Hi there. This is Sherlock Holmes, a high-functioning sociopath who’s coincidentally labeled as the greatest detective of all time (Fuck Poirot), and I want to announce that I am absolutely shit at the board game Clue.
Who would’ve thought that a person of my caliber would be so poor in a game where the objective is to apprehend the murderer? It sounds like the height of irony, right?
Perhaps the common eye would think that such an astounding fact is a ruse. But I’ve truly never won. Over the years, I’ve studied countless tactics but as soon as the game starts, I completely forget that my brain is supposedly a genius like Babbage’s calculating machine and start fumbling my guesses. It’s a pretty confusing game..
Solving a murder that seems to be committed by supernatural hounds? Done. Demeaning the police by proving that the suicide was actually a murder by a left-handed limping man? Walk in the park. Engaging with Moriarty in a battle of wits until one of us dies? Super fun and easy. But finding which room Mr. Black was murdered in and rolling the correct number to reach that room? It’s inconceivable to me.
There used to be a time when I and Watson used to play chess and I would completely bamboozle him. Ahh! I still have memories of leaving my queen out undefended, then watching him fall for my trap and taking the queen, because the very next move would lead to a forced checkmate in 4. Oh, the glory and satisfaction of a sweet victory in chess.
But ever since he found out about my inadequate skills in Clue, it’s the only game he wants to play. Every day, after we come home from a grueling day of deducing the methodology of a new murderer on one case and tracking down a blackmailer on another, Watson calls the boys from the Baker Street Irregulars and starts the game. And every evening is the same result, I lose and someone else wins.
In my defense, just because I’ve singlehandedly closed half of Scotland Yard’s murder files, does not make me a specialist in choosing whether Reverend Green committed the murder with a dagger or a rope.
Despite my best efforts, I can never understand why someone would choose to kill Mr. Black with a candlestick when there are weapons like daggers or revolvers at their disposal. Furthermore, it makes no sense that someone would kill their victim in the lounge or the library. In a house full of guests, it would only take a moment before someone sees you dragging the body and before you know it, you’re getting locked up in prison for a lifetime.
It is also the expressions of the characters that deceive me. Colonel Mustard is always looking away with reminiscence in his eyes, indicating maybe he regrets what he just did. Mr. Plum is trying to act smart, but maybe it’s all just a façade. My sense of psychosis, which I put a lot of pride in, gets betrayed and hence my deductions start going awry.
Look, I’m not saying that the game is flawed or anything. But why won’t you just let me take a look at the body or give us a sort of autopsy? I will literally solve the murder in seconds and tell Watson who the real “noob” is.
Or perhaps this is just the arrogance inside my mind trying to convince me that I’m still the best detective ever (Again, Fuck Poirot). Maybe Sherlock Holmes really has lost his touch.
But I promise you, one day I’ll master the game.
That being said, anyone who wants to have a go at Monopoly with me, get ready to be absolutely devoured.
