Several rounds later, Mitch owns Boardwalk and Park Place, but he is no longer having fun. He does not even speak, not wanting to be the straw that breaks the camel's back. I am no longer paying attention to the game. Instead, I am watching the wall behind Mitch's back intently. After several long seconds, Mitch takes the risk of making eye contact with me. He turns around to see what I am looking at, and I make my move.
I kick the table out of the way, not noticing the clatter against the floor as the houses and hotels fall off their places. Mitch realizes too late the awful predicament that he has entered and is slow in his reaction time. He dashes for the door, but I am quickly pursuing. I dive gallantly for his feet, but he highsteps out of danger. Cursing under my breath, I scramble to my feet and attempt to make up for the ground I have lost. He is halfway down the hallway, and is knocking down chairs and desks in a futile attempt to slow me down. Like Ben Johnson on steroids, I hurdle the small obstacles and continue the chase. Then he makes a fatal error. Instead of turning toward the kitchen, he runs into the dining room, thus cornering himself behind the table.
I stand opposite him and fake to the left. He only flinches; we have played this game on several occasions before. I take two steps to the right, and he quickly reacts, knowing that I will not go all the way around. I stop and reverse my direction, but Mitch reads me like a John Grisham book. We stand still for a moment, staring into each other's eyes, trying to catch our breath. Suddenly, I push the table across the floor. Mitch nearly trips, but manages to scramble out of the way before the table slams into the wall. Now there is nowhere for him to run. I attack. Mitch assumes the fetal position and I notice that he is wearing jeans that are too short.
My eyes light up in joyful glee. I grab for the strip of elastic around his waist and pick him up by it. The scream bounces off the walls for several minutes as I hold him just above the ground, laughing at the way he is flailing his arms in search of something to grab onto. Then his underwear rips and he falls to the ground. He sighs loudly and I walk away, knowing that next time we play Monopoly, he will think twice at the first opportunity he has to purchase Boardwalk.