I was first introduced to Nim well over 30 years ago at an old pub in the charming seaside town of Whitstable. It was a perfect summer afternoon, and the locals were holding a ‘traditional games’ event. Between rounds of shove ha’penny and conkers (I kid you not), I found myself drawn to a curious game involving matchsticks, scattered across a well-worn oak table.
A grizzled old-timer, his skin weathered by years of salty air and maybe one too many pints, eagerly explained the rules. They seemed simple enough—deceptively fair, even—and I was invited to play several games. Despite my best efforts, I did not win once.
I’ll explain the game in detail later, but to give you an overall idea of its simplicity, this is how it plays. Matches are laid out on the table, and two players take turns removing them until only one match remains. The player who ends up with the last match has to buy the next drink. Surely it couldn’t be that hard, could it? Well, I was about to find out.
Adding to the game’s appeal was its apparent fairness: the number of matches used wasn’t particularly relevant, who started didn’t seem to matter, and the number of matches taken in any one turn appeared random. Yet, game after game (and indeed match after match), I found myself heading to the bar to buy the next round, while my opponent sat back, smiling.
Eventually, he appeared to take pity on me. Leaning in close, as if revealing a long-guarded secret, he offered to teach me the ‘secret’ rules that would allow me to master the game. He most definitely had my attention! And, true to his word, he shared two ingeniously simple rules that guaranteed success.
He patiently walked me through the game once more, guiding me step by step, and now, armed with the hidden knowledge of the two secret rules, I won!
I was ecstatic! These rules were so straightforward that one can master the game within minutes to a level where it’s practically impossible to be beaten by a mark—that is, someone who doesn’t know the rules.
Even though I was the victor, I offered to buy the next round out of gratitude. It was obvious that I’d just discovered a very clever hustle. What I didn’t realise, however, there was another lesson looming.
After winning the walk-through game, I pondered the question that most people undoubtedly begin to consider: What happens if both players know the rules? Who would win in a tournament of champions?
With a knowing nod, the old-timer laid out the matches again and we began to play one last game. As you can imagine, I followed the rules implicitly, and as the matches were slowly removed, my heart sank as I realised that somehow, incredibly, I was about to be beaten yet again. What? How?
“Oh, didn’t I tell you about the third rule?” he quizzed, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“The third rule?”
“The most important rule of all,” he replied.
“What is it?” I begged, eager for the final piece of the puzzle.
“Well, the third rule,” he smiled knowingly, “is never reveal the third rule!”
Game. Set. (Last) Match.
My round… again.