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Subject: Board Game Geek - The Stage Play rss

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Bruce Sturrock
United Kingdom
West Yorkshire
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Join us for a night with the geeks as their regular Saturday night strategic boardgaming fun turns into something more sinister. Is the game real...or surreal? And who invited the girls anyway? And has anyone seen a fat miserable cat on the way to the theatre? Answers to the name of Morrrissey. Confused? You will be...but you'll also be highly entertained at Stampede's next production.....

'Games Night'
*A new play by Tim & Bruce Sturrock*
'The Geek Shall Inherit The Earth'

A must see for all Board Game Geeks in the UK/Yorkshire area. Come and enjoy the world premier of the first stage play to be inspired by our favourite hobby.

'...this is the age of the geek. We will inherit the Earth. I worked it out. In the year 2023 the general malaise of evolution will create disintegration in social order that will be solved by an online community that has thrived for years…it exists now…it’s called ‘Board Game Geek’ and you my friends are part of it, we are united in geekdom.'

To be staged 'cabaret style' so you can drink whilst enjoying the show. Performed by 6 proffesional and semi-professional actors. A 'sit-com' style play where the situation is the board game and the comedy is in recognising yourselves and other members of your own game groups. Stampede is an award winning theatre company based in North West Leeds. Directed and co-written by a member of the board game geek community fresh from his award winning production of 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest'

September 21st-23rd 2006 7:30pm - Yeadon Town Hall
Tickets £10.00
or book a table for 10 for £90.00

Please support this non-profit making venture if you can!

I hope to be able to answer any questions and offer updates on the show as we progress through rehearsals.

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Yehuda Berlinger
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Sounds great. Please video tape the event and post.

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Dave Riedy
United States
Glen Ridge
New Jersey
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Can't make it but, as a playwright meself, would love to read the script.
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Dustin Martin
United States
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This above all: To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
And as a director, I'd also like to read the script if possible.

Hope your rehearsal process goes well!
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Bruce Sturrock
United Kingdom
West Yorkshire
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Thanks for the initial early interest.

I've an idea that as a contempory piece of theatre it may be of interest to other theatre companies and individuals. Once we've produced and performed it, we don't want it to 'die'. It has been sent for reading at one of our local proffesional theatres and we may consider our options for eventually taking it to the Edinburgh Festival.

This of course all costs money and that money comes from getting a good audience to see good shows.

Posting a video? We do intend to film the show, but getting a full 2 hour video onto the geek or anywhere else is something that I've not considered or have the knowledge to accomplish...yet. I'm more artistic than technical!

Copies of the script? That's a possibility - I have to be careful here as it's my brothers work as well as mine. For now, I'll post an installment and see what sort of response it gets...

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Bruce Sturrock
United Kingdom
West Yorkshire
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Games Night
A Stageplay by Tim & Bruce Sturrock©


Bruce Sturrock
261 Leeds Road
Bradford BD10 9SB
Draft 6.2

Cast of Characters

RAZOR: 30 something, lucky, smart and bullish. Feels he is a natural winner.
SMITH: 30 something, unlucky, confused and complicated. Feels like a natural loser.
GOFF: 30 something, laidback, stoned and ambivalent. Feels…not much at all really.
TRENT: 30 something, condescending, intelligent, geeky. Feels the geek will inherit.
KIM: Goff’s sister, resilient and attractive.
SALLY: Her friend. ‘Unusually’ pretty.

The play takes place over a single night in the batchelor pad that is Smith’s flat – dominated by a single sofa, a couple of easy chairs and a large coffee table.


(Dramatic music, possibly Wagner. Single light picks out RAZOR who is standing behind a table with a knife on it. He has a resolute look on his face as he ties a bandanna around his head.)
RAZOR: To me and my cause all flesh is harvest. Cities will burn and I will make widows of the womenfolk. Before this night is through my hands will be drenched with the blood of the slain. The smoke of battle fills my lungs, the craving for slaughter overwhelms me. I am Skafloc, the executioner warlord, the bringer of death. The cries of my victims shall be sweet music to my ears. I relish the taste of cold steel between my teeth. (Puts knife between his teeth and immediately takes it out again. Puts finger to his lip.) Oooh! Nicked meself.

(SMITH is revealed in a second light.)

SMITH: My warrior brethren are ready for carnage. The lust for combat is upon us. This night the bodies of our enemies shall lie carpeted upon the ground, we shall paint our faces with their blood and their innards shall adorn our bodies.

