We take turns doing it the old-fashioned way (mine) with a board, and the digital way (his) with little smartphones. Being an anti-tech person (not by choice, by DNA) I always do worse using the smartphone, a hand-me-up from my techno-son that he’s graciously allowing me to use.
So last night was his turn and we geared up the equipment. He agreed to give me a 50% handicap right off the bat. Having my pride, I agreed to 25%.
I must’ve been having a bad brain day, or maybe it was just the luck of the draw. All I got was vowels, (think Inuit words like IAUAWOO), a Q with no U in sight, and always one letter short of a doozie because I’d just used said letter for a lousy four point word! I considered it a good word if it was more than 10 points. He considered it a bad word if it was less than 20–and being a whiz at combining words, sometimes three ways, 30+ points were all too frequent!
I have to say though, that the way I learned Scrabble was the real way with real words. Webster-worthy words. Not words like fe and fa and bo! And I don’t even have the thrill of challenging those non-words because the digital-game just spits it back at you if it’s not a word, as it spat out my perfectly good “zoot.” As in zoot suit. You know, like they wore in the 30’s and 40’s. I couldn’t believe it would allow “bo” and not “zoot!”
So half-way through the game, after a spate of <10 point words, I agreed to his generous re-offer of a 50% handicap. In fact, he was feeling so magnanimous (guilty?) he raised it to 100%. By now my pride was in shambles.
But my handicap and I were actually a little bit ahead when my brain gave out and said take me to bed! We put the match on pause to be continued another day and my last word was “daft,” which is what I must be for pitting myself against the Scrabble Master. Stay tuned…