As usual, the only thing that stood between me and global domination was that festering rock called Australia. When I finally got my second cannon, I realized it was time to invade. That Foster’s-producing, sideways-speaking, croc-hunting waste of space was the final refuge of Joe, the commander and chief of the Yellow army. Yellow army stood no chance against my planet-sized military: the Green army.

Given my level of drunkenness, I was surprised I’d cornered Joe and his pitiful little band. Although, Joe’s five glasses of bourbon seemed to affect his strategy. I was slightly confused when he suicide-marched Yellow army’s strongest division out of Europe and into the heart of Green Army, North America. One bloody defeat and two additional cannons later I flooded the shores of Australia with Green. I emerged from the mass of Green soldiers and Joe from the Yellow.

There were no sprawling land battles or awe-inspiring air assaults, just a set of die in each of our sweaty, inebriated palms. I held the red and he the white. We rolled. Double sixes! War over! The world, and humanity, were mine.

Who says board games are for dorks? No, I don’t hate Australia, and the described war wasn’t real in the global sense. It may have taken place on the kitchen table of an apartment, but the stakes felt on par with Defcon five for Joe and me.

Hasbro’s board game Risk is possibly the greatest strategy board game to grace existence, and it’s not just for kids any more. Screw going out to the bars, embrace the geek inside you and play a little drunken Risk. If the war doesn’t start to feel epic, fix another stiff one and see what happens.

The game involves organizing your military might in order to over take your opponents and the world. It goes like this: up to six people can play; there’s a board with an ancient map of the globe on it; you begin with the random delegation of countries; you all get the same number of “armies” (little different colored pieces of plastic in the shapes of soldiers, Calvary, and the ever-powerful cannon); you attack other countries and overtake them by rolling dice — highest number wins; eventually only one person will have armies left standing, and the world is at their mercy (insert maniacal laughter).

It’s easy to write this off as yet another activity for shut-ins who avoid social activities. Play the game once, and you might learn more about your friends’ moral fiber than you would at the local watering hole.

Take alliances for instance. There are no rules about alliances, but every game spawns them. Someone starts to pull away from the pack and consume chunks of the world with their scourge of a military. Time to gang up, and evaporate him from the board. But can you trust your shifty-eyed friend?

There’s no reason to believe they won’t just stab you in the back National Socialist vs. Russia style. I’ve done it before, and have yet to be forgiven to this day. It goes back to old saying: “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Throw alcohol into the mix, and no one can be trusted. But when you’re face to face with an unconquerable military might, what choice do you have? This is the plight, and joy, of the game.

Why is this game scoffed at by most? In the end, it’s a military version of monopoly. But for some reason it’s more acceptable to play a capitalistic-themed game. I’d argue it’s because Risk is submerged in the stereotype of guys fantasizing about being war generals — no matter how pacifistic they claim to be.

We’re constantly trying to reinforce the notion that “I’ve grown up.” What’s the point of growing up if you have to kill the part of you that would let go every once in a while and just have fun, and not judge.

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