Editor’s Note: Gregory Coito was a Boston College Prison Education Program student enrolled in Jennifer Berkshire’s Journalism course at MCI-Shirley, a medium-security prison in central Massachusetts. This paper was presented as part of his final for the course and has been reprinted with the author’s permission. You can learn more about BC-PEP here and listen to Nick Covington’s podcast conversation with Jennifer Berkshire about her participation in the program. Gregory’s piece has been formatted for this platform but is presented in the author’s original words.
Time moves differently in prison. Outside, people measure life by birthdays, holidays, and seasons. Inside, time is counted by meals, counts, and lock ins. Days can feel endless, and years can disappear before a person fully understands what happened. In that world, recreation is more than entertainment, it becomes a way to survive. People use games, sports, exercise, music, and hobbies to pass time, build friendships, and manage the stress that comes with incarceration.
For me, one of the most important activities in prison is a card game called Magic the Gathering. At first glance, it may look like just a game with cards and rules. But inside prison walls, it became something much larger. It became a clock, a classroom, and a way to connect with people.
Learning the Rules
The cell block buzzed with the sound of voices, dominoes being slammed on tables and a television playing to loud in the corner, I sat at a metal table in the middle of the unit in the with a stack of worn-down cards in front of me. Across from me sat Mathew Worster. He was a young man around thirty years old. He had spent about fifteen years in prison at the time. He spoke carefully, and carried himself like someone who had seen every kind of day a prison could offer.
“You ever play this before?” he asked, shuffling a deck of cards with professional hands. I shook my head. “Ya, it’s called Magic. I haven’t played in a while though, don’t really remember how to play.” I said. “Don’t worry about winning yet.” He replied. “First you have to learn the rules.” He dealt seven cards to himself. I did the same. The cards were bent at the corners, faded from years of use. Some had names of dragon, wizards, lands, and spells. I looked at them the way a child would look at treasure.
Worster smiled. “You played Pokémon as a kid?” “Yeah.” I replied. “Then you know what collecting feels like.” He was right. I thought about sitting on the floor as a kid, playing Pokémon on my Gameboy, trading cards with friends, believing time moved slowly because childhood always does. Now I was older, in prison, holding another set of cards in another world. “Your turn.” Mathew said.
Why Small Moments Matter
Moments like that may seem small, but they matter deeply in prison. Recreation gives structure to empty hours. Without it, many people are left with boredom, anger, and anxiety. Research on prison life often shows that idleness increases tension. When people have nothing to do, stress rises and conflict can grow. Games and hobbies create a healthy distraction. They also sharpen skills. Card games improve memory, reading, math, and strategy. Sports improve physical health. Music and art give emotional release. Recreation can reduce violence by giving people another place to put their energy. Most importantly, recreation reminds people they are still human.
Nobody called Worster by his first name. He was just Worster. He had entered prison as a young man and became middle-aged behind bars. Fifteen years in prison has changed his looks but not his mind. He read often and watched people closely. He understood rules, not just of games, but of survival in prison. Some think his name came from where he was from, but it was just his last name and the name stuck.
I asked Worster why recreation matters after so many years in prison.
“It keeps the days from swallowing each other.” He said. “Without something to mark the time, ten years feels like one long afternoon.”
He tapped the table. “You need little events. A basketball game, a chess match, cards. Something to look forward to.” When I asked him about friendship, he nodded. “You can learn more about someone in one game than in ten conversations. How he handles pressure. How he handles losing. Whether he cheats, whether he laughs.” Then he added, “in here, trust is rare. Games help build it.”
The Fights That Never Happen
One evening, a disagreement over something broke out in the unit. Two men stepped closer, ready to fight, others turned to watch. But at another table nearby, four men were deep into a Magic Match. They barely looked up. One of the angry men eventually walked over to play a chess game instead of fighting. That’s what people outside don’t always understand. Sometimes recreation prevents trouble nobody ever hears about. There was no headline, no report, no nothing. Just another conflict that faded because attention was moved.
Where the Child and the Man Meet
When I was young, I spent hours playing Pokémon on my Gameboy under whatever light I can get. I memorized moves, built teams, and traded cards with friends. Back then, games were about imagination and competition. They were about being a kid with endless summers. Years later, in prison, those memories come back each time I shuffle a deck.
The cards in Shirley were different, but the feeling was familiar: anticipation, focus, the thrill of drawing the right card at the right moment. For a little while, prison walls disappear. Time folds in on itself. The child I had been met the man I became. That is the strange power of recreation, it can connect past and present.
Another man I spoke with, Double R, preferred basketball over cards. He is in his thirties and has served over a decade in prison. “The court helps people.” He said. “How?” I asked. “You wake up angry, you run. You got stress, shoot the ball. If your frustrated play some defense and offense on the court instead of arguing with someone on the block or on the phone. Some people need therapy. Some people need sports.” He also explained how sports create community. “You can be from different cities, different races, different backgrounds. But if you can play, you can play.” His point was clear: recreation creates temporary freedom through shared purpose.
At MCI-Shirley, recreational programs continue to play an important role in inmate life. Activities such as basketball, physical exercise, card games, and board games provide structured ways for incarcerated individuals to spend time productively. Participants report that these activities reduce stress, improve social relationships, and help maintain mental focus. Correctional experts have noted that meaningful recreation can lower tension and improve overall facility climate.
”They Don’t Deserve It”
Some people may believe recreation in prison is a privilege people do not deserve. They may ask why someone serving time should have access to games or sports. That view misses the larger truth. Prisons are safer when people have constructive outlets. Staff benefits when tension is lower. Communities benefit when people return home healthier and more disciplined. Recreation teaches teamwork, patience, emotional control, and problem solving.
Those are not wasted lessons. They are the same traits people need to succeed outside of prison. Taking recreation away does not create accountability. It often creates bitterness, idleness, and more conflict. If the goal of prison is punishment alone then empty suffering may seem enough. But if the goal includes rehabilitation, order, and public safety, recreation is essential.
Carrying the Time
The theme in prison is time. To much of it, lost years, slow afternoons, and fast decades. Mathew been in prison for fifteen years, yet he still found meaning in teaching another man a card game. I found pieces of my childhood in a prison day room through cards and memory. Double R found release on the basketball court. Recreation does not ease prison. It does not undo harm or restore stolen years. But it helps people carry time instead of being crushed by it.