Just a short “Guru Rant” today.

I did not come to wargaming by accident. Like many who remain in the hobby for decades, I arrived through curiosity and stayed because it answers questions that ordinary reading cannot. From the outside it can look like a game about winning and losing. In practice, it is something quieter and more reflective: a way of thinking through history, decision, and human behaviour under pressure.

One of the principal reasons I war game is that it makes history active. Books provide interpretation and narrative; they tell us what happened and, sometimes, why. A wargame asks a different question: what might have happened if decisions had been made differently under similar constraints? Once figures are placed on a table and a situation begins to unfold, distance, time, and uncertainty all become tangible. Plans that look straightforward on paper quickly become complicated. Movement takes longer than expected. Information arrives late or not at all. Units behave in ways that are entirely plausible but rarely convenient. The exercise does not replace reading; it deepens it. It allows the participant to experience, in a modest and controlled way, the friction that shapes events.

Wargaming is also a form of structured storytelling and the narrative side of the game is extremely important. Each game produces a narrative that could not have been written in advance. Units advance, stall, withdraw, or hold unexpectedly. Small acts of initiative or hesitation accumulate into larger outcomes. Over time, campaigns emerge—less like scripted novels and more like a series of connected episodes shaped by decision and chance. This evolving narrative is one of the great pleasures of the hobby. It gives context to individual actions and turns a tabletop encounter into something that feels lived rather than merely observed.

The physical side of the hobby matters to me as much as the intellectual side. I like painting the figures and making the terrain. There is satisfaction in taking a plain casting or a bare board and turning it into something that evokes a landscape and a moment in time. Painting is slow, deliberate work. It encourages attention to detail and to the character of the subjects being represented. Building terrain does the same. Hills, scrub, buildings, and roads are not just decoration; they shape how the game unfolds. Constructing them is a way of thinking about how ground influences movement, visibility, and decision. By the time a table is set, it already tells part of the story.

There is also the engagement of wits. A good game is a quiet contest of judgement rather than a race for victory. I enjoy the psychology of pitting myself against an opponent: trying to anticipate intentions, reading hesitation, deciding when to press and when to hold back. This is not about triumph in a narrow sense. Winning is not necessary. Participation is. The interest lies in the exchange itself—the measured testing of plans against another mind working just as carefully. A well-fought draw or even a thoughtful defeat often provides more insight than an easy win. What matters is the process: the decisions made, the risks taken, and the unfolding interplay of action and response.

Design and adaptation form another part of the attraction. Thinking about rules forces one to consider what truly matters in a given period. Is morale more decisive than firepower? How should uncertainty be represented? What level of detail clarifies rather than obscures? These questions turn the design process into a form of historical analysis. A set of rules becomes an argument about how conflict functions. Adjusting those rules after play—seeing what works, what does not, and why—keeps the hobby intellectually alive.

Finally, wargaming offers a particular kind of companionship. Around a table there is usually as much conversation as competition. Players discuss sources, compare interpretations, and share ideas about tactics, terrain, and design. The atmosphere is collaborative even when the game itself is competitive. Over time, a shared understanding develops: a sense that everyone present is engaged in the same ongoing exploration of history, imagination, and decision.

I war game because it brings together all these elements. It makes history tangible, encourages careful thought, rewards creativity, and provides a space where engagement matters more than outcome. Each game is a small act of inquiry, conducted with painted figures and measured distances instead of footnotes and lectures. That combination—hands, mind, and imagination working together—is reason enough to keep gaming!

Thanks to my mate “chatty” for drawing the pics.