9. Blake
9
BLAKE
“ W elcome to Econ 405, Game Theory.” Rolling up my shirt sleeves, I survey the small lecture hall.
There are about thirty students, which isn’t too bad for a senior-level class, and for now, they seem invested, all of them with laptops open in front of them or pens poised over open notebooks. The lecture hall is modern, with long continuous surfaces in front of each row of chairs instead of individual desks.
Writing my name on the board, I introduce myself. “I’m Professor Grantham. This is a senior-level class, and make no mistake—it’s tough. But my goal this semester is to have some fun while we explore the world of game theory and how its principles apply to things we do every day. ”
I pick up a stack of papers from the desk at the front of the room and start to pass out the syllabus. “The syllabus has all the information you need regarding required texts, assignments, and exam dates. This is also available in pdf format on the course website. Please note my email address if you have questions, as well as my office hours listed on the front page.”
The class is silent as they pass the papers down the rows, and I start to sweat. I need some engagement here, something to get them invested.
Pointing at one of the students in the front row, I say, “What’s your name?”
He looks startled. “Uh, Brad. Brad Kingsbury.”
“What do you know about game theory, Brad?”
He taps his pen against the desk, thinking. “Well, it’s about games, right?”
Smart-ass.
But I nod, encouraging him. “True. It’s about how we make decisions, essentially.” Sweeping my gaze over the assembled students, I raise one hand in the air. “Who knows how to play poker?”
A few smiles from them as hands shoot into the air. It’s easily the majority.
“Good. And to get more specific, who knows Texas Hold‘em?”
A few hands drop, but most remain in the air. This is the most popular version of poker played in the United States—by far—so I’m not surprised that almost everyone who knows poker knows this version.
I point to a woman in the third row. “What do you know about Hold‘em?”
“Well, you start with two cards each. Then five community cards, dealt out with the first three at once, then the next two, one at a time. And each of the players gets to bet several times.”
“Perfect.” Turning to the board, I erase my name and write four numbers. “Is it a game for one player, two, or more than that?”
“More than two.”
I write Players next to the number one.
Turning back toward the class, I point to another student. “What things can players do?”
The students are all leaning forward in their chairs, all of them eager to talk about poker.
The boy I’m pointing to nods as he speaks. “Well, you can stay in or fold. You can match the bet before yours, or you can raise it.”
“Exactly.” I write Actions next to number two. “And how do players know what to do?”
A girl in the back row raises her hand. “Professor?”
I point to her .
“Uh, your, um, fly is open.”
Fuck. Just when I thought it was going well. I keep my poker face impassive as I reach down and pull up the zipper. Better to own it, right?
“Thank you. What’s your name?”
“Annabelle. Or just Anna.” Her face is beet red.
“Thank you, Anna. Do you want to take a stab at my question as well?”
“Players can decide what to do based on information they have. Like, what cards are in their hands and what’s showing on the table. And some people are good enough to tell what other players might have based on their expressions or actions.”
I turn back to the board and write Information . “Perfect. And there’s one more piece that plays into all this. What’s the reason we play poker?”
“Money!” someone yells behind me.
Turning, I search for the source. There’s a boy in the back, a few seats down from Anna, who looks out of place. While the rest of the students are, for lack of a better descriptor, the math nerds you’d expect to see in a high-level Econ class, this guy looks like he got lost while looking for football practice. The smirk on his face is a dead giveaway that he’s the one who yelled out the answer .
Focusing on him, I take a few steps up the aisle between the desks. “Money is exactly why we play. Poker is big business, and people can make a killing. There are people who make entire careers out of it.”
The jock’s smirk fades as he realizes that he got it right, despite his best efforts.
“And the amount of money is a factor in deciding what to do, too, right? You choose how much to raise and how far to push your luck based on the payoff .” Walking back to the board, I write Payoff next to number four, then tap each word. “Players. Actions. Information. Payoff. These are the elements that are needed to determine if something is truly a game.”
I stride back to the center of the room, giving all of the students a good view. This is the moment. Either I’ll win them over, or I may as well quit now.
“Poker has all of these elements. That’s why it’s a game, the way we consider it in game theory. Now, in contrast, my wardrobe malfunction. Can that be considered a game?”
A few twitters of laughter, but most of them are hanging on my next words.
“This had a few elements, right? I had the information that my fly was down when Anna so kindly pointed it out. I had actions available to me—pull it up, or leave it down. Turn away, or zip it up right in front of you. But were there players?”
Heads shake no.
“And was there a payoff? Did I stand to win anything?”
More heads shaking.
“So while I had some decisions to make up here, my fly incident does not meet our rigorous definition of a game . And once we define a game in this way, we start to see a framework for how we might categorize games. Are they win/lose? Do players work together or against one another? Can another player’s actions influence your own, and should they?”
