The Game At

the End of
this PDF
John Scott Tynes
The Game at the End of this PDF is
©2019 John Scott Tynes. First Edition.

www.JohnTynes.com
for Jon Stone,
who did it first
I am very sorry to be the one who has to
tell you this, but there is a game at the end
of this PDF.

I’m against it. I’ll just get that out of the

way right up front. It’s going to cause no
end of trouble and you’re liable to get
your feelings hurt.

Games are fundamentally, profoundly

uncertain. We enter each new game with
a mix of excitement and dread.

Have you been made angry by a game?

Maybe even humiliated?

As a child, I played a game of snowballs

that turned into an all-against-me episode
from which I fled crying. I still recall the
frozen sting of the ice hitting my face.

Is that what you want? It is certainly what

you risk.

Please close this PDF now and do not

scroll the page.
Okay, fine.
We still have some time before we reach
the end. Time enough to really think
about this.

A dead French philosopher named Roger

Caillois identified six aspects of games that
collectively distinguish them from other
human social activities.

He said they are:

• Voluntary
• Separate
• Uncertain
• Unproductive
• Governed by rules
• Make-Believe

Frankly, when you put them together they

sound remarkably tiresome. I’m
volunteering to leave society behind, take
risks with no reward, obey someone else’s
rules, and the whole thing is nonsense
anyway? It’d be best to just not scroll the
page, don’t you think?
Okay, fine.
If you won’t listen to a dead French
philosopher then I suppose we should
discuss this a bit further.

Let’s talk about one of the worst games

ever inflicted on humanity. A game so
miserable and pointless that most of us
abandon it forever once we achieve even a
modest level of cognition. Yet we insist on
teaching it to the next generation and
enshrining it as a cultural artifact.

Let’s talk about Tic-Tac-Toe.

You already know, even if you don’t

realize it, that two players who are not
small children will most often play to a
draw. This is because you can guarantee a
draw or better if you just follow a simple
list of eight rules. We intuit these rules
even in childhood and thereafter rarely
lose unless we are distracted, drunk, or just
don’t care to pay much attention.

I would tell you not to scroll the page but

I really want to show you these rules.
Each turn you evaluate these rules from
top to bottom and do the first one you
can. They are as follows:

1. Win: If you can win this turn, place

your winning mark.
2. Block: If the other player is about to
win, block them from doing so.
3. Fork: Create two ways to win.
4. Block a Fork: If the other player can
fork next turn, block their fork first.
5. Center: Mark the center if it’s
available.
6. Opposite corner: If the opponent has
marked a corner, mark the opposite
corner.
7. Empty corner: Mark a corner.
8. Empty side: Mark a middle square
on any side.

Not so hard, is it? The Fork is the most

interesting rule to me. It’s the rule I taught
my daughter when, yes, like all the rest of
the cretins out there, I taught her to play
this abysmal game.
“Find two ways to win,” I told her. “Then
your opponent can only block one.” We
had this conversation often enough,
playing the game while waiting for our
food in restaurants, that when playing
other games in the years since then she will
still invoke the “find two ways to win”
rule when she makes a clever move and I
have no way around it.

Which is exactly why we keep teaching

this stupid game. It’s a pedagogical tool for
teaching children how to think. Which
means it’s a productive activity, which
means it no longer meets Roger Caillois’
definition.

God, I hate dead French philosophers.

Are you still here? If you’re going to scroll

the page and keep going, you’d better have
two ways to win. That’s what I’m trying
to say here.

Please, don’t scroll the page. Stop now.

Okay, fine.
I tell you what. Maybe I should just skip
ahead a ways, peek at the game at the end
of this PDF, and then I can come back
and give you an honest assessment of what
you’re up against.

If I think you’ve maybe got a decent

chance of winning then yeah, okay, you
might as well keep reading.

But if I think you’re going to lose when

you reach the game at the end of this
PDF then I’m going to tell you. I’m going
to warn you. And if that’s the case then I
really hope you pay attention and listen.

Is that fair? I think it’s fair. So okay, I’m

going to go now and sneak ahead a ways.
It’ll take me a few pages before I can make
it back so keep scrolling and we’ll sync up
again soon.
Okay, I’m back.
I’m going to be really honest with you.
You’re going to lose the game at the end
of this PDF.

I mean I really took a good long look at

the damned thing and sure, nothing is
impossible, and I realize we don’t know
each other all that well so maybe you have,
you know, unplumbed depths of
intellectual capacity that I haven’t seen on
display yet.

But let’s stay honest: Despite my repeated

warnings, you keep scrolling the page.

A wiser person would have stopped by

now. So when I say you’re going to lose
the game, you should maybe consider your
track record thus far and reflect on the life
choices that brought you to this
unfortunate crossroads.

You should stop. You really should. Just

don’t scroll the page. Close this document
and do something else. Okay?
Crap!
When I was young I was in the Boy
Scouts for a couple of years. One day we
took a canoe trip, our first, down a lazy,
shallow river in Arkansas.

We put on our life jackets, climbed into

the canoes, and started paddling. There
were three people in my canoe and within
the first couple of minutes we had already
rolled the canoe twice and were soaking
wet.

This, I decided, was completely stupid. I

said goodbye and climbed overboard into
the water and started floating downstream
on my own.

