The holiday season tends to make us reflective in all kinds of ways. I know that is the case for me. That is why THE GAME newsletter exists. As a safe and nonjudgemental space about the games we love, about the game(s) of life.

This Christmas week we have a wide range of short pieces for you to read, and for you to encourage others to read and subscribe to this newsletter as well.

Erin Ashley Simon, Natassja Bynoe, Rhonda Bayless, and Maritri each give us much food for thought on everything from that word karma to childhood games as adult lessons, to why video games actually should matter to all of us, to being, quite literally, a daughter of this planet earth.

Kicked off with the Madden game updated review by 15-year-old Heru Sa Shekhem, writers Dr. Daudi Abe, Dara Kalima, and Adisa Banjoko stand on business about chess, hip-hop culture, basketball and, yes, football. And rounding out the words of insight is my mightily gifted Newsweek magazine editor Paul Rhodes, from across the pond in London.

Plus we have fun holiday recommendations for tv, film, music, and even holiday poems to read!

This is THE GAME, it is yours, SUBSCRIBE, SHARE, ENCOURAGE OTHERS TO SUBSCRIBE. And enjoy!

Kevin Powell, The Game Editorial Director, is a GRAMMY-nominated poet, humanitarian, author of 16 books, filmmaker, and writer of forthcoming biography of Tupac Shakur.

We’ve spent years worrying about what video games might take from us, our focus, our time, our sense of calm.

But the science now points to something far less simple.

Again and again, research shows that many games don’t just entertain us; they train the brain to notice more details, decide faster, remember better, and stay flexible.

In other words, video games may be doing more good inside our heads than we ever expected.

Scientists who study the brain often begin by assessing action games, the fast, loud titles many parents love to complain about.

Yet inside the lab, those same games reveal surprising effects.

A 2022 study from Georgia State University found that frequent gamers were quicker and more accurate on decision-making tasks.

Brain scans showed stronger activity in networks that link vision, movement, and planning.

Other research in Nature Neuroscience found that action games improve contrast sensitivity, the ability to notice subtle visual details or pick out shapes in low light.

The games that look overwhelming on the surface may actually be teaching the brain to work with greater precision.

And the benefits don’t belong only to kids.

They may also help older adults keep vital skills.

In one study, seniors who played a 3D exploration game showed increases in gray matter in the hippocampus, a region important for memory and navigation.

Other research suggests that strategy and puzzle games can strengthen visuospatial skills and support the brain’s ability to adapt.

For older adults, these small boosts matter, especially when we talk about Alzheimer’s or Dementia.

They point to a future in which video games are not simply entertainment, but tools for staying mentally sharp as we age.

Of course, balance is still needed. Gaming is not risk-free.

The World Health Organization officially recognizes “Gaming Disorder,” defined as losing control over gaming, prioritizing it above school, work, or relationships, and continuing despite harm.

Most gamers will never reach this point.

But its existence reminds us that even helpful tools can overwhelm when limits disappear.

So, are video games good or bad?

The honest answer is that they are something more interesting.

They are machines of attention, memory, and imagination, capable of shaping the brain in meaningful ways, but also demanding boundaries.

Video games may not be the waste of time many once feared.

They might be part of what helps keep us awake, alive, and ready for the world.

Erin Ashley Simon is a multimedia host, producer and creative strategist shaping the future of gaming, and entertainment. Her work with brands like Nike, PUMA, AT&T, Columbia Records, and The Wall Street Journal reflects her mission to bridge these worlds together to push the culture forward.

My life is a constant, continental game of negotiation, played by three fiercely distinct rulebooks. I am an American firstborn of Barbadian parents, but my identity was forged in a complex geographical mosaic: 40 years in the Bronx moulded the New Yorker; Montreal branded the Canadian child; and my breadfruit and coucou upbringing in Barbados anchored my roots. Now, as a transplant to The Gambia in West Africa, I stand at the confluence of these histories, carrying three complex lenses that shape every glance.