Computer keyboards tap as students start to take notes, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I thought I was ready after helping to teach as a post-doc. If every day is this stressful, I’m not sure I’m going to last the semester, let alone an entire career.
“I would have bought you lunch.”
Kat looks up, a panini halfway to her mouth. “No need.”
I’m aware she can buy her own lunch, but that’s not the point here. “I’m going to grab something, and then I’ll join you. Need anything else?”
Chewing her bite, Kat tilts her head to the side in thought. She swallows and dabs her mouth with a napkin before she finally says, “A Diet Coke, please. Thanks.”
It’s 11:15, and the food court is mostly empty. It only takes a few minutes for me to order a ham and cheese panini, a Diet Coke for Kat, and a regular Coke for me along with a bag of chips. I carry the load to the table on a tray and set it down in the center.
“How was your first day of class?” Kat asks, reaching for her soda and bringing the straw to her lips.
Unwrapping my panini, I wonder if I should tell her about the wardrobe malfunction. “It went well, I think. Students seemed invested, actually answered questions.”
“That’s the beauty of teaching senior classes, huh?” Kat sets the drink down and props her chin up with her hand, elbow on the edge of the table. “They’re always more interested when it’s their major and a class they chose, rather than something they’re taking to check off a box and meet a graduation requirement. My Advanced Physiology class is always more fun than the basic A and P that I teach for non-science majors.”
I take a bite, savoring the saltiness of the ham as it blends perfectly with the Swiss cheese. With the mustard, it’s the perfect blend and my go-to sandwich. The Panini Press makes them better than anywhere else I’ve tried.
“Is Advanced Physiology your favorite to teach?” I’m curious to know more about this woman.
I need to know enough to convince people we’re actually dating, but I find myself wanting to really understand what makes her her . Not just favorite color and her birthday, but how she defines herself, what makes her smile. Because her smile is gorgeous when it’s real, like right now.
Her face shines as she starts to tell me about her Advanced Physiology class, how she created the lab sessions, how she structures the semester. She comes alive, and I find myself itching to watch her in action. I wonder if she’d let me sit in on one of her classes sometime.
“So, anyway,” she says, shrugging. “That’s why. It’s my baby, that class. And the reviews from students I’ve had over the past few years have just reinforced that it’s probably my best class. ”
“That’s inspiring.” I pop a chip into my mouth and chew slowly.
She’s opened up, just a little, and I feel like I need to offer something, too.
“I hope I can get to that point with Game Theory. As of right now, all they’re going to remember is how my fly was down for part of class.”
Kat stares at me for a minute. Then her lips twitch, and a snort escapes before she erupts in laughter.
“Oh my God,” she says. “That’s too funny. On your first day? How did you figure it out?”
Deadpan, I eat another bite of my panini before I answer. “One of the students raised their hand and told me. It was classic.”
Kat wipes a tear from her eye. “Oh, man. Yeah, they’ll be telling that story for a while. Thank God they’re seniors, right? They’ll all be gone by next year, so hopefully the story will leave with them.”
Honestly, if the story can make Kat laugh like this, I just might keep on telling it.
Reaching for my soda, I angle my head toward her. “So how about you? Classes go okay? No wardrobe malfunctions on your part?”
Nodding, she sips on her Diet Coke, those perfect lips surrounding the straw. “Went smoothly. It’s my sixth time teaching this course, I think? It gets easier with repetition. You don’t have to make brand-new lesson plans for every class.”
We talk lesson plans for a few more minutes as I finish off the last of my panini and students start to fill up the food court.
Kat glances down at her watch. “I should get back for my office hours. This was fun, Blake.”
It has been fun, more than I expected. All of our time together. I figured this would be more of putting on a show, acting for the benefit of people around us, but over the past week, I’ve found myself actually enjoying Kat’s company.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. That first night when I met her, I didn’t want to stop talking with her. Combined with how gorgeous she is, it’s dangerous when you’re not looking for a relationship.
Standing from the table, I brush a crumb off my pants. “I’ll walk you back.”
She considers this but doesn’t protest. We walk together past the student mailroom and out to the quad, where the sun is shining brightly and groups of students dot the grass. Brick buildings line the quad, tall and stately, and once again, I’m in awe of how lucky I am to have this job.
“Thanks for the conversation,” Kat says, unlocking her office door.
I lean on the doorframe as she steps inside the small room. “Me, too. Lunch again on Thursday?”
Kat pulls out a small book from her purse and flips it open, running her finger down the page. “Thursday, I have a committee meeting at lunchtime, but I can do Friday, if that works for you. 11:15?”
I can’t stop the grin that spreads over my face. “Looking forward to it.”