There is no game like Scrabble to bring out the worst in human nature. Grown men and women, otherwise civilized in their day-to-day lives, turn suddenly to anti-social behavior as soon as they sit down in front of the board for the popular word game. I have no idea why this is so, unless it’s possible other players realize they have to take extraordinary measures if they ever want to win a game against such skillful opponents as I.
The bending of the proper procedures begins at the very outset of the game and continues from there on. Whoever owns the game keeps the lid of the box it came in and on the inside of which the official rules of the game are printed, under his chair so other players can’t have access to it. When they ask where it is, he feigns loss of memory and can’t for the life of him think where he put it. Then he proceeds to pronounce his version of the rules and they all, strangely enough, favour him.
“Ah, the player sitting directly to the east of the player wearing the most red-coloured clothing and who is nearest to the closest open door in the room and who may or may not be wearing a turtleneck sweater on the front of which his or her initials may or may not be sewn, begins playing first.”
Strangely enough, he is that person and so, he begins.
“Ah, the player who begins the game is given a bonus 50 points plus half of the points each of his opponents accumulates in the first round of play plus an extra two points for every letter he uses and another 20 points if he manages to get rid of the letter Z in his first word and …” This goes on for 10 minutes or so and then the fella who started counts everything up and writes down his score – 210 – for the first word of the game which is “zany.”
Not to be outdone, the player to the immediate left of the player who started the game, then asks if she might be allowed to look in the dictionary to check a word she is thinking of using and when the man with the rules under his chair figures it would be okay (even though it isn’t) she grabs the book ravenously and begins leafing through the Q section, trying to find any and all words that can be formed with the letters QZWTINP. Protests from proper rule-conscious players are ignored. Finally, the word “pint” goes on the board. Seven points.
A third player, decides God will inspire him with the perfect word which will allow him to use up all seven letters on his tray and thus collect a bonus 50 points if he sits still long enough staring at them. And so he sits. And sits. And stares at the board. And sits. Other impatient players protest the time he is taking but that just delays the forming of the inevitable three-letter, five-point word which he will eventually lay down in front of him. Finally, “fit” is placed carefully on the board and proudly, as if it was the most complicated word in the English language.
Squabbles ensue over the proper methods of counting and these continue throughout the game.
“If a word is formed on the tail end of another word the player who forms it gets a bonus 25 points plus 20 points for each letter he uses and triple the score on each double letter square a letter lands on plus …”
Ten minutes later, that player writes down 185 points for the word, “caveman.”
But all this is small time crime compared to the words that adult men and women will try to pass off on their opponents and which they’ll defend almost to the point of resorting to violence.
“Dramble?” you exclaim. “What the heck’s a dramble?”
“A dramble’s not a thing,” says the person who created it. “It’s an action.”
“An action? What the heck are you doing if you dramble?”
“You know. To dramble is to pick up a big thorny stick and run yelling down a hill after a wild dog in an effort to chase him away from your sheep.”
“Oh ya? Well what is it called when you pick up a big thorny stick and run yelling down a hill after a wild Scrabble player who keeps thinking up words that don’t exist?”
Other exchanges such as this – and even uglier ones – follow the attempts by players to get away with the words “croozle, flammy and poptil.”
And we wonder why there are wars.
(Wars – that’s 12 points. I win.)
©1989 Jim Hagarty