As an African Barbadian-American Black woman, my power is constantly under threat. My Barbadian view is shaped by the legacy of colonialism and slavery, a system that weaponised shame and told us we would never be enough and worthy. My time in Montreal taught me to recognise the covert and subtle nature of racism, and as an American, well…. I ain’t got to tell you!

As the scholar Stuart Hall reminds us, identity is not singular but constructed by various power structures. For me, this manifests as an ongoing cycle of cultural disorientation. It is a frustrating inability to grasp the nuances of local expressions that racks the nooks and crannies of my brain, while producing distorted ebbs and flows. In udda words —"I cannnt get dis onstand?!” It is at this moment, I juxtapose my Bajan perspective, which is the closest to Africa both in proximity and of the mind.

In 2018, Ghana first introduced me to intense cognitive dissonance—the conflict between the romantic ideal of ancestral royalty and the complex reality. That African life is in the community bonds, fictive kinships, and the relationship with the land are foundational—more powerful in contrast to Western individualism. My default is the "I" perspective, yet life here demands the African "We" perspective—a complete shift in thinking. It is my Bajan perspective, rooted in collectivism, that offers the roadmap I need to "Get Through!”

If this piece reads confusing, welcome to the very definition of navigating multicultural lenses. It is my hopes to become the person my inner child dreamed of. Whilst collecting and integrating, and understanding African perspectives, piece by piece. BLLLAAAXXXX!!! "Bari Kendo!"

Natassja Bynoe is the CEO of The African Diaspora Institute of Cultural Exchange and Historical Research, Inc., and recently concluded a project for the Prime Minister of Barbados on Black women who resisted slavery. A lecturer at the University of The Gambia, she is also a Ph.D. student whose dissertation focuses on enslaved spaces, specifically slave markets and encampments on the African continent.

One day, back in the day, my cousins, my little brother, and I were playing a game of Sorry in my parents’ basement. It was one of those days when your parents tell you to find something to do, so Sorry it was. So, in the game, the goal is to make it around the board until you get to your colored area. You can “bump” your competition and send them back to the beginning. 

Now, understand, I’m not competitive. Don’t ask me to play Spades (though I can play) or any other game. It’s just not that serious to me. To baby brother, that’s another thing. Everything is the game. Everything is competitive, and the one person he loved to beat was me. He would taunt. He teased. He would get up and run around the room with joy when he bumped into another player, especially me. Interestingly, he would get angry when I didn’t “play the game.” He would say that I wasn’t serious. He would literally yell, “Rhonda, you need to really play!” He wanted me to get mad at him for either winning—or for me losing. 

So, we continued to play. My older cousin bumped my brother, sending him back to start. He got a little mad. But here comes big sis. I bumped him back and won the game, sending my little brother into a rage. How could I win if I wasn’t really playing the game? He was mad. I just looked at him and said, “I was just playing the game by your rules”.

 This is how my life has been, especially with my career. I’ve never been interested in “playing the game,” or any games for that matter, even though it seems that when you’re Black, female, middle-aged, and disabled, the board is laid before you with rules that change with every roll of the dice. The most interesting thing about this forced game is when you have achievements that others don’t think you deserve to have because they think you haven’t been engaged, you’re lesser in some way, or the death blow, “why you, it should have been me.”

The Lesson: you’re in the game even if you don’t want to be in it. But you can still play by your rules, determine what “winning” looks like for you, and never say you’re sorry.

Rhonda L. Bayless, Founder and Executive Director, Centers of Wellness for Urban Women, podcaster, women’s health advocate. 

5AM musings… You know, life is funny. People are funny.  But karma is often the funniest of them all. And karma always has the last laugh. Sometimes, people think that they are moving invisibly … sometimes to help, sometimes to harm. It seems that those moving in silence towards kindness and light are rewarded. And those moving in the darkness, although maybe not immediately, get exactly what they deserve. The universe or God or nature, whatever you are attached to takes care of you in the manner that you live your life. We have all made mistakes. I’ve made huge ones and certainly felt the consequences. But I do my best to not repeat said mistakes. And to admit to them and then question myself about the why of it. And apologize. I do my best daily to be thoughtful and intentional about what I put into the world. Not because I can be forgiven but because it’s the right thing to do. Integrity is everything. Even if I’m the only one that sees it. I know exactly what I’ve done. 