(GOFF and TRENT are revealed in a third light looking less than enthusiastic.)
GOFF: (Winces.) Steady on! That’s a bit strong.

SMITH: We stand quartered with the trappings of war, my comrade Lord Goltan guards the legendary Lash of Lothian, one crack of which breaks the skies asunder and flays the skin from our mortal foes.

(Goff holds up a cat charmer.)

RAZOR: What the hell’s that?

GOFF: You said to bring a whip.

RAZOR: (Grabs it.) This isn’t a whip! How’s this going to scare the barbarian hordes of Jutland?

GOFF: Careful with it! It’s me mam’s.

TRENT: You living back at your mam’s now, Goff? How is she coping?

GOFF: Yeah. She’s all right. Better food there anyway. She cooked me cottage pie last night.

SMITH: Goff. You are the mighty Lord Goltan, merciless Celtic warrior. The mention of your name freezes the blood and paralyses the mind with terror. You do not eat cottage pie. You eat the entrails of your adversaries.

TRENT: Do we have to do the role-play before we start every game, Smith? It’s a little childish.

SMITH: Silence dog and prepare for battle. You are the ordained carrier of the Ragnarok Stone which when unleashed shall see night fall upon the age of man. Raise the Stone and bring the apocalypse!

(Trent takes out a ping-pong ball.)
RAZOR: What’s that?

TRENT: It’s a ping pong ball.

RAZOR: A fucking ping-pong ball!

TRENT: I hate to break this to you but I don’t actually carry the Stone of Ultimate Destruction around with me. And I would guess that Goff doesn’t have an assortment of whips at home.

GOFF: I don’t think me mam would approve.

RAZOR: It should at least look a bit intimidating! (Grabs the ball and throws it.) What’s the point in doing this if you’re not going to make an effort?

GOFF: Have we got any Jaffa Cakes?

SMITH: I grow weary of this talk. Victory awaits or eternal honour in the halls of the dead. Let our weapons speak for us and go to battle!

(Lights go up on the room. It is littered with empty lager cans, crisps strewn across the floor, overflowing ashtrays and a plate of ‘Wotsits’ on the sofa, with Smith and Trent sitting sprawled on either side of it. Razor is sitting in an easy chair opposite them. A table is in between the chair and the sofa, piled with games and more beer cans. Goff emerges from the kitchen carrying a tray full of hastily cobbled-together food items. Music starts. Possibly The Rezillos – ‘Somebody’s Gonna get Their Head Kicked in Tonight’. All four dance about the room, practicing combat moves, bounce off the walls and on the furniture. Razor mimes to the lyrics and the others mime the chorus. In the midst of this Goff goes to the kitchen and returns as Smith turns off the music.)
GOFF: Munchies, snackettes and gob-fodder. Stuff I discovered in the darkest recesses of the fridge. I found some cheese but it tastes like ectoplasm.

SMITH: That’s probably congealed yoghurt.

GOFF: (Putting the tray on the table.) Your Wotsits are well past their best before date.

SMITH: That’s more true than you will ever know.

GOFF: (Sitting on the floor.) Oh, and that pate tastes a bit rank.

SMITH: Pate?

GOFF: Yeah, in the back of your fridge.

SMITH: Brown meat in a plastic tubing?

GOFF: Yeah.

SMITH: Dog food.

GOFF: What? I’ve been chowing down on Kennomeat? Just a minute, you haven’t got a dog.

SMITH: Well, the meat was on special offer. Five for a pound.

RAZOR: So now you eagerly await the day when dogs are on special offer.

GOFF: Did you read in the newspaper about the local guy who was taking his dog out for a walk near the woods last week when a storm started? Got hit by lightning. Turned his hair white.

SMITH: Jesus! Is he OK?

GOFF: Yes, but the dog’s feeling a bit ‘ruff’. (Does invisible drum roll.) Bom bom tish!

(Razor stares at him)

RAZOR: Do you realise the noise that my arse makes when I pass wind sounds more intellectual than ninety per cent of your conversation, Goff?

SMITH: Lighten up Razor, this is games night. We’re here to engage in the spirit of friendly competition, not to intellectualise.

RAZOR: I loathe and detest you people with an intensity that keeps me warm through the long winter evenings.

SMITH: Why do you keep coming back here week after week then?

