The only winning move is not to play
- Jul 7
- 3 min read
Loyal Scaiaholics will recall I am a member of the world's brain trust. As such, the greatest minds on the planet met in Fort Worth last week to solve the world's most pressing issues and also gain a greater understanding of the history that led us this far.
Mensa's Annual Gathering, or "AG," if you will, was last held in Fort Worth in 2013. You may also recall that's when I learned I'm not often insubordinate; I'm simply not being challenged.
Earlier this year, I was invited to speak at our Regional Gathering, or "RG," if you will. We don't waste time writing out full words (some of us do, however, use that extra time to explain exactly why we don't write out full words. Even if no one asked). At the RG, I talked about how a Mensan works in the news (short answer: we do so while being insubordinate to our editors).
At the AG, Mensans from around the world gather to put our minds to work. We did learn about the history of toilet paper; we also sang patriotic songs since it was Fourth of July weekend.
Then, of course, we celebrated the variety of parts of speech that make America and the English language such a unique place to express one's own views.
Since I've taken a strong stand that politics is a racket, I decided to sit in on a UCLA professor's presentation, "A Case against Political Parties." He concurs, just in a more scholarly way.
He talked about how people exaggerate the differences between the two major parties. In 1960, five percent of people said they'd be upset if their kid married someone from another party. In 2025, that number had grown to 60%.
Increasingly, he said people will support or oppose a policy not based on its own merit but based on the person who proposed it.
His presentation was informative and focused on the differences among different types of voters. But afterward, I needed another singalong.
Undeterred to find the music portion had ended, I wandered into "Game Theory: Strategy, Chaos, and a Chance to Win $80."
There, our host broke us into teams. We were each declared nuclear powers and had the ability to either broker peace, disarm or launch our missiles. We declared a leader and an assistant who would negotiate with the other countries and come back with a plan.
As a trusted media personality, I became our Wesley Crusher and huddled with the other teams. The goal was to score the most points, so we were given scenarios based on how many of us chose peace, war or disarmament.
You might be able to see in that picture if we all chose peace, we'd score some points; if we all chose war, we'd all lose points... but if some of us chose war, we'd score more points than anyone who chose peace.
At the end of each negotiation, we'd return to our teams and could either decide to be honest and follow through with what each country's Wesley Crusher had decided, or we could double-cross the other countries.
Our leaders would stand up and raise a fist for war or a peace sign.
"What's the sign for disarmament?" someone asked.
"It's never come up before," the host replied.
No one ever agreed on peace. We'd agree on peace in the negotiation and then at least some of us would blow everyone else up at decision time.
Plus, the leader of each country could either choose what we agreed on within our own group or do his own thing when it was time to stand up.
Our gamesmith explained that was the hook of this contest and can give background for international relations: Teams will betray other teams. But every leader followed through on what their country decided, so members of teams would not betray each other.
I needed to unwind again. Tragically, the singalong had ended. Undeterred, I found a joke-telling contest. Norm MacDonald's moth joke had always been a favorite, but I thought it might be too obscure. Unsure, I took the microphone.
But the exhausted groaning could be heard even outside the ballroom, and as I went back to my seat, a lady stopped me and said Norm MacDonald was great. I was wrong to think our corps of geniuses might not appreciate his work.
Plus, the Global Thermonuclear War Hall figured out we'd never all choose peace after just three rounds, so it was better just not to start a war in the first place. Dabney Coleman's supercomputer needed hundreds of simulations to reach that conclusion.
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