I know that I talk about life and death. A lot. I am constantly surrounded by it. We are all moving towards the end. We are born that way. And what you do in the dash is all we have. I want to encourage anyone who is an artist to lean fully into that without hesitation. Remember that it is a calling and a gift. Use it to the fullest. And surround yourself with people who are passionate and walk in their purpose. And hold you in high regard. 

Sharing yourself and your artistic thoughts is weird because you run the risk of someone helping themselves to your ideas and thoughts as though they are their own. I’m not really sure how that works because I haven’t done it. And feel no need to be anyone or anything other than exactly who I am. Being a vessel for art to come through and live within is sacred. And should be treated as such. Being real and authentic are truly the only things. Being grateful for the gifts I’ve been given and using them ‘til the wheels fall off. I know that comparison is one of the many thieves of joy. We all have our own particular lane, and our only competition is ourselves in the past, really. My desire is to be better than I was twenty years ago and better than I was yesterday. To learn something new daily and implement it. If I have time to criticize someone or covet what they have, I’m not working hard enough on myself. 

Operating in this business can be rough. Yet we do it. We show up every day for work. And put our hearts and souls into this world. Sometimes it may be difficult to remember who you are when you’re surrounded by chaos and destruction. I urge you to remember and push onward and upward. Write the songs, dance the dance, paint the painting, write the poem, raise your children, teach your classes. Whatever you do, it’s an art form. Treat it that way and treat yourself as the artist and incredibly gifted human that you are. And when the vipers show up, crush them. 

Maritri Garrett is a multi-instrumentalist, composer , vocalist, music therapist and writer  from California. She is currently containing her nieces and living as a working musician.

I have been watching and thoroughly enjoying the sport of football ever since I was a child. With that history, I fell in love with the video game franchise of Madden. I started playing since Madden NFL 19 in 2018 and have purchased every new version since then. When it comes to sports games, most of my friends think that it’s the same game republished every year with slightly different content. However, this year for Madden NFL 26, I can confidently prove my friends wrong.

In its December updates, Madden NFL 26 did not fail to impress me with accurate roster updates that ensures the players are evenly rated week after week based on progression. They also included bug fixes to maintain the consistency in performance. Before the update, the game had visible issues with online gameplay like lagging in the game’s servers. This issue has been vastly improved with this patch and has been very beneficial for my multiplayer experience. Also, they added new holiday player cards and rewards to incentivize players like me who want these special cards and Christmas-themed rewards during the season.

All in all, Madden continues to impress me with their ability to respond to player feedback and issues within the game, and make it a better environment for people in their gaming community. From bug fixes to seasonal rewards that freshen up the game, they consistently provide a new feel to it and improve on things that they may have been lacking in the previous season. If they keep doing an amazing job at regular updates and making the game entertaining at all times, I will continue to play and will be interested in purchasing the next game, Madden NFL 27, which should be coming out in August of 2026.

Heru Sa Shekhem is a 15-year-old aspiring journalist from Miami, Florida. He values family, friends and has a deep admiration for basketball.

The sports trauma Seattle experienced when the SuperSonics relocated in 2008 was obvious on many levels. However, one of the subtler dynamics which disappeared with the team was the practice of active and past Sonics coaches engaging local high school basketball. This tradition dates back from Bill Russell and Lenny Wilkens in the 1970s to Bernie Bickerstaff in the 80s, George Karl in the 90s and Nate McMillan in the 2000s.

Despite the loss, there was overlap between the team’s departure and an extraordinary growth of prep basketball in greater Seattle. In recent decades the region has produced over twenty McDonald’s All Americans and over thirty NBA and WNBA draft picks.

How to explain this from a metropolitan area that ranks only 15^th in population among U.S. cities? Two words: culture and community. Seattle’s two most prominent AAU programs, Friends of Hoop and Rotary Style, have become nationally regarded pipelines to college and professional basketball. Just as important, alumni from numerous schools have made it their business to return and invest themselves in upcoming generations of hoopers. 

