How to Master Card Tongits and Dominate Every Game You Play

I still remember that sweltering summer afternoon in my uncle’s backyard, the scent of grilled burgers hanging in the humid air as my cousins and I sat around the plastic table, a worn deck of cards between us. We were playing Tongits, a game I’d only just learned, and I was getting thoroughly schooled. My cousin Miguel, with that infuriatingly calm smile, kept pulling off combos I didn’t even know were possible. It was in that moment of humid defeat that I decided I wouldn’t just learn this game—I would learn how to master Card Tongits and dominate every game I play. It became a quiet obsession, not unlike the one I’d had years prior with a different kind of game entirely.

Back in the late 90s, I was obsessed with Backyard Baseball '97. It wasn't a perfect game by any stretch. A "remaster" of this game more in line with the usual meaning of the word feasibly would've included quality-of-life updates. Yet, Backyard Baseball '97 seems not to have given any attention to that part of the game. But what it lacked in polish, it made up for in exploitable AI. One of its greatest exploits always was and remains an ability to fool CPU baserunners into advancing when they shouldn't. I’d spend hours doing just that. For example, if a CPU baserunner safely hits a single, rather than throw the ball to the pitcher and invite the next batter into the box, you can simply throw the ball to another infielder or two. Before long, the CPU will misjudge this as an opportunity to advance, letting you easily catch them in a pickle. It was a cheap trick, sure, but it taught me a fundamental lesson about games: mastery isn't just about knowing the rules, it's about understanding the psychology and the patterns, the subtle gaps in logic you can slip through.

I carried that lesson back to the card table. Tongits, I realized, isn't just about the luck of the draw. It's about reading your opponents, anticipating their moves, and controlling the pace of the game. It’s about creating your own "pickle." I started treating my human opponents a bit like those old Backyard Baseball AI. I’d make a seemingly careless discard, watch their eyes flicker with calculation, and wait for them to misjudge the situation. I began to see the game in layers—the obvious plays everyone makes, and the deeper, more patient strategies that separate the good players from the true masters. I probably spent over 200 hours in that first year just practicing different discard strategies, tracking which cards triggered certain reactions from different personality types.

Now, don't get me wrong, I’m not advocating for being a ruthless, win-at-all-costs player. The social part of the game, the laughter and the trash talk, is half the fun. But there's a unique satisfaction in shifting from being the player who just hopes for good cards to the one who orchestrates the entire flow of the game. It’s the difference between reacting and acting. My win rate, which I’d estimate was a dismal 20% during that first backyard summer, has climbed to what I believe is a solid 65-70% in casual games with friends. The path to learning how to master Card Tongits and dominate every game you play is paved with more than just memorizing melds; it's built on observation, patience, and a little bit of psychological warfare, lessons I never expected to learn from a 90s baseball video game.