Why I, Bernard Michael Rochford, Will Never Play Uno Again

There are few things in life that truly test the soul.

Back pain? Manageable. Raising children? Rewarding. Playing Uno with your family? Utter madness.

I’m Bernard Michael Rochford, former osteopath, quiet BBQ enjoyer, and now… lifelong Uno hater.

Let me explain.

It started, as most family board game disasters do, with good intentions. A rainy Saturday, my daughter suggested a “nice, relaxing card game.” Uno, she said. Something “light.”

What she failed to mention is that Uno is not a game. It’s a psychological endurance test designed to expose cracks in familial love.

I was +2’d three times in a row. Someone reversed the order when I was finally about to strike. My own grandson laughed — laughed — as he dropped a +4 Wild on me like he was declaring war. I had 22 cards in my hand at one point. I needed a music stand to hold them all.

And the rules? Every family seems to make them up as they go along:

• Can you stack +2s? “Depends who you ask.”
• Can you end on a Wild card? “Not in this house, Bernard.”
• Should you scream “UNO!” or politely mention it? “No! Scream it! Or we’ll make you draw 2!”

It’s not a game. It’s a trap.

Even when I thought I was winning — especially when I thought I was winning — Uno found a way to humble me.

By the end, I wasn’t playing. I was surviving.

Uno turned me, Bernard Michael Rochford, into a shell of a man. A man who now twitches every time he sees primary colours.

I’ve since returned to my peaceful BBQing. My meat never betrays me. My coals don’t change direction. My brisket doesn’t draw four.

So if you ever see me in Brisbane and ask, “Bernard, fancy a game of Uno?”

I’ll smile, politely.

And then run.

— Bernard Michael Rochford Uno Survivor | Full-time Card Game Pacifist | Brisbane BBQer