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Take that board games are games where players can directly hurt each other with a card or an action aimed at one specific person. The name comes from the moment itself: you play the card, look at your target, and the unspoken line is “take that.” Munchkin, Exploding Kittens, Uno’s draw-four, and Sorry! all run on it. Some people love these games and some people quietly refuse to play them, and the split is one of the most reliable in the hobby.
This article explains what “take that” means, how it differs from other kinds of conflict, why it provokes such strong reactions, what designers do to soften it, and how to choose for a group that contains both camps.
What counts as a take-that mechanic?
Three things define it.
It is targeted. You choose who gets hurt. An event that costs every player two coins is not take-that. A card that costs one player two coins, and you pick which, is.
It is direct. The harm goes straight from you to them. Winning a bidding war or taking the last tile someone needed is competition, but it is indirect. Take-that is the card that says “target player discards their hand.”
It is usually out of nowhere. Most take-that effects come from a hand of cards, so the target cannot see it coming and cannot do much about it. That surprise is a big part of why it stings.
Munchkin is the purest example. Players fight monsters to level up, and the rest of the table plays cards from their hands to make the monster stronger, curse the fighter, or steal their loot. The entire game is a negotiation over who gets ganged up on this turn.
Other examples across the weight spectrum:
- Uno and Exploding Kittens: draw-four, skip, and attack cards aimed at a chosen neighbor.
- Sorry! and Ludo: landing on a piece sends it home.
- Fluxx: rule changes and steals pointed at whoever is winning.
- Smash Up: minion destruction and base-stealing aimed at specific players.
- King of Tokyo: attacking everyone in or out of Tokyo, which is take-that against a position rather than a person.
- Cosmic Encounter: full-contact alliances and betrayals, though the system’s richness lifts it above most of the genre.
How is take-that different from other conflict?
It helps to put it on a spectrum.
| Kind of conflict | What it looks like | Example |
|---|---|---|
| None | Players never affect each other | Most roll-and-writes, solo modes |
| Indirect | Competing for shared resources or spaces | Ticket to Ride, Azul, Wingspan |
| Positional | Taking territory or blocking on a shared board | Carcassonne farms, Catan’s robber, area majority games |
| Take-that | Targeted cards or actions that hurt a chosen player | Munchkin, Uno, Exploding Kittens |
| Open warfare | Sustained attacks with armies or combat systems | Risk, Twilight Imperium, Root |
Open warfare games like Risk involve far more aggression than Munchkin, yet they bother fewer people. The difference is that war in Risk is the whole game, it is visible on the board, and it comes with structure: you can see the armies, count the odds, and defend. Take-that is a sucker punch from a hand of cards. The scale is smaller, but the feeling is more personal.
Our piece on area control games covers the positional middle of this table in more depth.
Why do take-that games divide people?
Because they test two different ideas about what a game is for.
Players who love them want a game to be a social event with drama, laughter, and grudges that reset at the end. The point of Munchkin is not the leveling; it is the table talk, the pleading, the moment when the quiet person reveals the card that ruins someone’s night. The attacks are the game’s personality. Strip them out and nothing is left.
Players who hate them want the result to reflect their play. A take-that game can punish you for being ahead, for being an easy target, or for nothing at all. You can play well for forty minutes and lose because two people decided to point their cards at you. For a player who wants control, that is not a game. It is a lottery with a social cost.
There is also a quieter third group: people who do not mind the mechanic but mind the feeling. Being singled out, even in a game, lands differently on different people. A player who had a hard week may not want a card aimed at them. Hosts who know their table well notice this.
None of these camps is wrong. They are different answers to the question “what do I want from the next hour,” and a game night that contains all three needs more than one kind of game. Our article on kingmaking covers the related problem of players who cannot win choosing who does, which take-that games make especially common.
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How do designers soften take-that?
The mechanic has not gone away, but modern designs tend to file down its sharpest edges. A few common techniques.
Make it a choice to be exposed. In King of Tokyo, you only take damage from everyone if you are in Tokyo, and you chose to go there (and get points for staying). The attack is still direct, but the target volunteered.
Give the target a response. Exploding Kittens’ Nope card lets you cancel an attack. Munchkin’s curses can be dodged with the right item. A take-that you can answer feels like a duel instead of a mugging.
Spread the damage. Attacks that hit everyone, or hit the attacker too, lose the personal edge. Many games convert “target player” into “each opponent” for exactly this reason.
Make it costly. If attacking means not scoring, players attack less and only when it matters. Scythe’s popularity track penalizes aggression. Many euro designs price interference so high that it almost never happens.
Keep it short. A take-that game that lasts fifteen minutes is a joke everyone is in on. The same mechanics over two hours are a grind. Munchkin’s biggest problem is not the attacks; it is that the attacks drag the endgame out as everyone piles on whoever approaches level ten.
Aim at positions, not people. Taking the last copy of a card from a market hurts the person who wanted it, but nobody chose to hurt them. Designers who want interaction without resentment lean on this heavily.
How do you pick for a mixed group?
Assume every group of six contains at least one person from each camp. Then:
Ask, do not guess. “Does anyone hate getting attacked?” is a fine question to ask before choosing a game. People will tell you.
Lead with softened take-that. King of Tokyo, Sushi Go!, and The Quacks of Quedlinburg have enough bite to satisfy the drama camp and enough structure to satisfy the control camp.
Save pure take-that for the right night. Munchkin and Exploding Kittens work when everyone is in a loud mood and nobody cares who wins. They do not work as the main event for a table that came to think.
Watch who gets targeted. If the same person is the easy target every week, the game stops being fun for them whether or not they say so. A good host notices and changes the game.
Reset at the end. Take-that games generate grudges by design. Groups that laugh and move on can play them often. Groups where the grudge lasts until next week should play them rarely.
FAQ
What does “take that” mean in board games?
A mechanic where a player can directly target another player with a harmful card or action, such as making them discard, lose points, or skip a turn.
Is Munchkin a take-that game?
Yes, and probably the best-known example. Most of the game is players using cards to sabotage whoever is about to win.
What is the difference between take-that and direct conflict?
Take-that is a subset of direct conflict: targeted, usually from a hand of cards, and usually sudden. Wargames involve direct conflict but through visible, structured systems.
Which take-that games are good for families?
Sorry!, Uno, and King of Tokyo are the usual picks, because the attacks are small, frequent, and easy to laugh off.
Take that, with care
A take-that card is a tiny act of aggression aimed at someone you presumably like. Whether that is delightful or miserable depends entirely on who is sitting across from you and what kind of night they came for. The game is the reason. The people are the point.
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