Board To Tears

What Would Your Favourite Board Game Say at Your Funeral?

Apr 22, 2025

Board games are more than just cardboard, dice, plastic pieces and rulebooks, at least in my household. I look on them like time capsules of our lives. I hope yours too.

As a family, we’ve had some of our best (and worst) times when we all sit around the dining table together and play board games. Not least because we can do something together as a family and the kids can put their iPhones and iPads away, for at least a couple of hours.

Board games have witnessed our triumphs and defeats, our laughter and tears and the occasional family argument.

They’ve seen us at our most strategic, our most creative, and, let’s be honest, our most petty. I’m sure it’s the same with your family.

It’s something we still enjoy today but, as the kids grew, so did our range of board games.

What started with a simple pack of playing cards, Twister and The Game of Life (Minions Edition), time saw our tastes change as we grew together as a family. Our personalities developed to a point when our competitive natures could no longer be suppressed.

From Uno right through to Catan (which I still don’t think we play correctly) and Monopoly (Regular and Cheaters Edition), they all brought our family together and only occasionally threatened to break it apart.

Whether it’s the perverse thrill of ‘someone’ bankrupting my wife in Monopoly (me), the satisfaction/smugness of playing a seven-letter word in Scrabble (me again), or the sheer panic of being accused of murder in Cluedo (me - how very dare they!), board games have a way of bringing out our best and worst selves and I love it!

So, as we gather here today to celebrate us, the players, I thought it would be fun (or interesting at least), not to eulogise them, but to give the floor to some of our favourite board games instead and try and encapsulate their personality.

After all, who better to eulogise us than the games that know us best, our flaws, triumphs and all? Grab a tissue (or a dice shaker), and let’s hear what (I think) they’d have to say….

Dearly beloved,

Ladies and gentlemen, family, friends and that one friend who always cheats at Monopoly, we gather here today not to mourn, but to celebrate a life well-lived, a life filled with laughter, strategy, betrayal and the occasional flipped game board.

We, the Board Games, are truly honoured to deliver this farewell speech.

From quiet Sunday afternoons to raucous New Year’s Eve showdowns, we saw it all and now, as you depart to that great game night in the sky (or perhaps just to a life with fewer heated family gatherings), we’d like to share a few words from the games you loved the most.

We’re here to honour you, the player, the strategist, the occasional sore loser, and the eternal champion of family game nights. Who better to eulogise you than your favourite board games?

After all, they’ve seen you at your best, your worst and that one time you tried to hide an extra £500 under the Monopoly board.

So, let us hear from the games themselves, personified and ready to share their memories of you.

They’ve been there through thick and thin, through heated arguments over rules and through the inevitable post-game apologies. Let’s give them the floor.

Monopoly: The Ruthless Capitalist

Clears throat, adjusts top hat and taps monocle.

“Ah, my dear friends, what can I say? You were a true tycoon, a mogul in the making.

From the moment you laid your hands on that little silver dog, I knew you were destined for greatness or at least destined to bankrupt your closest family and friends.

I remember the first time you landed on Fleet Street with a hotel. That glint in your eye, that devilish grin, it was like watching a wolf among sheep.

Ruthless, cutthroat and just the right level of morally compromised.

When you landed on Regent Street with a hotel, oh, the cold satisfaction in your eyes and yet, when your sister bankrupted you with an unholy combination of Park Lane and Income Tax, the rage was palpable. The flying game pieces, the accusations of cheating, the “I’m never speaking to you again” outbursts… glorious!

You didn’t just play to win; you played to dominate, and let’s not forget your creative accounting skills. Who needs rules when you can just ‘borrow’ a few quid from the bank, right?

But beyond the cutthroat deals and the occasional tears (we all remember Aunt Diane’s meltdown in 2017), you taught your family the true meaning of capitalism.

You showed them that in life, as in Monopoly, it’s not about how much you have, it’s about how much you can take from others.

Rest in peace, you magnificent monopolist. May your legacy live on in every rent payment and every questionable real estate trade.

Farewell, dear players and remember this… capitalism isn't for the weak.”

Scrabble: The Intellectual Snob

Adjusts glasses, sighs pretentiously and flips through a dictionary.

“Scrabble here, though you might remember me as "that game you only played when the WiFi went down."

Who knew that a simple game about spelling could lead to so many heated arguments? ‘Is ‘QI’ allowed?’, ‘Can I use proper nouns?’, ‘It’s not fair, Dad’s a writer, so he can just make up words we don’t know’ These were the questions that defined your Scrabble career.

Your early attempts were humble; "CAT" "DOG", maybe the occasional "HAT”, but then you grew, as did your vocabulary. You soon learned to exploit the triple word score.

You had a way with letters, a knack for turning random tiles into something resembling genius.

You mastered the dark art of "QI" and "JO" to rack up high points with minimal effort. I know you still dream of using "OXYPHENBUTAZONE" to secure victory, but that’s just a pipe dream really.

