Paper covers rock. Nick the Greek takes the lead, and the Rider is switching hands." The Midnight Rider of "parts unknown," wears a thin leather mask that shields his identity and a bola tie adorned with a skull. He throws down a pair of scissors that cuts Nick's paper, and it looks like the switch to his left hand has served him well. However, moments later, the Rider's body stiffly lunged forward, he throws another scissors which are crushed by Nick the Greek's solid rock. They both throw scissors several more times before Nick brings back rock and stunningly defeats the Midnight Rider. The Midnight Rider will leave with $50 while Nick will face Most Definitely Megan for first place.
It is a chilly Saturday night in October and 64 Rock Paper Scissors enthusiasts have gathered at the Whiskey Dix Saloon in North Philadelphia to compete in the 2006 Pabst Blue Ribbon Rock Paper Scissors Keystone Classic. Upon entering the warehouse of a bar, players are greeted by a documentary film crew who have them sign release forms and interview them. The winner tonight will leave with $850, respect from his or her peers, and as someone will later tell Nick, "C-list celebrity status."
Nick Leon is in his mid 20s. He wears khakis and a leather jacket atop a white Oxford shirt, and has a humble smile even though he is confident about winning. In his last year of pharmacy school, Nick is an RPS novice, and he'd come to the Saloon tonight after spotting an ad in a Philly paper, armed with amused skepticism and lacking an RPS name. Because tonight is his first foray into the world of competitive play, his triumph over the Midnight Rider is nothing less than remarkable. "Beating the Night Rider was quite possibly one of the greatest thrills of my life," Nick says after the win, his tone the mixture of absurdity and seriousness so common to RPS players. "He was a fierce competitor. To be honest it was a little intimidating - you know that whole mask, that whole skull thing around his neck. It's tough, but I've danced with devil in the pale moonlight before."
The Midnight Rider, an RPS regular whose identity and hometown are a mystery to many, is tall, in his 30s and bald. He has the kind of fast-talking singsong voice that evokes door-to-door salesman and a slight southern twang, though there's no telling whether it's as affected as the statements he makes such as, "I'm fast and I'm mean. I'm so mean I make medicine sick."
Though his loss to a newcomer surprises everyone around him as much as it does himself, the Midnight Rider shakes it off and reminds everyone that he'll be in Toronto on November 11. He's referring to the 2006 International World Championships, a far larger event with 10,000 Canadian dollars on the line, which has been held in Toronto since 2002. Over the course of the night, many players will bring up their plans to go to Toronto in a few weeks.
"The Midnight Rider was probably the hands-on favorite to win the whole thing once he got up to the final 16," says Philadelphia City League founder and referee Shawn Ring (RPS name: C. Urbanus). Urbanus, 30, founded the only U.S. city league this April after last year's Keystone Classic was such a success. He realized something more consistent than a one-night event might take off, especially in Philadelphia, "a bar-oriented, gaming type of place" where pub trivia game Quizzo was popularized.
The season saw 38 tournaments from April to June and culminated in a $1,000 championship won by the "King of Quizzo" and Keystone Classic emcee, Johnny Goodtimes. While Urbanus attributes the League's success - about 450 different players in total - to the Philly scene and culture, regulars of the City League say it's Shawn's dedication to the sport and the League that makes it all possible.
Many of these regulars enjoy RPS despite, if not because, of the silliness involved in competitively playing a game used to determine who gets the candy bar or who goes first in kickball. Not Urbanus. He is serious when discussing the game - "sport" as he calls it-- - and proudly wears his ref T-shirt. Having played competitively since 1999, Urbanus is a certified referee and, according to the 2004 World Championship Newsletter, "one of the top eight strategists in the world."
But what kind of strategy is utilized in what seems to be a game of chance? Last year, experts at Sotheby's auction house wondered just that. In April 2005, Takashi Hashiyama, president of a Japanese electronics manufacturer, planned to auction off the company's $20 million art collection, but couldn't decide whether to make the sale through Sotheby's or rivaling auction house Christie's. So, he had the two firms play the game that has solved many disputes: Rock Paper Scissors.
While Sotheby's didn't see the potential strategy involved and did little to prepare, Christie's director Nicholas Maclean went straight to the playground for advice. Maclean asked his 11-year-old twins Flora and Alice for advice, who later told The New York Times, "Everybody knows you always start with scissors. Rock is way too obvious, and scissors beats paper." Christie's stuck with the strategy and cut Sotheby's paper, winning the lucrative deal.
Flora and Alice's recognition of rock as the "obvious" choice is one of many tricks RPS players utilize in the seemingly straightforward game. It is easy to view competitive RPS as a pseudo-sport in the same vein as air guitar competitions, but the World RPS Society (which hosts the Toronto Championship) will tell you differently, as its website purports: "Like chess or fencing, the rules are simple, but the game itself is as complex as the mind of your opponent."
Enjoyed by children everywhere, RPS was invented in the mid-19th century in Japan, where it was called Janken. In 1842, the World RPS Society claims it was originally founded in London as the Paper Scissors Stone Club. In 1918 its name was changed to the RPS Society and the Society was moved to Canada, because, Urbanus says somewhat skeptically, England was "too violent a place for the ultimate non-violent decision-making tool."
With three primes followed by three throw choices - a fisted rock, a horizontal paper and a vertical scissors, the rules are indeed simple, but according to Douglas and Graham Walker, founders of the Society and co-authors of The Official Rock Paper Scissors Strategy Guide, RPS is not merely a game, but a sport whose simplicity demands strategy and even physical exertion.
