I have said often, and to many, that the pursuit of philosophy is like a mess of pick-up-sticks:  one can't touch any single part without moving the whole mass.  Of course, philosophy is distinguished from other activities largely by its approach, rather than by its objects.  In fact, the material of philosophy is, and has always been, all and everything.  So what one touches is - anything, and what moves is - everything.  Or, as Charles Fort put it:  "One measures a circle beginning anywhere." 

So - games.  An old Go proverb (is there any other kind?) says, succinctly:  As Go is, so is life.

I'm as guilty as anyone of having vices.  I collect them, moving from one to another of them in turn as they wear out or lose their vividness, and yet I never completely throw any of them out.  Games are notoriously a vice.  Monastic rules and the writings of moralists are full of exhortations to pass by such trifles in favor of more edifying pursuits, like self-flagellation.  But I've always reckoned that I would die someday, (and that for good) and ought to pass my time as I please - time being all I have or am.

So, having squandered my youth on these follies, what can be made of them?

Games have taught me forcefully a lesson I should like to have picked up sooner and by more impressve means - warfare or meditation or something.  That lesson is simple, and like all simple truths, utterly deceptive in its simplicity, and rich in its ramifications.  It is this:  PAY ATTENTION!  One loses by losing mindfulness of what is present directly before one, or by disregarding either the details or the overall situation, both of which dynamically interact at all times. 

I have also learned another lesson, and a harder one to convey to those who do not play games.  It is, again, simple:  games are totally meaningless in themselves, and they are an utter bore to play unless one animates them by pretending in earnest that they matter.  Put another way, the game isn't worth the price of the candle unless one cares, and the more one cares, the more intensely one will feel the game, and the more readily will one ascend to those states of concentration and sublime reasoning that are the chief pleasures of the true player.  One must care deeply - and caring is what creates depth.    Sartre says we make ourselves by our actions, which are creative gestures through which we are the authors of value and meaning.   For that matter, Heidegger points out that time gains its sense by the quality of concern - orientation toward a preferred future. 

Or:  games are not our actual lives, but they are best when treated as if they were; and life may not be a game, strictly speaking, but it should be lived as if it were.