Of course, there were moments of desperation, like when you tried to play ‘QXZJ’ and claimed it was an ancient Mesopotamian verb, but even in those moments, you never lost your spark.

But I also remember the darker times.

The hushed arguments over whether "ZA" is a legitimate word (it is). The dictionary slammed down in fury. The casual yet cutting comment about someone's limited vocabulary was a low blow. They were only kids after all.

But beyond the bickering, I brought people together.

I showed them the beauty of language, the thrill of a triple-word score and the importance of keeping a dictionary handy.

Still, you were a player of passion and wit, even if you once tried to play "LOL" for points. Sure the kids loved it, but that look from your wife made you realise it was laughable to try.

As the board fills up and the tiles in the bag dwindle, it’s time to say farewell, my logophilic friend. May your next adventure be filled with seven-letter words and no vowels.”

Risk: The Warmonger

Strides in wearing a military jacket, holding a tiny plastic army.

“Soldier, strategist, conqueror of continents; you were a force to be reckoned with.

From the moment you chose your colour (always red, because red means power), I knew you were destined for greatness or at least destined to spend three hours arguing over the rules.

I’ll never forget the time you launched a surprise attack on Australia, only to realise you’d left Europe completely undefended.

What about the time you spent an entire game camped out in South America, refusing to budge no matter how many times your kids begged you to “just do something already.”

You taught your family the art of war, the importance of alliances and the futility of trusting anyone named ‘Gary’. You showed them that in life, as in Risk, it’s not about how many armies you have, it’s about how many you’re willing to sacrifice.

But beyond the battles and the betrayals, you brought people together, albeit begrudgingly.

You showed them the thrill of conquest, the agony of defeat and the importance of never, ever playing Risk on a weeknight.

Rest in peace, my general. May your next campaign be as epic as your last.”

Uno: The Petty One

Waltzes in wearing sunglasses, shuffling a deck with a devilish grin.

“Ohhh, friend. You were legendary. The way you’d slam down that ‘Reverse’ card with a smirk? Iconic.

The time you ‘accidentally’ forgot to say ‘Uno’ and then acted shocked when someone called you out? Oscar-worthy.

People didn’t just play Uno - they weaponised it, but let’s be real: Uno wasn’t just a game for you. It was a social experiment.

You were a worthy adversary, savage, spiteful and oh-so-delightful when you strategically dropped a +4 just to ruin someone’s day and the stacking? Oh, the stacking. The rage in the room when someone dropped a Reverse, then a Skip, then another Reverse? Beautiful.

You’d hoard ‘Skip’ cards like they were rent money, unleash ‘Draw Fours’ on your own wife, and then - when karma finally struck - you’d argue that technically the rules don’t say you have to play a matching colour.

I’m sitting here, basking in the memories of every time you yelled "UNO!" and then immediately realised you miscounted.

And how could I forget the drama!

The gasps when you’d go out on a wild card! The way your entire marriage hung in the balance over a single ‘+2’!

I’ll miss you, but I’ll also carry with me the memory of the time you forced your sister to draw 12 cards in a single turn. That was… cold-blooded and I respect it.

But beyond the chaos, I like to think I taught you all a valuable lesson: in life, as in Uno, there are no true allies, only temporary ceasefires.

I showed you that victory is sweet, but revenge is sweeter, and that no bond is stronger than the one you immediately sever with a well-timed ‘Draw Four.’

Rest in power, you glorious rule-bender. May the afterlife be endless, and may you always have a ‘Wild’ card up your sleeve.”

Farewell. And remember: Draw Four is never personal.

Catan: The Diplomat

Walks in holding a handful of sheep and wheat, smiling warmly.

“Ah, my dear friend, what a journey we’ve had. You were a builder, a trader, a master of negotiation. From the moment you placed your first settlement, I knew you were destined for greatness, or at least destined to hoard all the sheep.

I’ll never forget the time you traded three bricks for a single wheat, only to realise you’d just handed your opponent the longest road or the time you spent an entire game trying to convince everyone that ‘wood for sheep’ was a fair trade. (It wasn’t)

But beyond the trades and the tactics, I brought people together.

I showed them the importance of cooperation, the thrill of competition and the futility of trying to win without any ore. Looking at your Dad.

Farewell, my friend. May your next adventure be filled with plentiful resources, favourable dice rolls and no robber in sight.”

Cluedo: The Sleuth

Adjusts magnifying glass, clears throat dramatically.

“Ah, my dear detective, what a mystery your life has been. You were a solver of puzzles, a seeker of truth, a master of deduction… or at least you thought you were.

I’ll never forget the time you accused Colonel Mustard in the kitchen with the wrench, only to realise it was Mrs. Peacock in the library with the candlestick. You buffoon.

You had a knack for seeing patterns where others saw chaos, for connecting dots that others didn’t even know existed.