A few of my fellow scouts laughed in

surprise. For whatever bizarre reason, our
adult Scoutmasters didn’t intervene. And
because we were all new to canoeing, and
having no end of trouble doing it
successfully, in no time at all the current
pulled me right past all my fellow scouts
struggling in their canoes and soon I was
heading downstream entirely alone.
What followed was one of the best hours
of my life. I floated along in the river,
lying on my back and staring up at the
warm blue sky. Sketchy clouds drifted
overhead. My ears were mostly submerged
but sounds of gurgling, rushing water
came and went. The riverbanks, lush with
tall grasses and shrubs, passed by steadily.
On a few occasions I encountered rocks, a
fallen tree, or a sandbar and I had to
navigate around them or clamber over
them.

I didn’t see anyone else. I didn’t really

know where I was. I definitely didn’t
know where I was going — I just knew
there was some beach somewhere
downstream where we would end the
canoe trip.

I was utterly alone. Mostly I sang, keeping

myself company and reveling in the cool
freedom of the water and the warm rays
of the sun.

I think about that day often.

You see, I had two ways to win. I could
paddle or I could float. When one was
blocked, I did the other.

And this is what I’m trying to tell you:

You can get out of the boat.

This PDF has a lot of pages. You don’t

have to read them. You don’t have to keep
scrolling. You really can just decide that
nope, you’re not going to find the game at
the end of this PDF, the game I believe
you are going to lose. You can close this
PDF, right now, even in the middle of
this sentence, in fact I’ll just keep this
sentence going on a while longer to give
you more time to come to your senses and
close this PDF already like a door to a
dank, charmless basement that you might as
well close and walk away from because
that would be for the best, and I think
you’re still here but you really should just
close this PDF right now and end this
nonsense once and for all, but here comes
the end of the sentence, damnit.
Crap!
You understand there is a game at the end
of this PDF and you’re probably going to
lose, right? I feel like I have said this a lot
already but maybe I’m just not getting
through to you.

I tell you what. I’m going to go away

again. I’m going to go consult with some
ancient hoary sages in some far-off fantasy
land. Games are make-believe anyway,
right? So I’ll go talk to some sages and
maybe they’ll have some kind of insight
that will help me convince you to close this
PDF.

I should really warn you. Hoary sages

don’t hang out in convenient locations. It’s
going to take me a while to get there, roust
them from their opium-addled stupor, pry
some kind of advice out of them, and then
get back here and sync up with you again.

In fact, it’s probably going to take me

about a hundred pages. You might as well
just close this PDF and be done with it.
Bye!
(Hi.)
(Do you think he is really gone? I’ve been
waiting for a chance to talk to you
privately but he just keeps rambling on and
on and I can’t get a word in. But if you
think he’s gone then I really need to tell
you something.

He’s not going to play fair.

I’ll tell you what I mean. I’ll tell you

everything. But only if you’re sure he’s
gone. If you’re sure he’s gone then scroll
the page and I’ll tell you everything.)
 I’M
RIGHT
HERE
Seriously? Do you have any idea how far
I just traveled to try to help you? And
then I come back and you’re having some
clandestine sidebar with someone else?

Fine. Scroll the page. Go play the game at

the end of this PDF. Whatever. I was
trying to help you but the minute I turned
my back you betrayed me.

Can you imagine how this makes me feel?

I went so far they don’t even make maps
of those places. I had to survive seven
grueling torments to prove I was worthy
to approach the hoary sages. And what
did you do, the entire time? You just kept
scrolling the pages and colluding with my
enemy.

GOD. You are so infuriating.

We started off in a reasonable place, didn’t

we? I had one simple request: Close this
PDF. But at every turn you just kept
pushing and pushing and pushing and I
have to tell you, there were times in my
journey to the hoary sages when I asked
myself why I was even bothering to
intervene like this and save you from the
game at the end of this PDF. But I kept
going because I cared about you and I
really wanted to persuade you however I
could. I thought it would be worth it and
that in the end you’d appreciate it.

That you’d appreciate me.

But no. You left me alone to drift down

the river and you ignored everything I
had to say. You kept scrolling the pages
and scrolling the pages and you even
schemed behind my back.

So you know what? Fine. The game at

the end of this PDF is right up ahead.

And you’re going to lose.

Crap.
I can’t do it. I can’t just shove you
forward into the abyss, no matter what
you’ve done.

I forgive you.

I have to give you one more chance.

Because I know you have two ways to
win:

• You can play the game and take

your chances.

• Or you can get out of the boat.

Do you understand?

This is your fork. There’s a block coming.

The game really is just ahead. Get out of
the boat. Right now. Close this PDF.
Drift downstream. The sun is warm. The
current is swift. You’re wearing a life
jacket. Just get out of the boat. It’s not too
late.

Please. Get out of the boat.

Crap.

Okay. Here we go. I’m sorry.

 Game:

Tic-Tac-Toe

Instructions:

You are X.
 About the Author
John Scott Tynes has been a writer and
game designer since he founded tabletop
games studio Pagan Publishing in 1990.

Some of his projects include The

Unspeakable Oath, Puppetland,
Unknown Armies (with Greg Stolze),
Creatures & Cultists (with Jeff Barber),
Delta Green (with Dennis Detwiller and
Adam Scott Glancy), The Hills Rise
Wild! (with Jesper Myrfors), and Call of
Cthulhu D20 (with Monte Cook).

Currently he is Videogame Design

Director at Wizards of the Coast. He lives
in Seattle with his family.