What I learned about humanity from playing Snake

A few months ago my son made me download the game Snake onto my iPhone. I knew it would be a bad idea and that’s why, until then, I’d resisted.

“I won’t get anything done,” I’d said in protest. “I’ll just end up playing Snake all day.”But that was only part of the reason for my reluctance. Unlike him (he’s 9) I have already played Snake through its many incarnations and it’s not novel to me anymore. And most importantly, I know what effect games like this have on me.

For anyone who doesn’t know about Snake by the way, you control a snake on a big square board. To grow in size, you have to eat food (and other snakes). If you hit the walls or other players, you become snake food yourself. If other players hit you, they become snake food. The aim is to survive and become as big a snake as possible.

“Just do it,” my son had said, rolling his eyes. “I want to see if we can get onto the same leaderboard.” So in the end I gave in and just did it.

Annoyingly it quickly turned out that there were far too many servers for us to have any hope of playing on the same game at the same time. Disappointed but accepting, my son turned back to his own game and I watched him play (using his dad’s old phone) for a while instead. And that was an education all in itself.

For one, the child is lethal – and he has absolutely no mercy. He targets the biggest snake on the board, rolls up casually alongside it as if they’re buddies off on a fun little day trip together, then before anyone can blink he swoops in front of it at double-quick speed – and that’s that. Game over, big snake. I (and presumably the player behind the ex-snake) would still be reeling from the sheer nerve of that move while my son’s already zipping off to find the next biggest snake to do the same thing all over again. Then, when he himself inevitably becomes a giant, he merrily encircles people, shrinking the circle bit by bit until the trapped snake has no more space, and loses.

For me, being a parent means I spend a lot of time wondering whether or not I should be trying to be responsible and/or teach my kid something meaningful, and never being quite sure. So I said something like, “Ooh, that’s a bit– are you sure– umm?”

To which my son replied, “Chill, mum. It’s just a game.”

He was right of course. It was just a game. Relieved that I didn’t have to be responsible or teach him anything meaningful about Snake, I decided that if he could be a ruthless leaderboard-dominating player, then so could I. And soon, very soon, the snake body-count was stacking up.

Take THAT, Julia. I’m coming for you next, CatLover123! Hahahah.

However, as I was playing I started to notice something interesting. When I encircled a snake the way my son did, totally trapping it, some would give up right away and pitch into my side – but many, many more did the exact opposite. They tightened into a stubborn coil – hunkering down, I realised, to wait me out. It became a kind of psychological stand off of who would break first. And, to my surprise, it was often me. Often I would slip up in my increasingly risky efforts to turn them into snake food, or get distracted and do something stupid, meaning I died first – and they went free.

Come on, Smaug, just give up or I’ll have to put the washing out while I plaARGH!

But then I discovered something even more fascinating. If I encircled other players most of the way, but still left just a tiny gap, most would go for the escape no matter how risky, grasping at a glimmer of hope. And inevitably, they would mess it up.

Got you, Player432. Hahahahaha!

“You’re playing that game a lot,” my son said, giving me a disapproving look.

I began experimenting even more. I tried zigzagging across the board, creating wide openings with my snake body that narrowed sharply into a dead end. Other snakes just couldn’t seem to resist. They would be drawn in to investigate, only to get into trouble when the space narrowed, wiggling frantically to get out – only by then it was too late, and wiggling only made it worse. They became more of my snake victims.

I’d lay similar traps with the sides. I’d edge closer and closer to the wall, sometimes leaving a tiny gap at the end, sometimes leaving no space at all. Snakes would immediately come along to investigate, not be able to turn around, and get stuck.

Oh, Pinkparrot, you are so predictable. That’s it, just a little bit further…

Playing Snake when I was in a bad mood made me particularly brutal. I could zoom up to the number one spot in a matter of minutes and from there see just how gigantic I could get. Once, when I’d had a particularly bad day I (a behemoth of a snake by then) decided I would try encircling the entire board, crushing ever last opponent on it.

I AM GOING TO DESTROY YOU ALL. MWAHAHAHAHAAA!

“Stop playing Snake,” my son said to me one day. “I want to show you something funny.”

“I- but- umm?” I gestured to my game. I was an absolute monster, at least ten times the size of any other player, teetering on the brink of my best score ever.

“Go on, just quit it,” he’d said, grinning. “This is really, really funny.”

Well. How could I not? And just like that, my reign of terror on Snake was over.

But what had the experience taught me about humanity? Well, firstly I learned (again) that I probably shouldn’t play that game. But I guess also that people are notoriously over-optimistic about their survival chances in any given situation, and this clearly translates onto Snake. Give us humans a little hope and we get surprisingly reckless. But give us no hope at all and we stubbornly cling on anyway – and often win out because of it. Plus, we humans get ourselves into trouble with our curiosity A LOT, often in really quite predictable ways. Sometimes you can read a book and think, would a real person seriously keep going like that in the face of certain defeat? Or, would someone really walk right into that obvious trap without thinking it through?

Well if Snake is anything to go by, yes, yes they would. I’m reminded of those two explorers who got stranded somewhere in the arctic and survived for over a year by basically cuddling in a snow drift. Or when in Alien, Ripley tells the crew they really should be following quarantine protocol before letting Kane on board with an unknown alien life form attached to his face, and they say, “Pah! We don’t need to follow protocol. Look at him, he’s fine.” (Or something to that effect anyway).

On the evening I quit Snake so that I could watch something funny with my son instead – and a much better option that was too – I told him to hang on one second while I plummeted my snake into the wall, sacrificing myself and thus abandoning my potential new high score (and all my remaining emotional investment in the game along with it).

“Wait,” he said. “Don’t go into the wall.”

I glanced at him, confused. Had he changed his mind?

But he just smiled. “That would be a waste,” he said. “Give the win to one of the little snakes, instead.”

In other news:

I haven’t heard anything back yet about the manuscript for the children’s book that I sent off recently, so I’ve been distracting myself by trying to write a sci-fi for adults. I’ve started this book a few times now and keep getting stuck on it, but after some rethinking of the backstory/plot I think I’m ready to try again. Or will be, when I get the opportunity (life’s a bit chaotic right now – my son is having school struggles and extended family members are having health crises, and it’s a bit all-consuming).

Totally separate from that, I've just started an Etsy shop! I’ve wanted to do it for ages to give me something else to focus on: another creative outlet that doesn’t feel too pressured. It’s called 7 Magpies Boutique and I’m selling lots of handmade, nature-inspired glass jewellery that I’ve made in my kiln – you can find it here. I’ve already sold out of a few bits and need to make some more. Later this month I’ll also be taking part in the Sponsored Write for Macmillan Cancer Support – you can find out more about that and also donate if you want to here.

Until next time.