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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 other 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.
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