Welcome Aboard

Dear Euchre Players, Beer Drinkers, Card Sharks, Landlubbers, and Persons Who Have Somehow Wandered In Looking for the Restroom,

Welcome aboard the Skipper Bob Euchre Classic at Missing Falls Brewery, where the cards are dealt fairly, the beer is poured properly, and nobody is required to know the difference between port and starboard—unless they happen to be carrying two pints at once.

I have always maintained that euchre is the finest game ever devised for four people who wish to become fast friends, temporary enemies, and fast friends again before the next round begins.

It has everything a seasoned sailor could desire: shifting winds, sudden reversals, unreliable partners, bold declarations, and the occasional player who confidently calls trump while holding absolutely nothing of practical value. Such a person is not to be criticized. He is to be admired from a safe distance.

At the Skipper Bob Euchre Classic, Missing Falls becomes our cheerful harbor—a place where good beer flows, laughter carries across the room, and even the most weather-beaten card player can find safe anchorage.

You need not arrive with a partner lashed to your side. We rotate partners throughout the evening, giving everyone a chance to meet new shipmates, renew old friendships, and discover which respectable-looking member of the community will cheerfully euchre them without the slightest remorse.

No stress aboard

We are not navigating Cape Horn in a thunderstorm. Nobody is being asked to reef the mainsail while pursued by pirates. We are playing cards in a brewery among friends.

Misdeal? Shuffle again.

Forget whose deal it is? Consult the table.

Call the wrong suit? Blame the prevailing winds.

Lose five straight games? You are not losing. You are gathering valuable navigational information.

Playing for something bigger

The evening is designed for laughter, fellowship, and the responsible enjoyment of cards and refreshments. But our merry voyage has a purpose beyond discovering who can hide a right bower behind the most innocent expression.

We are playing for charity.

Every hand dealt, laugh shared, raffle ticket purchased, and donation dropped into the hold helps us do something useful for our community. We get to enjoy ourselves while behaving like upstanding citizens—an arrangement so convenient that one suspects there may be a regulation against it.

The charity raffle offers everyone a chance to sail home with something splendid, whether or not the cards have treated them kindly. A raffle is much like the sea: one never knows what it may bring. Perhaps treasure. Perhaps glory. Perhaps an object you did not know you needed until somebody else reached for it.

Donations are also welcome from anyone moved to add a little extra wind to the charitable sails. There will be no hard sell, no boarding party, and no grim-faced purser dangling anyone over the rail by the ankles. Give what feels right. Every contribution helps the cause travel a little farther.

One cheerful crew

The chief purpose of the evening is not to return home burdened with glory. It is to enjoy yourself, meet good people, support a worthy cause, and perhaps acquire a story that becomes increasingly heroic each time you tell it.

Naturally, there will be competition. A euchre player without a competitive streak is like a schooner without a sail: pleasant to look at, perhaps, but unlikely to get anywhere before closing time.

There may be daring loners, miraculous comebacks, and a right bower appearing precisely when all hope seems lost. There may also be a player who asks what trump is three times during the same hand.

All are welcome.

For one evening, we become a single, cheerful crew: old friends, new friends, Missing Falls regulars, euchre veterans, nervous beginners, raffle-ticket optimists, generous donors, and mysterious card-playing figures who emerge from the mist whenever someone mentions prizes.

The brewery becomes our harbor. The tables become our fleet. The scorekeepers become the Admiralty. The raffle table becomes Treasure Island. The donation jar becomes the ship’s charitable cargo hold. And I, Skipper Bob, shall do my best to keep the entire convoy pointed in roughly the same direction.

Life, properly managed, ought to feel a bit like a favorable sailing day: a steady breeze, good company, something refreshing within reach, and no urgent reason to be anywhere else.

The wind will not always cooperate. Neither will the cards. But a wise skipper does not spend the voyage quarrelling with the weather. He adjusts the sails, buys another raffle ticket, pours another beverage, and remembers that even a bad hand can produce a very good story.

Come aboard

Pull up a chair. Order something from Missing Falls. Shake hands with your next partner. Buy a raffle ticket—or several, should the charitable trade winds seize you. Make a donation if you are able.

Laugh when you get euchred. Laugh harder when you euchre somebody else.

And remember: the finest victories are not always recorded on the standings board. Sometimes they are the friendships made between rounds, the stories told across the table, the money raised for a good cause, and the feeling that—for a few happy hours—we were all part of the same slightly unruly family.

Here’s hoping for fair winds, calm seas, strong cards, stronger friendships, generous hearts, favorable raffle numbers, and just enough mischief to keep the voyage interesting.

See you at the tables.

Fair winds and favorable bowers,

Skipper Bob
Captain of Good Times
Commodore of Camaraderie
Admiral of the Missing Falls Euchre Fleet
Temporary Custodian of the Raffle Tickets