RAZOR: It’s my destiny Smith. My generosity knows no bounds. I have to act as a mentor to you hapless imbeciles. You need the guidance of someone who knows how to cheat fate and manipulate the mystical forces that make me a winner and you three, sadly, losers. I have to follow my song lines, like the aborigines do. Unfortunately for me they always lead here.

TRENT: Talking about songs –

GOFF: Were we? What did I miss?

TRENT: Song lines - that song by Busted, I’ve been trying to rationalise it for years.

SMITH: You’re confused by a Busted song?

TRENT: Yes, it’s the lyrics. They say that they’ve been to the year 3000. Fair enough, that could be an idle yet harmless boast. But then: “…your great-great-great granddaughter is pretty fine.” (Looks at them and shrugs.)
SMITH: Yeah…so?

TRENT: Well, don’t you see? That’s only five generations in a period of just under a thousand years. It just doesn’t scan out. How do they expect people to believe them? And even if it were true, by my reckoning she’d be about 120 at least. She’d hardly be looking “pretty fine”.

SMITH: Perhaps death was eliminated in the year 2497 and they discovered the elixir of eternal life.

GOFF: (Confused.) Who, Busted?

SMITH: No, don’t be ridiculous. Busted won’t be around in 2497.

RAZOR: They’re not around NOW!

SMITH: I mean as individuals. None of them will live that long.

GOFF: They will if they discover the elixir of eternal life.

TRENT: But that still doesn’t explain how they can live underwater. And why they would want to.

(Razor has been slowly putting his head in his hands during this conversation.)
SMITH: Maybe global warming has affected the atmos-

RAZOR: (Shouting.) Oh sweet Jesus. Just kill me now, in the name of almighty…

(Silence for a few seconds.)

SMITH: I once talked to a girl who used to go out with the drummer from Busted.

RAZOR: And here’s me all the time thinking that you were a complete non-entity.

SMITH: I once talked to a different girl who said that she was the illegitimate love-child of Sir Paul McCartney. She had the same big round eyes that he has when he sings. You know…the way a cow looks as it’s just about to be slaughtered.

RAZOR: What would you know about a cow being slaughtered?

SMITH: (Shrugs.) It was Open Day at the abattoir last week… and there was nothing on at the cinema.

(Razor and Smith look at each other.)

RAZOR: That’s a joke, right? Because sometimes I can’t tell when you’re serious and when you’re playing games.

GOFF: I once talked to a girl…

(Beat. Everyone looks at Goff.)

RAZOR: (Impatiently.) Look, did we come here to talk pointless drivel or to play games? Who’s for a game of ‘Global Bitchmonger’?

SMITH: What are the rules?

RAZOR: There are two sets of cards, weapon cards and oil cards, with four players. Player one, that’s me, is the leader of the most powerful nation on earth. Player two, that’s Trent, is the leader of a small middle-eastern country determined to bring me down with subterfuge and terrorism. The third player, that’s Goff, is the neutral intermediary, the respected United Nations enforcer who acts to ensure that the due process of international law is adhered to.

GOFF: (Sitting down.) Bollocks. I’ve sat on my Wotsits.

RAZOR: We need you as a fourth player Smith, to act as an ally for one of the two countries.

SMITH: Well, what is the point of the game?

RAZOR: The object is: we go round and round the board in circles until I have all the weapons cards. The winner gets to keep the oil cards and the stacks of money that go with it.

TRENT: No, the point is: we go round and round in circles and I have to hang onto my oil cards for as long as possible.

RAZOR: And hang on to your weapons cards.

TRENT: I don’t have any weapons cards.

RAZOR: Bullshit!

SMITH: Just a minute Razor, it sounds as though the odds are firmly stacked in your favour.

RAZOR: That’s right.

SMITH: I’ll be on your side then.

RAZOR: OK, you can be the British prime minister.

GOFF: Hang on! Isn’t that a bit unfair, having an ally when you’re already the most powerful nation on earth?

RAZOR: Smith hasn’t got a clue! Nobody gives a toss about him in this game! All he has to do is smile like a goon and agree with me.

SMITH: (Smiling.) That’s right.

RAZOR: OK, let’s get on with the game. (Throws dice.) A six. You have to give me your weapons cards Trent.

TRENT: I don’t have any.

GOFF: Hang on a minute. There’s a six on every side of your dice.


GOFF: Trent, what’s your dice like?

TRENT: It’s a blank balsa wood cube.

RAZOR: Look I don’t make the rules.

TRENT: Yes you do. They’re written here in biro.

RAZOR: Just give me your weapons cards.

