Defining “Cheese”: All About Context

Defining “Cheese”: All About Context

I think it’s fair to say that I enjoy a well-earned victory. Everyone does, but all players have a different means of getting there. Newer players always crave for glory and victory, especially younger ones. But, their haste and cockiness always gets in the way. Time and experience, gentlemen, is what assures victory for the wargamer. Veterancy and skill, gained only through hard-fought battles and many nights of arduous painting sessions, will lead to success – except, of course, there’s the occasional implementation of cheese. Yes, that vile cheese: stinky, annoying, but hard to define. Is it cheesy to know the rules front and back after having read the rule book multiple times over? Is it cheesy to know the best units for any given scenario? Is it cheesy to save up your well-earned pennies to buy a powerful unit you require to round out your force? Is it cheesy to learn your opponent’s tricks and counter them with grace and skill?

To all the above, I say the following: no, it is not cheesy to play well and know how to achieve victory. Learning the game and utilizing strong strategies and tactics is being a good player. Losers will use excuses to defend their poor showing on the battlefield.

So, does cheese exist? Yes, and I would define it as thus: cheese is the belief that some exploit or unit will assure victory, not skill and knowledge of the rules. An example. Some time ago, I was trying out a set of World War Two skirmish rules known as Bolt Action that had come out some time ago. Before that, most of my WW2 skirmish games were relegated to Crossfire or Command Decision. I was out of the loop for a while and thought Bolt Action would be an interesting addition to my repertoire of rule sets. That said, I gathered my late-war German Waffen SS army in 28mm and headed out to my local gaming club. Upon arrival, I talked around for a bit and scheduled a game with another player. We’ll call him Jimmy. Jimmy was a younger player, having recently started with Bolt Action as one of his first major games. He was building up a Soviet army, so I thought we could have a historical match-up – two great powers going at it on the fields of the Eastern Front in 1944 or 1945. We scheduled to play that weekend at 1,000 points, the usual recommended scale for the game.

Upon arriving at the store on game day, I got there early and set up our table. I patiently waited for him, and Jimmy then finally arrived roughly half-an-hour late. “Sorry man, the parents had a late dinner.” A likely excuse. He was probably too busy on his phone or playing video games! Nevertheless, we set up our forces and had at it. By turn three, my elite Waffen SS infantry, armed with STG-44s and Panzerfausts, had reduced his Soviet mechanized platoon to dust. His infantry was mowed down, his tanks flaming wrecks, and only some support units were left to contest the board. On turn four, he called the game and sighed heavily. “Don’t worry,” I told him, “It’s just a friendly game!” He had played decently well, and he at least had painted miniatures. Granted, his list was weak – he had no “heavy hitters” per se. His troop set-up did not allow him to follow up his attacks. In other words, he didn’t know the rules well nor did he have a solid strategy. Still, he wanted to play again next week, so I accepted. Maybe he’d learn a thing or two.

Next weekend comes around, same story. He’s late again, but we set up nonetheless. It’s then that I notice something different. Jimmy fielded barely any vehicles, instead focusing on lots of infantry. And I mean lots of infantry. Most of them armed with PPSHs, the Soviet SMG of the time. These “burp guns” were close range, so he’d have to close in to do anything productive. But, for 1,000 points, he had acquired a massive horde of conscripts. Meanwhile, I still relied on my crack force of a few veteran units.

“Interesting set up there, Jimmy,” I commented, “Think it’ll work?”

“Oh, yeah! I read up on some forums that this was a much better force to take,” he replied eagerly.

“We’ll see.”

The game began, and I set up my MG-42 in some light cover. I began shooting at his conscript hordes, and he immediately lost one squad to casualties and poor morale. But, he had four or five more to count on. To him, it was no biggie. He could take the hit. By turn three, the tables had changed. My squads were overrun, my vehicles had been assaulted time and time again, and I was left with a Panther and a commander unit. There was no thought put into it. No skill. No cleverness on his part. This, gentlemen, was an abhorrence to WW2 skirmish games. While I had a finely tuned list, he simply took the most overpowered and cheapest unit he could afford. It was like losing to an imbecile. It was embarrassing. As the game ended and we picked up our miniatures, he seemed pleased with himself. Heavy sighs were replaced with quiet hums of pleasure.

“So, a forum told you to do that, huh?” I asked.

“Yep! Worked pretty well, didn’t it?” he said with a gleeful smile.

“And, tell me, what unit ran nothing but conscripts during the war with no support?”

“Erm . . .” He was tongue-tied, “Well, I saw it in one movie . . .”

“A movie is not history, kid. You just ran something that took no skill to play.”

“But I won though – that’s what matters, right?”

Jimmy shrugged. He had no modicum of respect for the game or for the player. I left shortly thereafter, peeved at the game and at Jimmy. Gentlemen, as I said before, there is nothing wrong with taking a strong force and knowing how to win. I read the rules for Bolt Action front and back, created a well-rounded and strong force that could exploit most weaknesses, and played with the ruthless cunning of Rommel or Guderian himself (not to mention I’ve read their memoirs). But Jimmy? Jimmy didn’t like losing, so he made a cheap list that would guarantee a victory with no skill required.

That, in my eyes, is the truest and most horrid of cheeses.