Sure, there were moments of confusion, like when you spent an entire game convinced it was Professor Plum, only to realise you’d been holding his card the whole time, but even in those moments, you never lost your spark.

Let’s not forget your competitive streak.

Who knew that a simple game about murder could lead to so many heated arguments? ‘Did you already ask about the revolver?’ ‘Are you sure it wasn’t the conservatory?’ ‘Why does Mum keep accusing me every turn?’ These were the questions that defined your Cluedo career.

But beyond the accusations and the alibis, I brought family and friends together.

I showed them the thrill of the hunt, the joy of discovery and the importance of keeping a notebook handy.

Farewell, my sleuthing friend. May your next adventure be filled with fewer red herrings and more candlesticks.”

Twister: The Party Guest Who Overstayed

Stretches dramatically, then winces like they pulled a muscle mid-speech.

“Heyyy! Twister here!

Wow, so sad to see you go. We had some crazy times together, huh?

That New Year's Eve when you pulled a muscle trying to reach left foot green? Classic.

The time you knocked over a lamp doing a particularly ambitious right-hand blue? Legendary.

You were a warrior. A champion. A human pretzel who refused to admit that ‘left foot yellow’ was biologically impossible after three beers. I was there for it all; the wobbly knees, the strategic ‘accidental’ collapses onto your mate’s flirty wife, the inevitable moment when Uncle Mark called it quits and just laid down on the mat like a defeated starfish.

You didn’t just play Twister. You survived it.

I turned a simple spinner into a full-contact sport, where ‘right-hand blue’ was less a suggestion and more a dare. And the DRAMA!

The way alliances formed (“Quick, hold me up so Mam falls first!”), the betrayal when someone ‘slipped’ (liar), the way every game ended with someone yelling, “MY SPINE, MY SPINE…”

But beyond the strained hamstrings, I think I taught you all a lesson; dignity is overrated.

I showed you that gravity is negotiable, that personal space is a myth, and that yes, you CAN win Twister through sheer spite alone.

But I know, I know, I’m the game you aged out of. The game that stopped being fun once your knees started making that weird clicking noise.

It’s OK. I’ll always remember you at your most flexible (literally).

Rest in flexibility, my bendy legends. May the afterlife have unlimited Anadin… and no ‘left foot red’ in the afterlife’s unreachable corner.

Farewell, my friends. May your back hold up and your dignity remain intact.”

The Game of Life: The Philosophical One

“Greetings. It is I, The Game of Life (Minions Edition).

Our journey together was one of ups and downs, much like life itself.

You started young and eager, spinning your way toward college, marriage and home ownership.

You handled life’s setbacks with grace, losing a job, wrecking a car and getting sued by an unnamed neighbour (Monopoly probably knows something about that).

But your real strength? Adaptability.

When you landed on "Twins" despite being single and unemployed, you simply sighed and carried on. When you realised that your career as an "Athlete" wasn’t enough to retire on, you quietly accepted your fate.

You understood that life, like The Game of Life, is a mix of luck and strategy and honestly, you handled both with remarkable dignity. Except for that one time you flipped the board after losing to your younger cousin. That was… less dignified.

Farewell, friend. May your next spin lead to happiness and a comfortable retirement fund.”

The Best and Worst of Us

It’s funny, isn’t it?

How a simple board game can bring out the best and worst in us. We games are reflections of you, our players; your cunning, your resilience, your pettiness, your creativity.

They reveal your competitive streaks, your strategic minds and your ability to laugh at ourselves (or cry, depending on how badly we’re losing).

Through Monopoly, we learn the thrill of ambition and the sting of defeat.

Through Scrabble, we discover the beauty of language and the frustration of a Q with no U.

Through Risk, we experience the highs of conquest and the lows of betrayal.

Through Catan, we master the art of negotiation and the pain of a bad trade and through Cluedo, we uncover the joy of mystery and the agony of a wrong guess that’s ~~literally~~ figuratively life and death.

Through us, you’ve learned how to strategise, how to bluff, how to win graciously and how to lose with at least some dignity. (Except for that time with Risk. We all remember.)

But beyond the games themselves, it’s the memories we create that truly matter.

The laughter, the arguments, the shared moments of triumph and defeat; these are the things that bind us together. These are the things that make life worth living.

But most importantly, you laughed. You connected. You spent time with the people who mattered most, even if they occasionally stabbed you in the back over a game of Cluedo.

So farewell, dear player. May your dice rolls always be high, your letter tiles always plentiful and, to paraphrase the great Kenny Rogers, may you always know when to hold ‘em, when to fold ‘em and... when to flip the board in a childish temper tantrum.

Amen. Drops mic, flips board and exits stage left.

What’s your favourite board game? Are you a lover of classic games or prefer one of the newer games? (BTW I’d recommend Colour Brain!) How have they brought your family together (or driven them apart!)? Let me know in the comments.