LITMIR.BIZ

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his way back to tenth place with two rounds to go, but still needed to win both remaining games to qualify. As I lost comfortably and quickly in my next match, my opponent and I had a look at how other games were going.

      Brett Smitheram had beaten Nigel Richards; the three time and reigning World Champion was out. Even though we were all aware anything could happen in the knockout stages, it felt like the tournament had been broken wide open. I was among those quietly indulging in Schadenfreude. Later, after an extraordinary sequence, I won the last game by eight points after my opponent Dave Wiegand bonused to go 60–70 ahead and drew absolute tripe. I finished on nineteen wins and first place. The rest of the top eight emerged. Two Englishmen, two Americans, three Australians, and one Canadian were in the quarterfinals. As I finished top I played the eighth place finisher, Alastair Richards from Australia, in a best-of-three match. On one hand, I was trying to enjoy the fact that I’d finished top in such an amazing field, but I also realized that it would mean absolutely nothing the next day. I tried to look at it as having already won £250, and whatever will be will be. No-one from the UK had won the title for twenty-one years and nobody had come close for fifteen – before I took up the game.

      I remembered how frustrating it was having no-one to root for when I followed big events from home, not just Scrabble, but sport generally. I grew up during a pretty lean period in the 90s: a few glimmers of hope in the football being cruelly ended by penalty shootouts; a cricket team that was awful year after year; an also-ran rugby team; barely winning a gold medal in the Olympics. Whilst I knew that maybe a few hundred or thousand people would be interested in what I was doing, it still mattered.

      I watched England win the Rugby World Cup, and the Olympic medal count increasing every four years.

      Cricket was my main sport of interest though. I’ve supported my local, county Durham, since their inception as a first class team. They’d gone from struggling at the bottom end of the table to winning a number of championships. I particularly remember the amazing 2005 Ashes, and Durham player Steve Harmison getting out Kasprowicz in the famous Edgbaston Test, when both teams were one blow from winning. It wasn’t just the success or failure, it was how it inspired other people, the dignified way they went about their craft.

      I had made peace with myself that I wasn’t going to be playing at my best. I accepted that it isn’t really about what you deserve. You play out a game of Scrabble. If you can do it well, you’ll give yourself a better shot of winning, but there are no guarantees. When England beat Australia in the 2005 Ashes, it would be fair to say that Australia were by far the better team, and probably played better too. But none of that mattered when compared to the actual result. There are rankings for determining the best, but ultimately it is trophies that count. Sport is about producing a winner and a spectacle. I sat down for my quarterfinal match against Alastair. I was expecting to start the first game due to finishing higher in the main event. Instead we drew and I lost. Which pretty much summed up the game that followed. I was never in it. I was hit with APIARIES, CRUBEEN, NEOTERIC, PTERION, and HARTALS. The 166 point margin made it sound closer than it actually was. I resisted the urge to feel sorry for myself and resolved to win the next two games.

      The next went my way. I started with AADELTU and quickly put down ADULATE. More big plays followed soon after. I was over 100 ahead, and every time Alastair got within striking distance I bonused straight back. I won comfortably 491–399 and got ready for the deciding game.

      Once more I got off to a good start. Getting to a critical part of the game, ahead by seventy-five points with thirty tiles left in the bag, I was trying to shut the board down and clinch the game. I was going through a number of possible four-letter words I could play. Couldn’t play GLED, because that would set up OGLED onto a triple lane. Didn’t like the rack leave of DREG. Eventually settled on REDD and assumed my brain was playing tricks on me by quietly flagging up AREDD. It wasn’t.

      At this point I got very lucky. There were lots of As to come and I’d just provided a great opportunity for my opponent to wipe out my lead in one big move. But he didn’t have an A. In desperation he tried BREDD* which I challenged off. I had a bit more of a buffer, but was caught between whether to risk AREDD and lose a turn, or to try and obscure it. I did neither, but nothing materialized for Alastair to bring him back into the game. I’d made it to the semifinal.

      APIARIES apiary, noun, a place where bees are kept

      CRUBEEN noun, a pig’s trotter

      NEOTERIC noun, a modern author

      PTERION noun, a place where several skull bones meet. Plural pteria

      HARTALS hartal, noun, a stoppage of work

      GLED noun, a bird of prey

      REDD verb, to put in order

      AREDD aread verb, to declare

      Elsewhere the two other Aussies had lost, American Chris Lipe and Canadian and 2005 World Champion Adam Logan being the victors and meeting in the other semifinal. I was up against Dave Wiegand after he’d beaten Brett Smitheram 2–0. The semifinals were best-of-five, or first to win three.

      I had played Dave a number of times elsewhere, not to mention the three matches earlier in the tournament. I got off to an inauspicious start by going second and challenging FARCY (a disease of horses), giving Wiegand an extra five points. With the aid of the blank, I soon got down bonuses of (L)UNARIST and VITAMINS to give me a decent lead. Eventually MOTLIE(S)T followed and I was in control. Not obscuring a cheap X play allowed Dave to catch up and put me under a bit of pressure, with the Z and blank unseen. It got a little bit edgy, but fortunately I drew the Z and that sealed the game.

      One up, we both started the next game by exchanging. After a bit of a staircase pattern Wiegand hit me with IN(G)LOBED and MIELIES. The E in the latter gave me TAILGAT(E), but crucially Dave could cash in on the hook to grab the initiative. I gambled by setting up a juicy S hook, but it backfired and I was left needing an improbable bonus. It didn’t materialize. 1–1.

      Not much to say about the third game. I couldn’t do a great deal and quickly found myself 2–1 down and again needing to win the next couple of games to stay in the World Championships. The fourth game was nip and tuck throughout. I’d got ahead with ERISTIC and Dave edged ahead with RELINES. I was twelve points behind when I played ORACLE, keeping an E back. I drew DFFST? and sat waiting for what felt like an eternity to see what Wiegand would play. Would he mess up the easy ST?FFED bonus? I wracked my brain in the meantime trying to find an alternative elsewhere just in case. I pondered over DESTAFF* and DAFF(I)EST. Finally Dave played and my easy seven-letter word was left untouched. I put ST?FFED down, declared the blank as A (I don’t know why, I’m well known for saying ‘get stuffed’), and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Two all.

      The decider didn’t really get the game it deserved. I ran away with the game. It was anti-climactic, but I didn’t care. I was in the final and had the rest of the day off. In the other semi, Adam Logan had come from 2–0 down to force a decider, but Chris Lipe blitzed him in the fifth game, opening up with RECRUIT, REGENTAL, POLEWARD, and JUNK to be 314 after four moves and eventually winning 562–443. So the final was set: USA’s Chris Lipe versus Craig Beevers of England.

      LUNARIST noun, a person who believes the moon influences weather

      INGLOBED

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