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| Matt Tunnicliffe’s scorecard from the 2014 National Scrabble Championships. He wasn’t pleased with how he played. |
TWO of the good guys in the game of scrabble – and two official Friends of The Lose – were playing in a best-of-5 final on Wednesday at the North American Scrabble Championships in Reno. Matthew “Muffin with Tentacle” Tunnicliffe defeated Jesse “Phonerz J. Magratheazaphod” Day 3-2 to win the championship in a series that was tight, tense, and suspenseful. It was something of a heartbreaking and excruciating loss for Phonerz, who lost one game in the series on the account of playing IR inadvertently late in the game, which isn’t a word and which Matt quickly challenged off. Scrabble is, like all sports and games and contests, often decided by mistakes, if not nearly always so. Everyone makes them from time to time, no matter how good they are.
I was watching this match streamed online while commuting, and I physically cringed when I saw my good friend and club mate Phonerz play IR. For a moment, I felt physically sick. I was sitting next to one of my regular commuting companions on the Caltrain, whose name I don’t even know, and she was startled when I yanked the earbuds out of my ears and facepalmed.
“What happened?”
“He played IR.”
“Uh, who did what?”
“Scrabble,” I said pointing to my phone. “It’s the nationals.”
“What does IR mean?”
“It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not a word.”
“I don’t get it.”
“It’s not a word. He lost the game because of it.”
“Do you like Words With Friends?”
Sigh.
Jesse handled the defeat with class, however, which means it will probably be safe for me to give him some shit the next time I see him. (And if it’s not safe, I think me and my bad ankle can outrun him and his bad knee.)
As for Matt, the scorecard at the top of the page should give you an idea of his sense of humour. He’s one of the funniest guys in scrabble, and possesses the heightened sense of absurdity that you’d expect from a guy who’s been rooting for the Ottawa Senators all his life. He’s contributed some factoids to this blog, and he gave me permission to reprint here two of his scrabble short stories.
These two stories chronicle battles between Matt and Nigel Richards, who has won everything in English-language scrabble, recently won the French championship after spending nine weeks learning the dictionary, and is presently studying the Klingon dictionary as our planet’s chosen rep for the Interplanetary Scrabble To The Death Festival. These stories also feature some dazzling construction of scrabble game boards, links to which are end the end of the stories, and they possess a sentiment very much in keeping with the ethos here at In Play Lose.
I thought this would be a good way to tip my cap to Matt for his performance in Reno. I, for one, welcome our new muffin overlord:
- - -
Nigel stole my mom's car
So yesterday I spent my Saturday the same way I spend most of my Saturdays: hustling Scrabble players at Confederation Park. This is how I buy my food for the week.
"You sure got a lot better when money was on the line," said my latest victim as she reluctantly handed over a crisp $10 bill.
"Yeah, well, what can I say? I play well under pressure."
The lady scowled and left. I pocketed the money and dreamed of the Arby's I would purchase with it on the way home. My first hot meal in a month!
"Anyone else up for a fun game of Scrabble?! Maybe make it interesting and put a couple bucks down?!"
A man emerged from behind the trees. "I'll play!" he said in a thick British accent. He was comically dressed: a top hat and monocle adorned his jolly face, and a royal blue overcoat barely covered his large gut. The pocketwatch and handlebar moustache completed the ensemble.
"Sure thing! You know the rules, right? Want to put a few bucks on the game?" I asked, hoping his wallet was as luxurious as his attire.
"Oh, why not?" he said, pulling out a velvet pocketbook. My eyes widened and stomach growled. "How about $100? I have no clue how much this Canadian currency is worth, anyways."
"Oh!" I said, trying not to gawk, "$100 is fine. Pocket change, really." I did not have $100. "Sure, I'll bet that much. Let's play!"
The fat English man sat down and we played. He was awful. Almost every one of his plays consisted of exactly two tiles. It was like he was fishing, but never hit anything. I did my best to play poorly, too. I didn't want to scare him off in case he was interested in more money games. Even playing my worst Scrabble, I beat him handily.
"Well done, old chap!" said the man. "I guess I have a lot to learn!"