Take, for example, the Urbanus Defense, popularized after C. Urbanus used it in the 2002 World Championship. The premise is simple: you purposely lose the first throw to gain a strategic advantage over your partner, who is likely to be over-confident, giving you the power of position. The execution, however, isn't quite as easy. Not only is losing on purpose a gamble, but it assumes you know what your opponent will throw.
The Strategy Guide explains how to look for "tells" - clues to your opponent's next move - based on hand signals and body language. It also helps to know the character of the three weapons. Rock is the most "aggressive" throw, so many unconsciously fall back into using rock (also the most popular throw for beginners) when other strategies fail them. Paper is the "subtlest" throw and is sometimes perceived as weak and therefore neglected. Scissors are a "tool," which can be aggressive, and is associated with a controlled craftiness.
Though most present at the Keystone Classic will claim some sort of strategy, many enjoy poking fun at themselves while doing so. Before being eliminated in the final four, the Midnight Rider claims to be working on a "quantum particle entanglement theory." He won't reveal much, though he says it comes down to "quantum soup" where you "get to the point where you've already won the match before it's even started." He smiles as he says all this, knowing it ultimately amounts to nothing but talk.
Nevertheless, all this talk exhibits a common attitude held by many RPS players towards the game: since playing RPS competitively is somewhat preposterous to begin with, one might as well run with it and take it to the extreme. So, the Night Rider dons a mask, and the members of team Totally Crossed Out wear all of their (visible) clothing backwards. RPS names range from "Female Ninja Whore" to "PJ Rhymes With Sausage," with teams called "Team David Bowie's Package" and "Demolition Rickshaw."
In a sense, the more outlandish the behavior, the more likely it is to be recognized. There is a suggestion of a sort of fame, albeit an insulated and humorous one, that drives many of these players to hone their craft. The film crew at this year's Keystone Classic is the second one in the last few years documenting the RPS phenomenon, and Rolling Stone and Forbes are two of the many publications that have profiled the sport.
Johnny Goodtimes, the City League Champ and self-described "champion athlete," relishes talking to reporters and the film crew, and often repeats his grand and humorous statements about his famous win. Though he will play in Toronto, he has retired from American play because "I'm already an international megastar, due to the Quizzo empire, and I don't need the accolades and the glory and the casual sex and anything else that's attached to being a champion." Though he is being sardonic, there is no smile on his face and only a hint in his voice that he might be less than serious.
Many were outraged by Johnny Goodtimes's win at the City League Championship last June, because he did not attend many of the events throughout the season. One player called him a "glorified ringer" while another claimed he is "the worst RPS player out there." This sort of feud is characteristic of the small League; since many of the players regularly competed, they considered an outsider winning to be an upset.
For Urbanus, tonight's Keystone Classic, an event which welcomed competitors from New Jersey and the Washington D.C. area, is the chance for Philadelphia City League members to show their improvement and the merit of an entire season's worth of competitive play. But when it comes down to the final three, none of the City League's regulars have made it.
"I think there were a lot of players who kind of let their game slip in the off-season," Urbanus says, admitting he's a bit disappointed in the League's players. Last year's Keystone Classic winner was Martin Meyer of Gaithersburg, Maryland, and Urbanus was hoping this year's winner would be a City League regular, let alone someone from Philadelphia.
Before Nick the Greek faces Most Definitely Megan, also from Gaithersburg, Urbanus pulls him aside and asks, "You're from Philly, right?" When Nick nods, Shawn lets out a sigh of relief. "Good. 'Cause I can't have someone from Gaithersburg, Maryland winning again."
When he returns to the front of the stage to ref this final competition, Urbanus is all business. He separates Megan and Nick's fists with his hand until he shoots it up and says, "Begin."
Everyone cheers as Nick and Megan compete on the raised stage for the title, the cash and the honor. Nick's body is relaxed and arched forward, while Megan, a redhead in her mid 20s, looks even more nonchalant. Nick takes an early lead and cuts Megan's paper, using the same strategy that has worked for him all night - "a calculated chaos."
After winning the first of three games needed to take the title, Nick is confident. Perhaps this was Megan's plan all along - to feel him out before going in for the kill … la Urbanus Defense. Three fast games later, Megan has crushed Nick's scissors, cut his paper, and covered his rock. Nick tied it up several times each game, but doesn't manage to win another round.
"I've been trying to make the case that Philadelphia has really overtaken the D.C. area in terms of competitive play and level of play," says Urbanus after Maryland's victory for the second year in a row, "but it hasn't really been backed up." Though he is somewhat let down by the results of this year's Keystone Classic, Urbanus thinks that some good might come out of it.
"Hopefully this will be a good lesson for them - losing at the Keystone early and then being ready for Toronto."
Perhaps someone from Philly, even Urbanus himself, who won't be going as a ref but as a competitor, will take the prize in Toronto. He looks forward to the Championship, which, until the recent founding of the City League, was one of the few times a year that a large number of RPS enthusiasts competed at once. "You're talking about the past five years we've all been going up to Toronto and playing against each other and going to player's receptions and getting interviewed by whoever and whatever," he says, as if film crews and national magazines are no big deal.
This year, yet another documentary crew will be there, as will many Philadelphians who have gotten into the sport thanks to the City League. Urbanus says the 2004 Rolling Stone article about the Championship didn't exactly take the event seriously, comparing it to "a Star Trek convention but with much better looking girls and binge drinking." He pauses before adding, "which is pretty much what it is."
But even though RPS players may seem bizarre for competitively playing a game that resolves the conflicts of nine year olds, Urbanus insists that its players are not quite as eccentric as they may seem. "You think of all those Dungeon and Dragons kids coming out," he says, comparing RPS to a notoriously ridiculed game. The parallels are easy to make, since D&D is often considered a childhood pastime whose players take the game far too seriously. "But it's not like that," he continues, "It's just normal people who kind of get into the game"
