Cut-throat world of Monopoly finals is not for the meek

It's a game some say is a match for the Olympics or chess in skill and strategy

It's a game some say is a match for the Olympics or chess in skill and strategy. Stephen Wynne Jones watched Irish masters doing the bidding.

It may be silly season, but this is verging on ridiculous. Cashing in on a modest inheritance package, a small, wire-haired dog has just become the largest developer on Westmoreland Street, a welcome addition to a property empire comprising an upmarket Dublin 4 hotel, burgeoning shares in Iarnród Éireann and ESB, and an unassuming two-up two-down on the lower Rathmines Road.

Suddenly an impending trip to prison doesn't seem so bad. Welcome to the Irish Monopoly Championships.

The air is tense but in an unconventional way. The sound of the collective biting of nails accompanies the restrained shopping centre muzak that fills the room. The mundane clatter of supermarket trolleys is matched harmoniously by nervous chair squeaks.

READ MORE

The focus may be on the oversized €7,000 cheque lying in the corner, but the in-store ambience is enough to send supporting wives, girlfriends and well-wishers scuttling off to make the most of their trip to Liffey Valley Shopping Centre.

It may be "only a game", but luck has nothing to do with it. "The percentage of luck is very minimal, just about 2-5 per cent," claims Ekundayo Badmus, the Nigerian-born reigning Irish champion. Oozing Tarantino cool, Badmus exudes the smoothness of a poker millionaire, houses and hotels reflecting in his sunglasses. His is a logic not based on glorious excess, but on tactical sensibility.

"The cheaper you buy, the better for you," Badmus notes, "you can build up your portfolio from there. As a first-time buyer, you look for something cheaper."

But "strategy", if it exists in Monopoly, is no less complex than in any chess match. Flimsy €100 and €500 "notes" change hands at lightning speed, while properties are bought, sold and mortgaged in minutes. This is no time to sit back and act methodical.

Organiser Anne Dermody, national sales manager of Hasbro Ireland, is finding it increasingly difficult to keep up. This is a contest of Olympian proportions, but it's not clear whether such superhuman bargaining skills are entirely free from pharmaceutical controversy. "There's one thing we don't do actually," she jokes, "and that's dope-test the competitors. Maybe we should!"

Anthony Redmond (36), from Swords, is understandably elated at reaching the final, his third in as many appearances. "To be honest, I made a good start," he admits, "rolling two doubles in a row to get me around the board."

His son, Andrew (10), looks on with the calculated disdain of a sovereign in-waiting, ready to knock dad from his lofty perch.

"I beat him all the time," he affirms, "and it's not that he lets me win. I'm better than him."

Badmus emerges from a comfortable second round tie to join Redmond at the table. Coupled with Donovan Byng from Dún Laoghaire, and Jonathan Moloney from Harold's Cross, the final group may all be Dublin-based, but represent a generous cross-section of society.

It's hospital administrator versus civil servant. It's engineer versus student. If this is a war, then welcome to the front line. An early cashflow problem hits Byng and Moloney hard. Gone. Redmond looks comfortable, steely determination discernible as beads of sweat on his brow. Badmus grimaces, unperturbed. Redmond lands on Capel Street. Bingo. Red. Full set. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife-shaped shopping trolley.

"Give me an extra house on Abbey Street for luck," he murmurs, "It's where I work."

The killer blow. A twist worthy of Hollywood proportions. Badmus succumbs to fate, landing on his opponent's auspicious investment. Throw in the towel. It's over.

Shrieks of approval ring out through the centre. A dozen or so heads turn skyward to witness the commotion, the winner taking it all, the loser standing small. One can almost hear the theme from Rocky echoing through the building. And in the middle of it all, a bespectacled civil servant from Swords is sitting on a toy car clutching a big cheque. "There goes the Visa bill," he says.

The World Monopoly Championships take place in Tokyo in October