Cribbage

Cribbage

Noel Laflin

4-14-22

Although my back was to the folks sitting behind me, I couldn't help but recognize the game they were playing when a woman's voice began calling out 15-2, 15-4, 15-6 and a pair is 8.Then a man answered in similar fashion, but with less joy.

Cribbage, I thought. They're playing cribbage.

I stood up and turned to look, and sure enough, they were. The game ended shortly thereafter with the wife claiming victory. The husband smiled at me and said he was merely her victim - once again. The board was folded up, the cards tucked away, and the older couple shuffled off.

It's always a comfort when I hear cribbage tallies being called out, and watch the tiny pegs moving up and down the board. And although I was never very good at the game (I think basic math got in the way), my dad was a pro. He and my sister could play forever.

I came across a well-worn leather fold out cribbage board while going through my dad's treasures long ago. I recognized it, and recalled the stories he told of hours passed playing the game with fellow soldiers in Tunisia, Corsica, France, Belgium, Luxembourg, and eventually Germany. I imagine the voices calling out the tally, curses liberally interspersed by the losing side, a cigarette lit and the match providing the light carefully set aside in case a peg was lost. I picture my dad moving with the army from one continent to another, and carrying a small comfort from home in his jacket pocket, ready to unfold the board at a quiet moment's notice, withdraw a small deck of cards from another pocket and then look for a new victim.