Games are merely the text. We must study them as carefully as we study any art form to see what they have to teach us. To play a game or watch a sporting event for fun is like reading a novel or watching a movie for fun — we are unlikely to learn anything of importance. But we can teach ourselves and others to see the values and assumptions inherent in games and sports, just as we teach people to see more deeply into novels and movies.

So far, our culture has shown little interest in examining games in this way. They are perceived as useless and trivial diversions, barely worth our serious attention, just like drama in Shakespeare’s time, novels in the 19th century, and movies and jazz in the 1920s. Until scholars began to treat each of these genres as legitimate forms of human expression, few people recognized their influence on our national psyche.

The time has come to think of games in the same way, as profound embodiments of our unconscious cultural norms.
 

What Can Games Teach Us?

What can we learn about fairness from playing, observing, and studying games? How can these lessons be transferred to a larger social context?

For example, what do we mean by an "unfair advantage"? In an article in The Atlantic (April 2004), "The Case Against Perfection," Michael J. Sandel raises such issues in the context of technological innovations. He refers to "the ethics of enhancement" (51):

Suppose for the sake of argument that muscle-enhancing gene therapy, unlike steroids, turned out to be safe. ... Would there be a reason to ban its use in sports? (52)

Would athletes who used this therapy have an unfair advantage over those who didn't? Why is this advantage different from a "natural" one? He asks similar questions about designer drugs and cloning. Under what circumstances is the advantage gained no longer fair?

Under what circumstances do we willingly give handicaps and why? Can understanding the notion of "advantage" in a game context help us evaluate advantages in a social or political context? Can we transfer our understanding of this phenomenon to non-game situations such as the Elian Gonzalez case, the Microsoft trial, the tobacco wars, the Affirmative Action question, the campaign contributions controversy, or the rules of engagement during wartime?

My contention is that we can most effectively get at such conundrums by looking first at ordinary, non-professional game-playing.

At least one writer, Lawrence Mitchell, warns against using games as an analogy in this way. In his 1998 book, Stacked Deck:  A Study of Selfishness in America, Mitchell argues that games are fundamentally different from "real" life situations in which we have to make decisions based on notions of fairness or justice. He claims that "games do not provide an appropriate model for fairness analysis because, ultimately, nobody is forced to play games" (186). He contrasts game playing with a criminal trial:

If I am invited to play the game of a criminal trial, I cannot resist, without at least dramatic disadvantage to myself. I might be able to strike a plea bargain, but since this too subjects me to the coercive power of the state, it hardly seems analogous simply to refusing to play a game, which thereby entirely avoids a loss. (189)

How voluntary is it?

Is he right? Do we in fact play games "voluntarily"? Obviously, not always. In fact, in more cases than we'd like to admit, we don't have much choice. In a footnote, Mitchell acknowledges that "Some people, such as professional athletes, may be forced to play particular games to sustain themselves," but he then argues that "this competition is grounded in their choice to make a livelihood of their sport (assuming they have autonomously chosen to do so under good conditions of choice) with its rules and institutional structure" (228).

But there are occasionally (perhaps even frequently) social or even political costs for refusing to participate in a non-professional competitive activity, especially if you are known as an athlete or a game player. Admittedly, these costs are not equivalent to being thrown in jail or losing your income, but sometimes the circumstances make refusal an option only for the very brave or the very foolish; there is a "dramatic disadvantage" to saying "No, thanks, I don’t want to play."

Here are some examples:

1. Your wife asks you to join a bridge club with her.
   
   

2. Your supervisor invites you to play racquetball during your lunch break or to golf with him/her on the weekend.
   
   

3. You have recently felt lethargic, but you know that your regular doubles game would have to be cancelled if you don’t play that week.
   
   

4. Your grade school gym teacher announces that there will be a basketball tournament for the next two weeks.
   
   

5. Your camp counselor says that the cabin that wins today’s tug-of-war gets an extra dessert.
   
   

6. Your 7-year-old asks you to play checkers with him/her.
   
   

7. Your spouse decides it’s a good idea to have game night with the kids at least once a month.

If you are a game player, you can probably supply similar examples from your own experience. Anybody who enjoys — and is known to enjoy — a particular game has at one time or another been stuck in a situation in which it is virtually impossible to get out of playing without offending, annoying, angering, or disappointing someone important to you. In some cases, your self-esteem, your social standing, even your marriage or your job security can be jeopardized if you refuse to play.
 

Do we choose our opponents?

Lawrence also claims that "we get to choose not only whether to participate in games but also with whom we play" (189). "In contrast," he says, "a defendant in a legal proceeding against the state does not have the opportunity to choose her opponent in the trial. It is always the state." (190)

However, the reality is that there are many circumstances in which our opponents are chosen for us. Think of High Noon. Did a top gunfighter in the Old West have a choice of opponent when he was challenged to a duel? If he refused to fight, he would not merely lose his reputation as one tough hombre but would probably be labeled a coward for the rest of his life.

The same is true with a modern-day boxing or chess champion. If he continually ducks the top contenders, he could have his title taken away from him (or at the very least, he would not be considered a "true" champion by the general public).

Where’s the freedom to choose an opponent? Did Garry Kasparov really have the option of not playing Big Blue? Did Billie Jean King have a choice of opponents when she agreed to play Bobby Riggs?

In fact, in any organized competitive activity — from Little League to an international chess match — our opponent is prearranged; we have no say in the matter. Once we join a league or sign up for a tournament (which may or may not be a completely "free" choice in itself), we are at the mercy of a schedule-maker or the "draw." (That is where we get the expression, "the luck of the draw.")

In the 2001 U.S. Open, Hyung-Taik Lee did not choose to play Pete Sampras in the fourth round, nor did Sampras pick Lee. The fact that Venus and Serena Williams could not meet until the finals was not determined (I assume and hope) by their wishes. All these players were at the mercy of the "brackets," set up days — or weeks — ahead of time.

In a footnote, Mitchell acknowledges that "this is untrue in the context of tournament play. But as with a professional athlete, the tournament player chooses to enter the tournament, which in some relevant ways is structured as a metagame." (229)
 

Finding the right opponent

Even in the strictly-for-fun competitive situation, our choice of opponent is limited by all kinds of contingencies, including the notion of fairness itself. As Mitchell himself points out,

The average person knows that Andre Agassi will always beat her at tennis, and therefore if she hopes to have any chance of winning (or even playing a competitive game), she will not play against him. Likewise, Bobby Fischer in chess. (189-90)

But even this picture is misleading. How many of us have the possibility of even asking a top-notch professional like Agassi to play tennis with us? And if we had that opportunity, what is the likelihood that he would agree to play us?

In ordinary life, we are all constrained in choosing our opponents by geography, economics, etiquette, relationships, and talent. Perhaps the Internet will allow us a bit more freedom with some non-physical play activities, but that remains to be seen.

Anybody who is passionate about a game or sport knows how difficult it can be to find suitable competition. I’ve made many a phone call looking for a fourth for tennis or just trying to find someone I can hit with.

That’s why people get into bridge groups, why they join country clubs, why they have a regular mah jongg or squash game.

And, of course, once you have committed yourself to a particular group of players, you have lots of pressure on you to continue. What starts out as more-or-less "voluntary" immediately becomes an obligation and can eventually become a burden if the players are not all compatible or not all reliable or not all equal in ability.

Once you’re in, you’re stuck. How do you tell Johnny/Joanie/the Johnsons you’d rather not play with him/her/them any more?

In a way, it’s amazing we ever find opponents at all. In my experience, people generally play (and seem to prefer playing) with others of more-or-less the same age, socioeconomic background, community, and interests, not to mention ability.