I try to do the crossword puzzle, I really do, but I just can’t seem to catch the fun-loving spirit of word games. I have decided, in fact, that I hate word games.
Owning a thesaurus and making good use of dictionary websites helps me find the precise words I’m looking for, but I don’t need to do no stinkin’ word games. The members of my father’s family-bless their saintly hearts-play word games, especially Scrabble and The New York Times crossword puzzle, for blood. Theirs is a “give me a 15-letter word for ‘crazy,’ take-no-prisoners-and that’s a triple-word score”-world that I simply don’t understand. But I do, upon occasion, try.
The problem I have with a crossword puzzle isn’t so much that it’s difficult, but rather that the puzzle seems to blatantly presume that I should know the answers-and if I don’t, as is normal, well, shame on me! I can’t take the ridicule of a newspaper early in the morning; it tends to ruin my coffee drinking and disposition for the rest of the day.
Another supposedly fun feature that newspapers tend to offer is the jumble. This is a quaint little word puzzle is accompanied by a cartoon of some sort, and it is your job as the faithful un-jumbler to find out the answer to the cartoon’s mystery phrase.
“Hmmmmmm,” you think, “Why did the con man plant trees in his back yard? I really wish I could figure this out, for it is the only thing keeping me from leading a successful and rewarding life.” As the letters fall into place, there is an intense feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment. Or so I would assume as, more often than not, I tend to scratch out the jumble with black permanent marker just before setting the paper on fire out of frustration.
As I wipe the ash from my face, I inevitably think of the other games that newspapers tend to offer, and how could I not consider the notorious Sudoku? Here is a game, though not a word game, specifically designed to either entertain those who don’t have the Internet at work, a better magazine in the bathroom or a normal-functioning brain.
There is something inherently evil about Sudoku. I have watched people close to me-again, mostly on my father’s side-torture themselves with a Sudoku puzzle and then, in a brilliant moment of clarity exclaim, “SEVEN!” I usually look up from my book, startled and wondering which one of my aunts is suffering from Tourette’s Syndrome.
Often, with Sudoku and crosswords alike, my family writes with pens. This is, apparently, a very daring way of doing the puzzles. Writing in pen means that you are so secure in your answer, so sure that you are correct, that you can literally ink it in. Frightening, and certainly beyond my level of mastery. If I were to try doing the puzzles in pen, I’d run out of Wite-Out.
Of course, there is the occasional error on the part of the “inkers.” These errors are almost always accompanied by an expletive and a curious crowd.
“Oooooh,” they all exclaim, “which is wrong?”
The failure amongst them solemnly replies, “36-down . I suppose.” Now, here is an interesting little quirk: The person who has failed and written in the wrong answer-in pen, mind you-adds the “I suppose” as a buffer to their failure. It could very well be that 36-down is just fine, but they are taking the high road and admitting that perhaps they are wrong. Not everyone is perfect; how humble we do become.
When an answer is wrong, the puzzle becomes fair game for anyone within at least 500 yards, sometimes more. The clue is shouted out for the world to hear: “Acrylic fiber!”
If, after the mandatory 2.3 second wait, there is no answer, the clue is rephrased as a question and shouted so that even grandma, whose hearing aids never really do work quite right, can hear in the garden, “Acrylic fiber?” At this point, the book of matches in my pocket starts to quiver with anticipation.
My mother’s side of the family is also into words, but instead of trying to figure out which words will net them the highest score, thereby defeating their opponent by a paltry 3000 points, they simply like to read. My grandmother, while in high school, read more than 100 books in a single summer, and she thankfully passed on her love of reading to my mother and me. Though my father’s side of the family loves to read, leading to their expanded vocabulary and dialectic misnomers, they tend to compete over word choice.
You may read a lot, but do you know a 39-letter word that can get you 25,398 points on the Scrabble board? Neither do I. I, and my mother’s side of the family, may know many words, but when I’m challenged to a duel of the puzzle variety, my brain says, “Oh hey, look at that; I don’t care.” It tends to make competitions rather one-sided.
Maybe I just don’t understand the whole idea of games in the newspaper. I always saw my father doing the puzzles at the breakfast-room table early in the morning, and it certainly never ceased to amaze me. How can a person even function enough to tie a tie-as he does-when the sun has not yet crested the horizon? I could no more complete the infamous puzzles in the early morning than swim the Atlantic in a day. My brain doesn’t work that early. It typically kicks in around espresso-shot number three or noon, whichever comes first.
Even after my espressos and the mandatory waking period of four hours, I cannot for the life of me find the draw to The New York Times‘ crossword puzzle. Do people really complete that garbage? Is it really fun? Puzzles are supposed to be fun. I can’t think that it is fun for anyone unless your idea of fun is bringing out the Encyclopedia Britannica and the Webster’s Thesaurus and pouring over their contents looking for a three-letter word for “Greenskeeper’s supply.” Just thinking about it makes my blood pressure come dangerously close to apocalyptic levels.
I choose to start my days with cereal and a juice of some sort. I’m typically staring out a window or perhaps at a blank wall. Nothing is passing through my mind, for it is too early, and therefore impossible for me to conjure coherent thought. If, perchance, I decided to take up a paper and do a puzzle, I think there is but one I could tolerate to complete: the unassuming word search. It’s such a simple game, with such a simple meaning: “Seek, and ye shall find.”
Andrew C. Emmerich is a senior in the College of Education and Public Service.
