The Game of Horse Chestnuts - Dr. Ed Iannuccilli

The Game of Horse Chestnuts - Dr. Ed Iannuccilli

The horse chestnut competition was another rite of autumn. The temples to those wars were on the sidewalk in front of Abe’s Variety, on every corner, and in every schoolyard. It started with the horse chestnut and a knotted shoelace.

Finding the tree that bore the right chestnut was a challenge. Those trees always seemed to be in the yard of a selfish landlady who hated kids. So what was the issue? They weren’t edible like the ones grandma roasted on the stove.

“Whatta you kids doin’ here in my yard?” she blurted, appearing like magic from the corner of the house.

GET THE LATEST BREAKING NEWS HERE -- SIGN UP FOR GOLOCAL FREE DAILY EBLAST

“Uhh, can we have a few chestnuts? The ones already on the ground?”

“Get offa. I calla the polizia!” was an oft-heard reply. We returned at dusk, sneaked into the yard, waddled among and stepped gently on, the prickly casings to liberate the shiny, maroon firm fruit, savory not to taste but to battle.

Readying chestnuts for combat took skill. They had to dry out for a few days to harden. Over the gas flame, I heated a pick like the one the iceman used to chop his block, until it glowed. I then bore that poker through the nut, its steam releasing the fall-like, earthy, nutty, sweet smell of burning chestnuts. And then I threaded the shoelace, being sure to knot it twice once it had negotiated its path.

It was in 1848 that the game conkers, horse chestnuts, was first played on the Isle of Wight.  Lo, these many years later, our games were on.  In front of a small group of kids, two players faced off, each readying their own carefully selected chestnuts. The idea was to strike the opponent's chestnut held hanging motionless, hopefully, on its own shoelace, and high enough for the striker to make a decent hit. The skill to hit the opponent’s chestnut in its most vulnerable place and smash it to smithereens came with practice. One had to be wary that the holder did not wave or jiggle his chestnut at the time of the strike.

The striker had twice wrapped his shoelace around his finger, reared his arm, and slid his weapon through the air to hit the dangler; trying to break his chestnut off the lace. After three tries, it was the other guy's turn. And on it went to the destruction of a chestnut or a draw because the school bell rang.

To win the game, it was important to have the hardest chestnut. If you won, you then had a kinger, and kingers were additive.  For example:  If you had a ten kinger and your opponent an eleven kinger, your win got you a twenty-two kinger . . eleven plus ten plus the win. Those who had high kingers guarded them and were reluctant to play without a sure win.

A cheater might steep his chestnut in vinegar or paint it with nail varnish to harden it. But we were smart enough to detect the scurrilous shark.

Ah, chestnuts. A game of life