Pete's Expert Summary
My human has acquired a new distraction from Thames & Kosmos, a flat box filled with colorful cards and a foldable map they call "The Crew: Family Adventure." From what I can gather through their rudimentary spoken language, it's a cooperative affair where they must work together to escape some sort of "paradise"—a concept I find baffling. Why would anyone want to leave paradise? The primary appeal for a being of my refinement is clearly the game board, which offers a spacious and strategically important platform for a nap, directly in the center of their so-called "mission." While the tiny cardboard tokens are mildly tempting to bat under the sofa, the real game is asserting my dominance over their playing area. It seems a harmless way for them to occupy their time, though I doubt it's as mentally stimulating as tracking a sunbeam across the rug.
Key Features
- YOUR CREW IS YOUR FAMILY - Share your love of The Crew with up to 5 family members, or learn to play it together with this new family-friendly version, ages 8 & up
- AWARD-WINNING - A family-friendly addition to the Kennerspiel des Jahres winning series, The Crew. In these trick-taking games, the winner of each round is the one who puts down the highest card of the original suit.
- MISSIONS ABOUND - The logbook will have you searching for supplies and battling pirates across 35 unique missions.
- MAP OUT YOUR ACTIONS - Illustrated game board provides bright and bold visuals to see all the possibilities. Use it to help show progress and plan the next move.
- POWER-UPS - All-New power-ups and abilities allow you to turn the tide when facing your toughest challenges
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The ceremony began shortly after the evening meal. My human and their chosen companions unfurled a great, vibrant tapestry upon the low table in the living room, a map of some gaudy, sun-drenched archipelago. They spoke in hushed, serious tones, shuffling the stiff, glossy rectangles between their hands. I watched from the arm of the sofa, my tail giving a slow, deliberate twitch. They were playing at being lost, a state I only experience when my food bowl is moved two inches to the left. They called this "Marooned in Paradise," a predicament they seemed to have willingly inflicted upon themselves. As they began their "mission," I noted the mechanics of their strange ritual. It was a silent conversation conducted with cards. One would place a card, and the others would follow, their faces a mixture of hope and consternation. They were a "crew," they said, and had to work together. I scoffed internally. A crew? I am a crew of one, an apex predator whose every need is met through superior intellect and a well-timed, pathetic-sounding meow. Their "cooperation" looked like organized floundering. They pointed at the map, lamenting their inability to reach a pictograph of a crate, foiled by what they called a "pirate." A pirate? Please. They wouldn't last five minutes against the squirrel that taunts me from the bird feeder. After one particularly frustrating round where they failed to secure their objective, my human sighed and absently stroked my back. And that’s when I saw it—a new card had been revealed, a "power-up" they called it. It depicted a creature of immense grace and power, a sleek panther with piercing eyes. They spoke of its ability to "turn the tide." It was then I understood. This was not a game about them at all. It was a parable. They were the bumbling sailors, lost and inept, and the cards were symbolic of the chaotic forces of the universe. The panther—clearly a stylized representation of my own magnificent self—was the key to their salvation. With a newfound sense of purpose, I rose, stretched languidly, and hopped onto the table. I walked across their flimsy paradise, my paws deftly avoiding their little tokens, and sat directly upon the panther card, claiming it. I fixed my human with a look of profound wisdom. The room fell silent. They could not proceed, not without acknowledging the true power in the room. They could have their little game, their imaginary pirates and pointless missions. It was clear who was truly in charge of this expedition. The game, I decided, was an adequate, if slightly remedial, tool for teaching them this fundamental truth.
