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>> In my grandparents' bungalow
near 31st and Rogers on
Milwaukee's south side,
the dining room table had been
cleared of the ham, and the mock
chicken legs, and the boiled
buttered potatoes with chives,
and the salad, which was really
coleslaw, and the dinner rolls.
A dessert of cheese torte and
pies had reclaimed the space
briefly, but that was gone now,
too.
All those plates and silverware
and serving bowls and pots and
pans were joined by my
grandmother, and my mother,
and sister in the kitchen
to be washed and put away.
It was the 1960s.
Women could vote
and wash the dishes.
Back in the dining room, it was
time to play sheepshead.
My grandfather, a man of few
words, would simply get out the
cards and put a handful of
nickels and dimes on the table.
My father and brothers and I
would gather around the table,
and my grandfather,
still without saying a word,
would start to deal the cards.
"One, two, three, double on the
bump," my dad would announce.
As if we needed to be reminded.
We always played, one, two,
three, double on the bump.
What else was there?
Meanwhile, my grandfather, cigar
in his mouth, was dealing.
First three at once
to each of the five players,
then two in the blind,
then three more to each
of the boys around the table.
I don't exactly remember the
first time I was invited to that
table, but it must've been about
the same time I was learning how
to ride a bike.
That's fitting, because just as
it's hard to teach an adult
to ride a bike, it's extremely
difficult to teach a grown,
rational human being
to play sheepshead.
I know, because I've tried.
A decade ago, I taught a bunch
of my Madison friends how to
play.
Most had played euchre.
That's a good start, I told
them, euchre is a perfectly fine
game for those who can't handle
the intellectual challenge of
sheepshead.
The rules of the game start with
the fact that the queen of
clubs, followed by all the oth
queens, are the strongest cards
in the deck.
Which starts to make up for the
fact that we were playing cards
and the women were doing the
dishes.
But the strongest cards aren't
worth the most points.
No, queens are only worth
three points.
Jacks are worth two.
Kings are worth four.
Aces count for 11 points.
Tens are worth, well, what else,
ten points.
Nines, eights, and sevens would
be worth how many points then?
That's right, none.
You don't play with the cards
under the seven at all.
Those are the basics.
From there, it gets complicated.
These days, my grandfather is
gone, and my dad and brothers
never play anymore.
But I have that Madison game
twice a month at UW's Memorial
Union Rathskeller, and now,
sometimes at the Echo Tap,
because one of our group had
the good sense to buy a tavern
in which to play sheepshead.
In late November, some of us
combine deer hunting and
sheepshead and a little beer
in a trifecta of Wisconsin guy
sacraments.
But we only play after we've
done the dishes.