Scrabble: Is there a doc in the house?
Our family didn’t play board games.
That’s my excuse.
It’s weak, but it’ll have to do.
I can’t find any other explanation for the fact that I am the world’s worst Scrabble player.
Seriously.
No one else who can speak and write English competently can be so utterly helpless at a game based on vocabulary.
At parties where, say, an adult and a couple of adolescents insist on playing Scrabble — and dragging me into the thing like some sort of celebrity — I’ll almost certainly claim I have a headache, or another mind-numbing ailment.
At the beginning, one of the kids will holler, “He’s a writer. Wow!”
Then comes my private hell.
I mean, it’s embarrassing to use words for a living yet stare completely frozen at a jumble of little tiles and wonder how in hell I might form a useful word out of them.
It’s BEYOND embarrassing.
And it can ruin everyone’s fun, since I have to be scolded over and over: “You’re taking forever. Put down a word, for heaven’s sake!”
My failures at the game are becoming close to a phobia.
Is there a word for morbid fear of Scrabble?
JUST LAST month, a New Zealander named Nigel Richards won his fourth world Scrabble championship by defeating American Jesse Day, 3-1 in a best-of-five series.
Richards, who is considered perhaps the best Scrabble player of all time, finished off the final game by ringing up 68 points with the word “groutier.”
It’s a form of “grouty,” which means surly or sulky.
And what’s crazy is that I KNOW this word. It’s obscure enough that I don’t think I’ve ever used it in a sentence, but still …
Nigel Richards, who has been described in print as the “Tiger Woods of Scrabble,” wrapped up a world title with a word I could have used.
But …
I wouldn’t have seen it.
The tiles even could have been arranged correctly in front of me, and I still would have fallen into a panic, and been intimidated by the board, and I’d eventually have put down a word like “of” — just to keep the game going.
What’s frustrating is that I do have a pretty wide vocabulary.
Just last week, a reader named Barry Harris and I were emailing back and forth about a different topic (not Scrabble, believe me), when Barry sent along four awesome words:
“epistemophobiac,” meaning one who fears knowledge;
“ultracrepidarian,” referring to a person who habitually gives opinions and advice on matters outside his knowledge or competence;
“tergiversator,” a respondent who avoids giving a clear or direct answer;
“sententious,” which means having excessive self-importance.
I knew the rough definition of tergiversator, and I’ve actually used sententious in conversation.
Not often, but you get the point.
I should be a decent Scrabble player, no?
ONE THING gives me a bit of peace with my consistent failures.
And truthfully, they’re failures in the sense that I’m not even competitive.
I’ve never lost on the last word and said, “Oh, shucks,” as I was ready to lay down the winner.
Nope.
I just suck at Scrabble, first word to last.
But the single thought that makes me feel better?
Here you go …
Everyone is skilled at something, and Scrabble just isn’t my thing.
For instance, this cat Richards who is the best Scrabbler who ever lived?
He’s a freak of nature.
In addition to winning the world, American and British titles, he’s also won the French Scrabble championship twice — and he doesn’t even speak the language.
Despite his linguistic handicap, Richards won the francophone world Scrabble title after reportedly memorizing the entire French Scrabble dictionary in just nine weeks.
Pretty cool.
But I’ll bet I could whip him in Monopoly.
I always insist on being the banker, then steal the whole pot until everyone is broke.
Bring it on, Nigel.
Even the French version of Monopoly.
I’ll own the Eiffel Tower and all your Euros in 20 minutes.
“Allons-nous jouer?”*
•••
Steve Cameron is a columnist for The Press.
A Brand New Day appears from Wednesday through Saturday each week.
Steve’s column on Gonzaga basketball runs on Tuesday.
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Twitter: @BrandNewDayCDA
* Shall we play?