The True Saga of the Heinzerling Family Game

Spoons is a nice game. It’s a card game that is won by the first player to acquire four of a kind. It can be a very helpful tool for teaching little ones to recognize cards by number and by image. Spoons also helps children build their hand-eye coordination.

Four cards are dealt to each player. The dealer then picks up one card at a time from the remainder of the deck. If the dealer wants to keep the card, she puts it in her hand and discards one of the others, as no player may have more than four cards in their hand at a time. The discard goes to the next player to the left. Adults may want to help the younger ones sort through the cards. It is best to keep play slow so that everyone has a chance to win.

There are spoons in the center of the table, one fewer than there are players. When a  player collects a foursome, she picks up a spoon. The other players do so as soon as possible. Again, everyone should get a chance. The player who does not grasp a spoon quickly enough gets a point. When a player acquires three points, she is eliminated from the game. Elimination continues until only one player is left. She is the winner.

The game I have just described bears very little resemblance to the Heinzerling Family Game.

Full - Contact Spoons

Seven players are sitting around the rectangular kitchen table. There is an open door at each end of the table, one to the living room, the other down four steps to the entry. One side of the table is next to the windows, and those players are warned to be careful so that no one requires stitches by the end of the game. The other side has about eight feet of open space to the kitchen oven, but it is not considered foul territory. There is no such thing in this game.

The players’ eyes are bright with anticipation, flexing fingers, stretching muscles, breathing deep, rotating shoulders. Trash talk thickens the air, with howls of laughter thrown in. The matriarch has a place of honor on the side of the table, where she benignly observes the outrageous behavior of the younger generation.

Peg shuffles the cards, snapping them sharply together. She is perhaps the ultimate competitor, playing whatever games available, and always to win. She is not a good loser, mumbling and grumbling on the rare occasions when she loses. She is sharp and sly, her quick hands darting out like a snake-handler's.

 Dillon’s face is red, as he stands on the balls of his feet, looking like he’s ready to step into the ring with Muhammed Ali. He makes wildly exhorbitant claims about how total and complete his victory is going to be, humiliating any of us foolish enough to think we have any chance against him.

Shelley and Tammy are trying to get a word in edgewise, as Terry tries to outshout Dillon. Jill is working on explaining herself. Deb, frequent champ, laughs at the sheer fun of it all.

The atmosphere is heated, the air electric, anticipation thickens. The cards are dealt. The passing begins. Players on the left end are shouting at the ones ahead to hurry up so that they get a card. The spoons tremble in the middle of the table. Cards fly. Players grab a card, give it the quickest glance, slap it back down on the table to their left, and reach for the next one. The pace is furious. The mouths never shut.

“Wait! No! I want that one back!”
“Too bad. I’ve got it.”
"I'm never giving you this one!"
"C'mon, I'm waiting. Move those cards!"

Suddenly there is a rattle of spoons. The matriarch, Peg, has eased a spoon noiselessly off the table, and now other players have noticed. There is a mad grab for spoons! Shouts, yelling. Arms shoot out to the center for a spoon. Two players grab the same one and jerk violently. Deb comes away with it, while Shelley shouts, “Ow! That one was mine!”

The first hand is over and all have survived. There are no injuries - so far, but the game is young. Shelley has one loss. Two more and she is out. The playing continues.

A hand is dealt, the cards are making their light-speed journey around the table. The players have not tired, their mouths have not closed, their laughter has not ceased. Eyes dart from card to card, to the spoons to make sure no one has grabbed one, back to the cards. Trash talk is thicker than ever, with players impugning one another’s eyesight, reflexes, IQ, focus, and ability to maintain concentration for more than seven consecutive seconds. Play frequently resembles a rugby scrum, and bandaids are sometimes called for. But there are no trainers. The players have to simply gut it out. The penalties for undue celebration are non-existent, and wins are opportunities for raucus grandstanding.

Terry’s heavy lidded eyes seem drowsy, but he gazes around the room with the snake eyes of a Deadwood gunslinger, keeping track of everyone and every card.

Spoons are flying! Someone has gotten four of a kind! In their fevered grab for spoons, a player hit one of them on the bowl, sending it airborne. It flies overhead past the end of the table, and clatters down the stairs to the floor of the entryway next to the door outside.

There is no hesitation on the part of the two players who don’t have a spoon. There is a spoon and one of them is going to get it. Dillon and Tammy clamber over other players in their way and scramble down the four stairs side by side. Their pushing and shoving should have merited a forest of yellow flags, but no referees dared to take on this game. Dillon emerges from the tangle holding the spoon aloft like a diver who had just come up with a massive pearl. He shouts triumphantly, "I got it!!", while Tammy complains. “That spoon was mine! I had it! He cheated!”

There is no mercy here. No quarter asked, none given. The game continues. As the competition intensifies, the tension rises. Miraculously the table continues to hold up, even when bodies are flung across it reaching for a spoon.

The cards are dealt and play resumes for yet another hand. The players have become a little quieter. It seems they cannot continue their manic behavior indefinitely. Still, if anything, the playing has become even faster. The cards are flying at light speed, barely slowed as they pass through the hands of each player.

Suddenly chaos ensues. Peg has grabbed a spoon! Hands are flying again, and so are spoons. One goes flipping into the air.

Time seems to stand still. The spoon moves like the bone at the beginning of “2001, a Space Odyssey.” It turns slowly end over end, the light from the ceiling of the kitchen glinting off it’s stainless steel body.

All eyes follow. Only two are left to fight for this spoon, as everyone else has one. Finally the spoon hits its apex, and turns to descend. As it falls it passes black hair, eyebrows raised almost to her hairline, brown eyes stretched wide with fright. Yet, Peg’s fear has not reached it’s apogee yet. Her hands fly up like a B movie bank robber had just hollered, “This is a stickup!” 


Her terror is because the spoon is descending directly toward the cleavage her tank top reveals. It’s a perfect hit! The spoon stands securely, handle up. 

Time speeds up to real time, but still, there is a moment’s hesitation. This is, after all, Peg, the matriarch. But the hesitation lasts only a nanosecond. This is, after all, Full-Contact Spoons. Tammy reaches over and triumphantly snatches the spoon, and victory, from the jaws of defeat - or - the cleavage of Mom.
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The above, my friends, is the True Saga of the Heinzerling Family Game - Full Contact Spoons. Every incident described herein did truly happen, though perhaps not all in the same game, or with those particular players. Many people have played Spoons, but not like us, The Heinzerlings.