There are two types of people in the world. At base level, there are those who play the game, and those who couldn't be bothered. And yes, it really is that simple. Any differentiations from there on out can be split into gender, and from that ? how much bodily hair is visible with the naked eye.

The purpose of 'The Game' stems from pure logic: If you play it well enough you win. Many doth protest too much, claiming to be mere spectators, sitting on the sidelines, not wanting to involve themselves in such childish mind-wagers, but inevitably, The Game will always take precedent.

A player of the dating game?

I, myself, have never been an able player of the dating game. For one, it takes too much forethought and discipline. Traits I don't have the time to develop, frankly.

I feel that when women throw energy into playing a game with a man, she always comes out with the silver medal, not the gold ? even if her efforts are considered exemplary.

Women seem all too transparent when they refuse to return a phone call. 'Maybe he'll think I'm out and about with a hot man', when in reality, they're watching their phone like a hawk, dressed in their pyjamas and watching the reruns of Denise Richards: 'It's Complicated'.

Perhaps I'm wrong, but our male counterparts know the deal. And they'll call our bluff if they're smart enough. We want to exude an air of mystery, a laissez-faire attitude of 'he can come or he can go, I couldn't care less', but in reality? If the man has a brain on his shoulders, he knows exactly what you're doing.

This is why I don't partake in The Game. However, this doesn't mean anyone I date doesn't try to play The Game with me. And yes, men can be equally as transparent.

The ins' and outs' of the game

This is how it usually goes: You meet, chat, touch each other's arms a lot, he asks for your number. The game is ready to kick off. And it's going to be predictable. He'll wait two days to call you.

Like clockwork, two days later he'll call you ? if you're lucky (these days, men get away with murder). He'll text you asking you for drinks. It's an easy out, and honestly, it's annoying.

Some men are more tactically inclined. They'll call or text the very next day, email you, and just as it's getting on like Donkey Kong, he'll disappear for three days.

Hopefully, as the dawn of day three crests, you'd have already moved on. In your pyjamas, watching marathon episodes of E! television.

Then, just as you've eradicated him from your mind, and you're healthily surging forward with your life, the phone rings. Oh look, The Game isn't finished yet. If you harbour no resentment of his disappearance of three full days, you'll answer it with a, 'Who? Oh hi'.

Grand delusions

One strike. You go for dinner, he pays. It's lovely, he's lavishing you with affection and phrases like 'you are so amazing!' The Game resumes. Sometimes you answer his calls, sometimes you don't.

Or. Will you? It's all very predictable, and both genders can play a good game. That much is evident. However, like all games, one does run the risk of penalties. Games are good for obvious reasons, however, when you choose to not get involved (like myself), there's a cut-off point.

There's only so much time I can spend watching a man play tennis up against a wall by himself, thinking that I am part of his match. That point comes when I start getting bored.

Because if a man or woman is interested enough, he'll be careful how he handles your balls. Too much hitting the ball into the net gets me frustrated and I tend to start losing interest. Lobbing balls at me consistently enough is fair play; it must be done. The game, in a nutshell, has to be a balanced one.

Or else I blow the whistle on the whole ordeal. And if that wasn't his game plan, then he loses. Which seems like an awfully good waste of field time, doesn't it?