"Yeah, thanks," I said, trying not to damage the $100 bill as I folded it and placed it in my sock. "Your best bet would be to stop playing only two tiles a turn. You'll never win that way."
"Oh, no, I'm sure I understand the strategy of Scrabble quite well," he said with a chuckle. "Two tiles a turn is fine!"
"Um... no. Trust me, you need to play more tiles. You'll never win that way." I said, forgetting that I was supposed to be convincing him to play more games with me.
"Well, we'll see," he replied. "How about another game, boyo? Higher stakes?"
I licked my lips. "Sure. What kind of stakes?"
He riffled through his pocketbook. "Oh I don't know. How does $5,000 sound?"
I almost fell off my chair. I had to take a second to calm down and collect myself. "F- five-thousand dollars sounds fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"Shake on it?"
We shook on it.
"Alright then."
At that moment, the man grabbed the front of his overcoat and pulled hard. The entire disguise came off. The fatness, the moustache, the British accent. It was all a ruse. The man who stood before me was Nigel Richards, beard and all. I almost barfed.
"Don't have $5,000, do you kid?" he said in his normal voice.
"W- well, I - I..."
"How about that red Mazda 3 you drove here in. That must be worth almost five gees."
"M - my mom's car?" I live in my mom's car when my bedroom at home needs to be fumigated.
"Yeah, that'll do, I guess. I already have five red cars, but I guess I can use that one as a lawn ornament. Bet you feel stupid for dissing my two-tiles-a-turn strategy now, eh? Well, ready to play?"
"Ohcrap..."
game on ...
———
Nigel stole my dad's car
Several months after my first incident with Nigel Richards, I finally convinced my parents to let me borrow my dad's car. You see, I had wagered my mom's car in a game of Scrabble with Nigel. Through some extraordinary circumstances, I lost that game. Just barely. My parents were quite pissed. They made me get a part-time job to pay to replace the car.
So I was driving to my new job one day, thinking about how unlucky I am. Seriously? How did he get 730-something points playing two tiles a turn? What a lucksack.
I tried to keep my mind on the road. If I crash my dad's car, my parents would kill me. No question.
I looked at the rear-view mirror, and then back at the road. Wait. Did I just see that? I looked again. Nothing. Whew. I looked a third time. There it was! A bearded man on a bicycle with a Scrabble board under is arm. Nigel!
"No!" I thought. I stepped on the gas and sped away. I was not interested in another encounter with that man.
After turning several blocks, I lost him. Whew. Eyes back on the road. There is was again! This time in front of me! How the hell did he catch up?! I sped past him and zoomed away at 120km/h. No way he could follow me on a bike with me driving that fast.
Then I heard the sirens. Crap! I guess I was going 120 in a 40 zone. I will never be able to pay this ticket. I make minimum wage at Wendy's! I pulled over to the curb and the police car did the same. The officer approached my car and I rolled down the window.
"Up for a game?" It was Nigel!
"What the? No! Get away from me!"
"Oh come on. I'm bored. Just one game of Scrabble?" he asked again.
"No! You took my mom's car! Now I have to work a crappy job to pay her back!"
"Well, tell you what. We'll play for the car. You win, you get your mom's Mazda back. I win, I get this lovely Toyota Venza. Sound fair?"
"No! This is my dad's car! And we both know what's going to happen! I'm going to have the game of my life. Getting all sorts of bingoes and scoring a ton of points, and then you're going to pull off some sort of ridiculous comeback and win out of nowhere. That's what's going to happen! So no, we aren't playing!"
"Oh come now. Tell you want. I'll sweeten the deal. I have to win AND get two triple-triple bingoes. Otherwise, you get the car back."
I thought about it. "Well... two triple-triples would be hard to get. Especially if I play super defensively... But no! I won't do it! You'll find a way to win!"
"I like your uniform, by the way. Wendy's makes good burgers. It's weird how "Trainee" is actually sewn onto your shirt there. Like you're forever a trainee. I mean, usually they put it on a nametag, but that stitching looks permanent. Weird."
"OPEN THE BOARD!"
So I sat down to play with Nigel, thinking there would be no way he could beat me AND get two triple-triple bingoes...
game on ...
