you called Lock and guard you jealously while daring the others to save you. The other runners, striving to play the heroic role, would run straight into the obvious trap...and often become part of the bait themselves.

Four Corners is clearly etched in my memory, the demarcations of each corner overlayed on the physical space of the park in my mind's eye. Corner #1 - the tall lampost; Corner #2 - the hill behind the swings; Corner #3 the other hill by the slide; Corner #4 - the rose bushes with football-sized holes. What a spatial treat of a game! Our minds evolved precisely to navigate spatial problems and that is exactly what the game asked of you as a player. The goal: get to the corner specified by the denner. The challenge: navigate around any stationary physical obstacles while avoiding being caught.

Capture the Flag had a glorious season sparked by the summer holidays. Barely a week in and I had machinated the rules into my own game called VIP. Why use a stationary flag when you could have one player on each team be the flag, the eponymous VIP? Catching them in their team's area meant victory for your team. The risk was every other player on their team could catch you while you were in their team area. A slew of special roles and rules followed - the Juggernaut, the Switch, a No Man's Land area...keeping track of the rules was almost easier than keeping track of teams cheating the identity of their VIP!

A stroke of chance led me to buy a Lagori set and discover the joyful chaos of this traditional game. It has such a beautifully structured texture of play with two distinct phases when your team is pitching or rebuilding the tower of stones (while the other team fields). There is a lovely risk-reward built in: do you aim lower on the tower and knock over more stones (making it take longer to rebuild)? or do you aim higher to skim off a single stone or two which requires a riskier, more skillful throw (but is easier to rebuild)?

If Roger Callois observed us playing, I think he would classify our games as a mix between Agon (competition) and Illinx (vertigo). It also felt sport-like to me, with an element of Arete in our small world of children and childhood games. I felt alive in the desperate sprint away from my pursuer, my legs burning, my lungs gasping for air. It was a giddy joy at having outrun my friends, for now.

Cypress and Poppies, Elihu Vedder