“Alea iacta est” – The die is cast.
Julius Caesar supposedly said it while crossing the Rubicon. Babacim never said it loud, but I am convinced he thought it every single time he flicked the dice onto the backgammon board.
Every summer of my childhood was spent in Degirmenalti, a small district of Tekirdag, near Istanbul. The air smelled of the Marmara Sea – a mix of salt, seaweed, and grilled fish – and the soundtrack of my summer holidays was the click-clack of backgammon checkers.
Babacim had a close circle of friends, but there was one in particular with whom he could play ad infinitum – morning until dusk without a flicker of boredom. Sometimes they played on the small balcony of our tiny summer house, with a breeze coming in and the gulls gossiping overhead. Other times they played at his friend`s apartment terrace – one so close to the water it felt like the deck of a boat anchored right in the sea.
They never used cups for the dice. Instead, with a casual flick of the wrist, they`d send them bouncing straight onto the wooden board. That clatter was music – part percussion, part suspense. The games were a mix of quiet calculation, bursts of laughter, mock outrage, and occasional accusations of “creative” counting. I sat nearby, pretending to be invisible, absorbing it all like an apprentice in a secret order.
Backgammon wasn`t just a pastime – it was our summer religion.
Only years later did I learn that Babacim and his friend were the latest chapter in a saga stretching back nearly 5000 years. Born in Mesopotamia, adopted by Persians (nard, if you want to be historically precise), reinvented by Romans (tabula), and celebrated in Ottoman coffeehouses – backgammon has been everywhere.
It has outlived empires, survived wars, and been the setting for everything from high-stakes gambling to low-stakes bragging. It`s the kind of game where a quid pro quo move – you trap me now, I`ll trap you later – can feel more satisfying than outright victory.
And somehow, all of the history washed up in Degirmenalti, right onto our balcony table.
I learned the game by stealth. No rulebook. No formal lessons. Just hours of watching, memorizing, and trying to guess the next move. Eventually, I dared to ask Babacim if I could play with him.
“Are you ready to lose?” he asked, smiling in a way that told me he already knew the answer. Ten minutes later, I had been crushed. My checkers were scattered across the board like survivors of a shipwreck. But instead of sulking, I wanted more. I had seen the trick, little feints, the risky plays – and I wanted to try them myself.
How the Game Works (And How to Survive It)
There are 24 points, two players, 15 checkers each.
Roll two dice; each number is a separate move. Doubles? That`s the universe giving you a high-five – you play the numbers twice. The goal is to bring all your checkers home and “bear off” before your opponent.
The Drama:
Land on a point with one enemy checker, and you can hit it – sending it to the bar, where it must re-enter before anything else moves.
Babacim`s Unofficial Rules:
- Never leave a checker alone unless you want to regret it.
- A wall of six points in a row is the “no entry” sign of champions.
- When you roll the perfect number, place the checker down slowly so your opponent suffers longer.
- look bored when losing – it messes with their head.
Over time, I became dangerous. I learned “closing the door” – trapping an opponent`s checker so it couldn`t re-enter. I practiced the bait – and – switch: leaving one checker exposed to tempt a hit, only to retaliate harder.
My crowning moment came years later. Babacim was one move from victory, I was doomed … until I hit his lone checker, built a wall, and raced my way home. He looked at me, raised an eyebrow, and said:
“Alright. Now you can play”
That`s the backgammon equivalent of a knighthood 🙂
In my early years in Istanbul, I played with friends – games full of laughter, bargaining, and enough competitive spirit to fuel a small war. (The loser had to iron my clothes.) Then many years later, I had the pleasure of teaching both of you.
The moment I play with either of you is the moment my present shakes hands with my past, with Babacim. That`s the real magic of backgammon – a game that connects generations without changing the rules.
Every time the dice rattle across the board without a cup, I hear Degirmenalti’s summers, I see Babacim`s half-smile, and I feel like the story hasn`t ended – it`s just switched players.
Lessons to my kids:
- Protect what matters – don`t leave it exposed without a plan.
- Luck helps, but strategy wins – the dice decide the numbers, you decide what to do with them.
- Comebacks are always possible – one roll can change everything.
- Face-to-face beats screen-to-screen – a real connection helps across the board.
- Risk smartly- sometimes the bold move is the right one.
Note for my 80-plus-year-old self:
- Keep rolling – as long as the dice are moving, you`re still in the game.
- Don`t rush – the best moves come after a pause.
- Celebrate small wins – a clever play can be sweeter than victory.
- Pass it on – teaching is a form of immortality.
- Always play without a cup – because some traditions are perfect as they are.
When my hands are slower and my eyes are dimmer, I hope the clatter of the dice still feels like Degirmenalti in summer – warm air, good company, and a board between friends and family that holds more than just a game.
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