One powerful example is Rainier Beach grad Jamal Crawford’s “Crawsover” pro-am. Created in 2004 and held at Seattle Pacific University, this summer league has attracted basketball royalty, including LeBron James, Jayson Tatum, Kevin Durant, Kyrie Irving and Aaron Gordon, as well as homegrown stars like Isaiah Thomas, Zach LaVine and Dejounte Murray. The opportunity for local high school talent to share the court with these and other players is meaningful, and is an important aspect of shaping culture and building community.

In 2022, former Sonics coach PJ Carlesimo proclaimed that “the Metro League in Seattle is the best high school league in America.” His assessment was validated months later when three Metro players—Paolo Banchero (#1 overall), Tari Eason (#17), and Marjon Beauchamp (#24)—were selected in the first round of the NBA Draft.

Carlesimo’s opinion has been bookended by two instances of number one-ranked players in the nation opting to move to and play in Seattle—Michael Porter Jr. enrolling at Nathan Hale in 2016 and Tyran Stokes attending Rainier Beach in 2025 (Stokes promptly went for 52 in the third game of the season). In an age of “free agent” amateur athletes, having elite players from around the country choose the “206” speaks volumes. 

As another season begins, thousands across the Seattle area will once again make the pilgrimage to local gyms throughout what has become a mecca for high school basketball.

Dr. Daudi Abe teaches Humanities at Seattle Central College and is the author of 6 N The Morning: West Coast Hip-Hop Music 1987-1992 & the Transformation of Mainstream Culture and Emerald Street: A History of Hip Hop in Seattle.

Growing up, football was my favorite sport. I didn’t really understand the game beyond the fact that people ran across the field with an oblong ball—but I loved it. Every fall, my family, bundled up in heavy coats and scarves, packed coolers full of food, and headed to the old Yankee Stadium for the game. It was always the Tigers versus some other team, and the entire section roared for the Tigers, me included. 

My dad was the type of guy that refused to go with the crowd, so of course he stood in the stands, shouting at full volume: “Tigers can’t fly, Eagle!” In a sea of Tigers supporters, he was the lone deep booming voice cheering for the opposition. I was both amused and horrified; he relished every second of it. For years, I thought I was cheering for an NFL team, but there was no Tigers team in the league during the 80s. 

We weren’t cheering for an NFL team at all—we were rooting for Grambling State University, though I didn’t understand that then. Only later did I realize that what I thought was just another game was actually an immersion in Black excellence, philanthropy, social responsibility, and the vibrant culture of HBCUs.

In that stadium, I was learning about community, about what it meant to be Black, what it meant to let our hair down, all while supporting our colleges and our organizations. It wasn’t just any regular game, it was the New York Urban League Football Classic. The halftime show was always the highlight, featuring the legendary battle of the bands. They played our music, got down with their dancing, the drumline had us in awe, and the entire stadium erupted in joy.

Mom and Dad were proud supporters of both the National and New York Urban Leagues (NUL and NYUL), and the Football Classic served as an annual fundraiser for the New York chapter. Though I never had the chance to attend an HBCU myself, I often think back to those fall games in the Bronx—grateful for the lessons, the culture, and the unforgettable experiences that shaped me. As an adult, I became a member of NYUL and volunteered at their final HBCU Football Classic. Grambling didn’t play in that final game that took place at Giant Stadium, but I still heard my father’s chant echoing in my memory. It reminded me that legacy isn’t just about the teams on the field—it’s about the voices, chants, traditions, and communities that shape us. 

