Humility is only worth 16 points

Should I admit that the dictionary is on the list of my top five

favorite books? (Webster’s New Universal Unabridged, in case you

wondered. It weighs at least 10 pounds and even includes swear

words.) I have a T-shirt that says “word nerd.” And I nearly always

beat everyone at Scrabble.

So imagine my chagrin when my foray into the world of official

Scrabble clubs began with four straight losses. No applause, no awed

fellow players asking eagerly where I learned words like “teiid” and

“qanat,” while I modestly shrug or knowingly tap my finger to my

temple.

I normally keep a distance from what I’m writing about, ostensibly

to maintain my objectivity, but also perhaps because it’s easier for

people to be cynical when they’re not involved, and a cynic is one of

the easiest things to be. But I wanted to play Scrabble with the

pros, so I could really know what it’s like and thus write a better

story. Plus, I thought I might be able to win.

The secret ambition that began budding within me from my first

night with the club was to beat Gary, the club’s organizer, who plays

quickly and seems to win every game.

So far, it hasn’t happened. One week, when an odd number of

players showed up, Gary played me and another player at the same time

and still bested me by more than 200 points. Ouch.

He also won the other game. But that’s not the extent of his

prowess. The most games Gary has ever played simultaneously? Five.

Later that night, I came close to beating Bob, an older gentleman

who’s a little hard of hearing but who lays down seven-letter words

like a machine. I got excited about playing the word “samovar,”

because I know this is a Russian tea urn, and it was worth a lot of

points (97). But somehow Bob earned 50 points for some piddling

little word, and I couldn’t recover after that. In two of my games

that night I got completely slaughtered.

And that’s pretty much been my career: Out of 12 games, I’m 1-11

-- and disproportionately proud of that one win, I admit.

I’ve already embraced my nerdy side, so it was a new experience to

not be the nerdiest one in the room. And to lose repeatedly.

But my fellow players comforted me that nearly everyone goes

through that transition. They reminded me that you do learn by

playing better opponents.

I know I won’t become a Scrabble champion, because I’ll never

command the huge lists of words some of my opponents know -- although

the mnemonic “Gloria has not kissed Michael since the wedding” is now

stuck in my head, possibly for all time. (The first letter of each

word can be played in front of AE to make other words.) And I have

started memorizing the legal two-letter words.

So now I can go confidently into competitive Scrabble play, armed

with the knowledge that I’ll probably lose. But I’ve re-learned a

lesson that should have been engrained by now from reporting: Don’t

assume other people know more than you, and don’t be afraid to ask

questions.

One opponent who thrashed me started the game with a word that

looked funny to me, but I figured he knew more and I didn’t say

anything. After he won the game, he admitted he wasn’t sure it was a

legal word. It wasn’t.

Had I challenged it, the most I would have lost was one turn, if I

was wrong. But in this case, I wouldn’t have started the game about

70 points behind.

So at least I learned that. And even if I never play in a Scrabble

club again, when I go home for the holidays, everyone in my family is

toast.