May the best player roll the dice...

            I looked in the closet the other day and spotted our old board game "Monopoly" on the top shelf. The Scotch tape on the corners was yellowed and cracked, and money and game pieces were scattered in the box, but the game brings back memories.

            As kids, we loved playing "Monopoly," but over the years, we amended the Parker Brothers rules and played by the Hebert rules.

            First, a $500 bill goes in the middle and all fines go in the middle. The first person to land on Free Parking gets all the money. Anybody who rolled "snake eyes" – two 1's on the die – got $500.

            By the book? Nope. But it sure was fun.

            In Scrabble, players could switch out tiles if the word still made sense. That way, we could use the high-ranking letters like "J" and "Z" more than once. Best of all, we could brag we racked up over 300 in Scrabble, conveniently leaving out that lagniappe Hebert rule.

            We played board games for years, mostly on Sunday afternoons where we'd all settle around the kitchen table and decide we could play a friendly game to pass the time.

            We were lying.

            When Heberts play board games, we play for blood.

            "Jeopardy" was our favorite because we all thought we knew more than anybody else in the room. Since we broke the plastic clickers the first time we played – repeated, heavy clicking will not ensure you are heard – every player had to find something to bang on the table to indicate they were ready to answer.

            That worked fine until my brother-in-law – as competitive as the rest of us – dragged in something that weighed five pounds and we all screamed foul.

            Usually it was the guys against the girls, but mostly it was who didn't want Dad on their team. He was a compulsive but fun cheater and would always try to con his way out of a wrong answer.

            Partial answers were dismissed as wrong by the opposing team; and no matter who won the argument, the loser would mutter that only people who didn't have a life would know the answer to the question.

            We also knew each others' strengths and weaknesses. My mother knew movie trivia as if she'd written every word about Hollywood glamour. My father remembered everything about the 1950s and 1960s.  My brothers were good at science, my sisters at literature and my brother Jeff at everything.

            Most of our Jeopardy games were evenly matched until we got to the Final Jeopardy question and each team had to decide how much to wager on the final question.

            We girls were conservative and would only bet half of our winnings. The guys, my maverick dad overriding everyone else's objections on his team, always bet the whole pile of money and yelled out an answer before they could discuss the question.

            When they got it wrong – which was most of the time – no amount of protest on their side would get us to let them give a second, group answer.  We'd walk away, high fiving each other, leaving the boys to pick up and vow revenge the next week.

            As I put all the faded Monopoly money back in the right holders, I thought about those Sunday afternoons. Before I grew too nostalgic, though, I remembered my sister's favorite trick at the end of a Monopoly game after she'd win.  

            She'd pick up the game board by both ends and flip all the money, hotels and playing pieces into the air proclaiming "Loser picks up."  

            Gotta love those Hebert rules.

 This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.