Dice crackle in the palm of your hand, rain pelts the ground outside, a stack of golden $100 bills perches under the board, and a tiny metal race car revs only three spaces from “GO!”

Weeks ago, a loved one gave me a set of the classic Parker Brothers board game Monopoly. But until last weekend, during a drizzle that practically begged people to stay indoors, I wasn’t lucky enough to find time to play.

It’s almost like I had to roll the dice to land a chance.

Admittedly, this is not a game to be completed rapidly. This is a game designed for standing in staunch defiance of a million other things you probably could do, and instead spend hours becoming a land baron or railroad tycoon with fake money and little tokens whisking around a playing field of cardboard.

I enjoy games of all kinds, including some tantalizingly vivid, state-of-the art battles of wit and skill played on computer. I relish games of cards and chess, though I’m not terribly good, and usually welcome a round of Upwords, Pictionary, Taboo or Trivial Pursuit.

But for many of us, Monopoly hearkens to good times we spent with friends and family in childhood, whiling away the hours. It falls into the category of games that have survived for generations, such as Clue and Life.

When nay-sayers tell me, “Dude. Get a clue. Get a life,” I try to reply with something equally off-putting, like “Why not try it? Take a Risk,” or simply, “I suspect Professor Plum in the Conservatory with the wrench.”

Playing a game of Monopoly seemed an especially fitting thing to do in my little cottage, which looks a great deal like one of the tiny houses you can buy for $100 if you own St. Charles Place and the other purple property deeds. Then again, my place is a bit more spacious, and it’s not green.

The board on which we played was based on a great collectors’ edition from 1935. I assumed the role of banker, but caution was in order as, from time to time, I was as absent-minded with the money as Uncle Billy from “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

Perhaps a bit jealous of the attention we were giving this board, my cat, James, hunted the tokens and tried to swipe his paws across entire miniature housing developments and hotels, like a gigantic monster in a B-grade Japanese science fiction movie.

Later, Catzilla took his revenge when we took a break, leaving his mark by biting through two “Community Chest” cards. Maybe he was trying to force his way into the game as a kind of cat burglar, looking to get out of jail free.

That action gave me pause (or perhaps I should say “paws”). How did this game begin, anyway?

As the story goes, Monopoly was invented in 1933 by Charles Darrow, a De-pression-era radiator repairman from Philadelphia who was fond of Atlantic City, N.J. A National Public Radio piece about Monopoly last November described it as a game in which “down-on-their-luck Americans trade pricey properties and connive their way to fantastic riches,” and noted that as the game became increasingly popular, Darrow stuffed his pockets with real money.

As another way of putting it, in light of St. Patrick’s Day, he’d found his pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

But the development of Monopoly was actually more complex, stemming from a 1904 novelty patented by Elizabeth Magie called “The Landlord’s Game.” Students at universities improved upon the premise for nearly three decades.

As a symbol of U.S. capitalism and free market principles, for years Monopoly was banned in Russia and China and is still outlawed in North Korea and Cuba.

I’m happy that a United States economics professor in 1974 invented a game called Antimonopoly. And I wish the world’s greed, takeovers and wheeling and dealing for the sake of cash and power were confined to board games.

I wish rent were only $6, like it is on Baltic Avenue, and all property large enough to accommodate four houses cost less than $400.

At least for a time on that rainy afternoon, in an imaginary place called Boardwalk, the act of landing such a deal had properties that were affordable and fun – in spirit, if not in deed.

When asked who won the game, Brad Bolchunos, the south county reporter for The Daily Astorian, said that is beside the point of discussing it. Besides, he added, he wouldn’t want to monopolize the conversation.