FriendshipIsMagik

As a child, it was safe to say I was a fan of Eleanor Abbott’s 1949 classic, Candy Land. In fact, if pressed on ways to improve the game, I could really only offer two nearly identical suggestions: death and dismemberment. Enter Run For Your Life, Candyman.

If rating a game on enjoyment resulting directly from the pain of others, you’d be hard pressed to find a better game. With the obvious exception of Duck, Duck, Goose if played properly.
A typical conversation in the Magik household (with falsified identities, of course):

Xander – “You rolled a double gum drop. You could saunter right on past and put yourself in a great position to win”

Willow – “Yes… or I could double back and take that last arm of yours.”

Xander – “But this arm is all I have left… what kind of person…”

Giles (interrupting) – “Odds aren’t in your favor, but I’d give it a shot. That arm would look real nice on your mantle.”

Anya – “The games consists simply of cardboard characters, a deck of cards, your personal character sheet, and a game board. Where did you get this mantle you speak of?”

Giles – “Not now. You’re not even playing this game with us. And I resent the way you end sentences in prepositions and insist on the somewhat pretentious use of the Oxford comma.”

Anya – “How could you possibly know where I place my commas? This is a spoken conversation.”

Willow – “Guys, while you were arguing, I totally took his arm. He’s currently dying a painful, bloody death.”

It is nearing party game perfection. Eleanor Abbott, they have done you proud.

As a child I fancied myself quite the hot potato player. While there wasn’t a tremendous amount of strategy or mental acuity involved, I spent a fairly absurd amount of time honing my skills in the art of both the catch and the toss. I had no choice but to value physical prowess over the sharpness of the mind. In time, I worked up to the second rated player in my class (or would have, if such a rating ever existed or had even been discussed in passing.) As self appointed #2, I was ever sucking the proverbial exhaust of one Billy Smith. Smug and pompous as he may have been, the kid could toss (and catch, unfortunately.) I hated him to his core, but I will never deny him that. While I always felt he held the potato a bit too long or made his tosses a bit too leisurely, the fact of his illegal play was never proven in the court of 4th grade public opinion.
Sidenote – It was also never proven in a court of law – not for lack of trying on my part – and was how I learned the definition of “frivolous lawsuit” from a rather stern looking, ableit somewhat handsome middle-aged woman in a pants suit.
The point being…. if I could just track down Billy Smith, this would be my game of choice for the epic rematch. I would spare all of the other players at the table (assuming he brought friends, as it should come as no surprise that I wouldn’t be providing any) and spend all my Hex tokens on one Billy Smith.

My strategy for picking characters in most games tends to revolve heavily around my being able to personally relate to one of my options. Short of being able to do that, I tend to go with the best (or in this case, most feather adorned) hat. So, while the cabin boy speaks to me on more than one level, I tend to go with the Pilot as often as possible.
What this means, in the big picture, is that I’m looking at your coins every steal phase. You will inevitably adjust, and attempt to subtly push all your ones out in front of you, but it will make no difference… I’m still coming at them 5 spots.

Disclaimer (which admittedly should have appeared somewhere up top): I believe I always lose in spectacular fashion. Take that into consideration when coming up with your own strategy.

Downside – This game requires a decent amount of math.
Upside – The use of calculating tools (eg. calculators, abaci, fingers, etc) are not explicitly prohibited in the rule book.
That being said, it’s been my personal experience that if you mouth out your calculations while simultaneously using your finger(s) as aides, you will be mocked incessantly by your more math-abled peers.
My personal strategy is to always roll for the 100 bonus. That way, you have a 97.2% chance of scoring a zero (which requires little to no math to calculate) and a 2.9% (or close enough – math isn’t my strong suit) chance of scoring such a great bonus that you no longer care about the mockery resulting from your embarrassing attempt at the addition of such large numbers.