Dara Kalima, widely known as The Community Poet, is a Bronx-based writer, performer, and literary organizer whose work bridges activism and artistry. She has performed both regionally and internationally, facilitated transformative poetry workshops, and been published in over 20 anthologies and platforms including Great Weather for Media, Moonstone Press, The Amistad, and African Voices Magazine. Kalima is the author of five books, including Still Laughin’ and It Is Abnormal: To Ban Poetry, and her writing boldly examines the trials and triumphs of her community through a lens of truth-telling and healing. Visit her website: www.darakalima.com

At first glance, hip-hop and chess seem worlds apart—one born in The Bronx, pulsing with rhythm and raw emotion, the other an ancient game of silent calculation. But look deeper, and you'll find they're twins separated at birth, both demanding the same essential skills: strategy, adaptability, reading your opponent, and turning disadvantage into victory.

Bobby Fischer was from Brooklyn. He became world champion as Hip-Hop is getting its baby legs, in 1972. Bruce Lee debuts in New York City in 1973, right when Hip-Hop launches its global takeover. Washington Square Park and others like it coast to coast were hubs for chess hustlers. In time it all came together. At that moment, however, the convergence seemed more separated. 

Hip-hop culture has always understood this connection. Wu-Tang Clan named themselves after a chess strategy and built an empire on it. GZA released Liquid Swords connecting chess to street warfare. Prodigy of Mobb Deep spoke about chess as mental survival. The Wu’s “Da Mystery of Chessboxin’” said it plainly: "Life is like a game of chess, you gotta think before you move." These weren't metaphors—they were recognizing that the skills that make you dangerous on the board make you dangerous on the mic: pattern recognition, composure under pressure, the ability to sacrifice a piece to win the game.

But this ain't the Golden Era of Hip-Hop, and it shows. While you don't hear as many chess references in today's mainstream hip-hop, the game's value as a critical thinking tool hasn't diminished—it's become more essential. In an era of instant gratification, algorithmic feeds, and attention spans measured in seconds, chess teaches what young people desperately need: patience, consequence, strategic thinking, and the ability to sit with complexity without looking for shortcuts.

The lyrical trend may have faded, but the viability it gives Black and Latino youth remains crucial. I’ve taught chess is juvenile halls in Saint Louis, San Francisco and Oakland for many years. I’ve been invited to speak on this topic over the years at Harvard, Oberlin, San Francisco State and many other houses of learning. Chess teaches pattern recognition in a world drowning in misinformation. It teaches delayed gratification in a culture of immediate likes. It teaches that every action has a reaction, every choice has a cost, every sacrifice can lead to victory—or defeat. These aren't just game skills. These are life skills. Survival skills.

As Kendrick Lamar reminds us in "HUMBLE.": "Sit down, be humble." Chess will humble you. It will show you that arrogance loses games and that true mastery requires constant learning. It teaches what Black youth especially need to internalize: You are brilliant. Your mind is a weapon. But you must sharpen it.

This connection between hip-hop and chess runs so deep. In 2014 I had the honor of guest curating the historic "Living Like Kings" exhibition at the World Chess Hall of Fame in Saint Louis—the first museum exhibition to explore the cultural intersection of hip-hop and chess. The response was record breaking. We had more openings than that Bobby Fischer’s exhibit. That is how big Hip-Hop is. In 2018 I brought a second event to the Oakland Museum of California, where jam-packed crowds proved what I've always known: this connection resonates because it's real. Young people see themselves in both cultures. They understand instinctively that the same brilliance that creates a devastating checkmate can craft a legendary verse.

This understanding inspired me to create 64 Blocks, LLC—a program that teaches Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, chess, and meditation to the youth. We recognize that real empowerment comes from mastering three dimensions: the strategic mind (chess), the present body (jiu-jitsu), and the centered heart (meditation). Together, these practices teach our young people to think critically, move intelligently, and stay grounded in who they are—no matter what pressures they face. Because as my brother Tupac said, "I'm not saying I'm gonna change the world, but I guarantee that I will spark the brain that will."

We're sparking those brains. One move at a time. One roll at a time. One breath at a time.

Because champions aren't just made on boards or mats. They're made in minds that refuse to quit and bodies that know their own power. 

Professor Adisa Banjoko teaches Black Belt Jiu-Jitsu, chess and meditation in America and the United Kingdom. He shares his ideas on Substack. You can also follow Adisa @real64blocks on IG, or visit www.adisabanjoko.com