At least one of these players is hiding their board game-induced angst behind that smile. (123rf)

Saturday was arguably the finest day of the year so far in Central Oregon. My wife and I hiked that morning, ate lunch at a food cart, and then I took a 1.5-hour nap. After I woke up, we spent the remainder of the afternoon on our back deck, talking, resting and excusing our general lack of productivity. In short, it was perfect.

And then we played a board game.

To be fair to myself, I was rested but groggy from that epic nap. People who frown upon naps mystify me. Do you also frown upon drinking water, engaging in light cardio or eating fresh vegetables? Actor Jon Bernthal, of “The Punisher” and “The Bear” fame, was quoted all over social media recently when he said, “I don’t trust people who take naps.” I could understand if he said he judges, dislikes or laughs at people who nap, but distrusts? What hoodwinking could us nappers possibly engage in when catching 40 winks?

I’m a big believer in short naps, but if I sleep more than 30 minutes, I’ll awaken dazed and confused for a span equal to however long I’ve been asleep.

I was stupefied as I tried to learn the rules of the game, Really Loud Librarians, which Catherine said reminded her of Scattergories. Each turn, we had a minute to think of words beginning with certain letters on various themes, such as “U.S. Cities” (easy) or “toiletries and bathroom supplies” (actual hard one I got) as we made our way around a board. You land your game piece on a letter and then you have to guess words that begin with one of the three letters ahead of your piece on the board, and advance slowly as you come up with words. The letters are not in alphabetical order, so you’re never stuck trying to think of Landmarks or Vacation Destinations beginning with “X, Y or Z.”

We practiced once as she showed me how to play. I’ve forgotten the category, but I came up with zilch while she came up with word after word. I was alert enough to know a trouncing was coming my way.

Still, during the first round, there were some laughs, each of us helping the other with suggestions. Catherine remarked that the game would be better and go faster if we had other people and could form teams. I still liked myself.

If only I had stayed in that emotional space. After losing the first game, we played another round, and the ol’ me neither of us misses when he’s dormant, awakened. I didn’t throw the board or anything, but I complained about my luck and tensed up in a way a husband can deny and a wife won’t believe.

Call it competitiveness, or the ability to find board games fun only when winning, or poor character — Mr. Bernthal, how do you feel about people who get in bad moods when losing at board games on a fine spring day? Because, put me down at a board game and my sense of self, security and future well-being fall like dominoes.

Not far into round two, Catherine said we should stop. I was on board with that. Later, I was singing along to a song in the kitchen and she said, “Are you in a good mood?”

I said yes, and she began offering gentle feedback on how my attitude and personality warp whenever I play board games. I mounted the light defense that I’m more of a Scrabble guy. She countered that sure, I like Scrabble when I’m winning.

I admitted then, as I do now, that board games bring out the worst in me. And I knew just who to blame.

“My dad shouldn’t have let my sisters and I win at Candyland when we were little kids,” I said. Definitely a laughable sentence, but nonetheless true: Dad loved to trot out at key moments how he had to let my older sisters and I win games or be subjected to tantrums and tears.

I don’t know who of us was the biggest whiner, or how he could let three of us win, or why a well-adjusted adult would find taking a dive playing kids’ games remarkable. Such are the vagaries of games.

On Sunday, I almost suggested we play again, but I had no faith my facade of assumed maturity wouldn’t be demolished by a tough category.

Most people would say that knowing this about myself, I should work on changing for the better, scale that pyramid of self-actualization.

That’s one idea, but I have a better one. It’s also 100% effective in eliminating bratty board-game Dave: How about I just never play board games?

Column: The gift of crummy first jobs

I’ve avoided lots of games most of my life. After the whole neighborhood moved indoors to play daily rounds of Space Invaders circa 1980, when Justin, the neighbor who lived behind me, got an Atari console, I bowed out a week or two later. I didn’t stop there. I still don’t play video games.

I’ve never once played poker. I get only so many references when it comes up in popular culture, which is often. I just think, “Oh, nice, he has a royal flush, whatever that is” and revel in my ignorance.

We may be invaded by aliens before I again play Space Invaders, and I won’t soon try my hands at poker hands. But the first chance at team play I get, I’m going for a sweet, life-affirming victory at Really Loud Librarians, preferably with Catherine on my side. If she’ll have me, that is.

I promise I’ll be on my best behavior — at least if we’re winning.

OK, maybe I’m just not a Really Loud Librarians, Scrabble, Space Invaders or poker guy. I do fancy myself more of a word games on my phone guy and — OK, dammit, yes, Mr. Bernthal, it IS easy to cheat at word games on my phone! How is it you can see into my soul this way?

I’m taking a nap. That, you can trust.