I still remember that sweltering summer afternoon when my cousin Miguel pulled out a worn deck of cards and declared it was time for our annual Tongits showdown. We’d been playing for years, but this time felt different. He’d just returned from a month in Manila, and rumor had it he’d picked up some "unbeatable" strategies. As we settled around the wooden table, the fan whirring uselessly in the corner, I noticed how deliberately he arranged his cards—not just by suit, but in some mysterious pattern I couldn’t decipher. That’s when it hit me: Tongits isn’t just about luck. It’s a psychological chess match disguised as a card game. Much like that classic baseball video game I’d spent countless hours playing as a kid, Backyard Baseball '97, success often hinges on understanding your opponent’s predictable flaws rather than relying on raw skill alone.

In Backyard Baseball '97, one of its greatest exploits always was and remains an ability to fool CPU baserunners into advancing when they shouldn’t. I’d spend entire afternoons deliberately throwing the ball between infielders, watching with glee as the AI-controlled players took risky leads off base, only to get trapped in rundowns. That same principle applies perfectly to Tongits. When Miguel discarded a seemingly random 5 of hearts early in our game, I recognized the pattern—he was baiting me. He wanted me to think he was clearing low-value cards, but I’d seen him do this before. By holding back my own 5s and 6s, I forced him to commit to a strategy that left him with deadwood later. It’s what I call the "Master Card Tongits Strategy"—not about any single magical card, but about mastering the flow of the game, controlling the discard pile like those digital baseball fielders controlling the base paths.

The beauty of this approach is how it turns the game’s rhythm to your advantage. In that particular match against Miguel, I counted exactly 17 discards before he finally realized I wasn’t taking his bait. He’d been trying to build a flush while pretending to go for sequences, but by tracking which suits he kept avoiding, I could piece together his actual hand. This is where most intermediate players fail—they focus too much on their own cards and not enough on the story being told through everyone’s discards. Just like in that baseball game where throwing to multiple infielders created false opportunities, sometimes in Tongits you need to make suboptimal discards intentionally to mislead opponents about your actual combinations.

What surprised me most was how much this mirrored my experience with older games lacking quality-of-life features. A "remaster" of Backyard Baseball more in line with the usual meaning of the word feasibly would've included updates to prevent those AI exploits, but its janky systems created deeper strategic possibilities. Similarly, Tongits thrives on its imperfections—the limited information, the psychological tells, the way a single poorly timed discard can unravel an entire game plan. When Miguel finally went down with 38 points in that decisive round, it wasn’t because I had better cards. It was because I’d used these Master Card Tongits Strategy principles to make him second-guess decisions he normally would’ve made automatically. The real victory came three games later when he leaned forward, lowered his voice and asked, "Okay, what are you doing differently?" That’s when you know your strategy has truly leveled up.