thirty-foot-high ornamental ceiling, sparkling chandeliers, and hushed tones. We were led to a bank of elevators and then taken up to the fourth floor, which was decorated like the interior of a British country manor: timbered ceilings, oriental rugs, fireplaces wide enough to hang a hammock, overstuffed chairs in comfortably worn leather, and settees covered in elegant but manly silk fabric of deep maroon and dark green reminiscent of a jungle somewhere in the far reaches of the British Empire. I ordered a Beefeater and tonic and mingled while participants registered for the tournament.
I was chatting up the team from the Tribune Company when there was a major hubbub at the entrance. I made my way over and realized what was going on: the event’s guest of honor, the National Scrabble Champion, had arrived. He was an unimposing fellow…early thirties, about 5’8”, modest smile, neatly trimmed black hair that went a little too far down the back of his neck…but he was quickly surrounded by a bevy of blushing Scrabble beauties. Yes, it was mostly low heels and there may have been a little too much polyester involved—and I’m almost positive they all wore corrective lenses—but there was no mistaking the pheromones in the air. The Scrabble Champ was in the house, and it was every articulate woman for herself.
Once the hubbub of the Champ’s grand entrance subsided, the tournament organizers got on the public address system to officially welcome everyone, go over a few ground rules, and get the tournament started. We were playing in teams of three, and we would work our way up the ladder in a single-elimination tournament until we had a winner.
My teammates and I had an easy time of it against our first opponents—an overmatched trio of young copywriters from the Leo Burnett Agency. That will teach them to send children to do a senior account manager’s job. But I was worried when I was informed of our next opponent: the editors of Playboy magazine.
Think what you will of Playboy, but the fact is their magazine has a reputation for publishing high-quality fiction and nonfiction. Now we were about to sit down across a Scrabble board from their jet-setting editors. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was pretty sure it would be either a trio of bunnies in horn-rimmed glasses or Hugh Hefner himself with two of his girlfriends in “X” and “O” t-shirts. In any case, it was going to take all of our powers of concentration to focus on the game. We steeled ourselves and went to face our opponents... and soon found ourselves sitting opposite three of the nerdiest twenty-somethings you ever saw.
“You’re the editors of Playboy?” I asked.
“Well, not the editors,” said the lone female editor.
“But we do a lot of the editing,” said one of the guys.
“Yeah, a lot,” said the other guy.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s play.”
They were tough opponents, and they quickly had us on the ropes. And the further into the game we got, I noticed my teammates were relying more and more on me to come up with words.
Midway through the game, our opponents put down WRINKLE and picked up 50 bonus points for using all of their letters. They high-fived each other, adjusted their glasses, and sat back to watch us squirm. We were down by forty-five points and looking at this rack: AEORRSV.
“There’s got to be something we can do with this,” I said. If nothing else, we could put an S on WRINKLE and make WRINKLES. I started moving the tiles around... VARROES... VAROSER... REVAROS...
Eventually, I came to RESAVOR and SAVORER.
“Those aren’t real words, are they?” said one of my teammates.
“I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think they are,” I said.
We debated for a few moments which one to play. In the end, I was slightly more comfortable with SAVORER. I explained to my teammates, “You can put an ‘ER’ on almost any verb and define it as ‘One who does whatever.’” So we played
I was chatting up the team from the Tribune Company when there was a major hubbub at the entrance. I made my way over and realized what was going on: the event’s guest of honor, the National Scrabble Champion, had arrived. He was an unimposing fellow…early thirties, about 5’8”, modest smile, neatly trimmed black hair that went a little too far down the back of his neck…but he was quickly surrounded by a bevy of blushing Scrabble beauties. Yes, it was mostly low heels and there may have been a little too much polyester involved—and I’m almost positive they all wore corrective lenses—but there was no mistaking the pheromones in the air. The Scrabble Champ was in the house, and it was every articulate woman for herself.
Once the hubbub of the Champ’s grand entrance subsided, the tournament organizers got on the public address system to officially welcome everyone, go over a few ground rules, and get the tournament started. We were playing in teams of three, and we would work our way up the ladder in a single-elimination tournament until we had a winner.
My teammates and I had an easy time of it against our first opponents—an overmatched trio of young copywriters from the Leo Burnett Agency. That will teach them to send children to do a senior account manager’s job. But I was worried when I was informed of our next opponent: the editors of Playboy magazine.
Think what you will of Playboy, but the fact is their magazine has a reputation for publishing high-quality fiction and nonfiction. Now we were about to sit down across a Scrabble board from their jet-setting editors. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was pretty sure it would be either a trio of bunnies in horn-rimmed glasses or Hugh Hefner himself with two of his girlfriends in “X” and “O” t-shirts. In any case, it was going to take all of our powers of concentration to focus on the game. We steeled ourselves and went to face our opponents... and soon found ourselves sitting opposite three of the nerdiest twenty-somethings you ever saw.
“You’re the editors of Playboy?” I asked.
“Well, not the editors,” said the lone female editor.
“But we do a lot of the editing,” said one of the guys.
“Yeah, a lot,” said the other guy.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s play.”
They were tough opponents, and they quickly had us on the ropes. And the further into the game we got, I noticed my teammates were relying more and more on me to come up with words.
Midway through the game, our opponents put down WRINKLE and picked up 50 bonus points for using all of their letters. They high-fived each other, adjusted their glasses, and sat back to watch us squirm. We were down by forty-five points and looking at this rack: AEORRSV.
“There’s got to be something we can do with this,” I said. If nothing else, we could put an S on WRINKLE and make WRINKLES. I started moving the tiles around... VARROES... VAROSER... REVAROS...
Eventually, I came to RESAVOR and SAVORER.
“Those aren’t real words, are they?” said one of my teammates.
“I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think they are,” I said.
We debated for a few moments which one to play. In the end, I was slightly more comfortable with SAVORER. I explained to my teammates, “You can put an ‘ER’ on almost any verb and define it as ‘One who does whatever.’” So we played
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