TRENT: I told you I don’t have any.

RAZOR: Look, if you’re not going to play properly we might as well be watching Casualty. Goff tell him to give me the weapons cards.

GOFF: He says he doesn’t have any.

RAZOR: (To Goff: ) What is the point of playing if you’re not doing what you’re supposed to be doing? You’re supposed to be keeping the peace but you’re letting him build up an arsenal of weapons against us.

GOFF: Well, what can I do? We’ll just have to take his word for it.

RAZOR: Look, you’re either with us or you’re against us. If he won’t play by the rules and give us his weapons cards, me and Smith are just going to have to liberate them from him.

SMITH: We have to get those cards now otherwise he could win this game in 45 seconds.

GOFF: OK, let me intervene here. Trent, show me your cards. (Looks at them.) It’s cool guys. He doesn’t have any. He probably wishes he had but he’s currently weaponless.

RAZOR: Goff, you’re so naive you make me want to cry or puke, I don’t know which. Global safety is at stake here! He must have the cards up his sleeve!

(As this intensifies they start to become the characters they are playing…)
GOFF: (To Razor: ) How many weapons cards do you have?

RAZOR: That’s not the point! I’m allowed to have them!

GOFF: (Exasperated.) Trent, will you concede the game? I’m sick and tired of all this bickering.

TRENT: Why should I? The oil belongs to me.

RAZOR: OK Smith? Liberation time. (They advance on Trent in a pincer movement.)

TRENT: You’ll never win! If you strike me down I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.

RAZOR: That’s from Star Wars and you are more Darth Vader than Obi-Wan you evil warlord. Get the cards Smith.

SMITH: (Grabs the cards from Trent.) Where are the weapons? (Shuffles them.) Keep looking! (Shuffles.) Keep looking! (Shuffles.) Keep looking! (Pause. Looks at Razor.)

RAZOR & SMITH: Keep looking! (Shuffles. Both look embarrassed.)

RAZOR: Yes well look…the weapons were never the point of the game right? The point of the game was to win…and we won, right?

GOFF: But-

RAZOR: The world is a safer place.

GOFF: But-

SMITH: We are winning in the fight against terrorism.

GOFF: But-

RAZOR: Shut up! We have restored order to a region of chaos. (Trent throws empty can of lager at Razor, which bounces off his head.)

RAZOR: Ow! Bastard! I’ll make sure you’re locked up for the rest of your life and British tabloids take photographs of you in your underpants.

TRENT: And I’ll make sure neither of you ever win the Eurovision Song Contest again.

SMITH: (Now fully Tony Blair) Hold on a minute! Our recent poor showing in the Eurovision Song Contest has no connection with our current military policy in the Middle East. It’s… (Back as Smith.) Hang on, what are we doing? This is getting a bit out of hand lads. We’re not genuine world leaders. This is just meant to be role play.

TRENT: (Angry.) Oh yes, it’s all just a big bloody game to you, isn’t it!

RAZOR: (As George Bush to Trent: ) Shut yo’ mouth boy! I ain’t forgotten how you once tried to kill my dad.

SMITH: Don’t be ridiculous, Razor! You are not the president of the United States.

TRENT: (As Saddam Hussain to Razor: ) American dog! I denounce you as a war criminal!

SMITH: (Exasperated.) Oh, for f-

TRENT: (To Razor: ) You deceive your own people with your imperialist propaganda.

(Razor advances on Trent as Smith takes out a notebook, sits down and begins to write in it.)

RAZOR: You calling me a liar?

TRENT: (Sings.) Li-ar li-ar.

(Razor grabs Trent in a headlock and crushes Wotsits in his face.)

RAZOR: I’ll knock you off your axis of evil! I’ll whop your ass! Squeal little piggy!

GOFF: Stamp on his toes Trent!

RAZOR: Hey! You’re the UN! You’re supposed to be impartial!

(Trent grabs hold of Razor’s shirt and tugs.)

RAZOR: Aargh!

(Razor’s shirt is pulled over his head…)

GOFF: This is how the Iraq confrontation should have been resolved. Bush and Saddam stripped to the waist, glistening with baby oil, beating the crap out of each other.

(Goff cracks open a beer and settles down to watch, as Razor and Trent, still entwined, topple over. Cheesy 70’s fight music accompanies the boys wrestling – maybe Goff turns it up on the stereo. Lights fade but one light remains on Smith, who is still writing in his notebook.)

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