Maybe I won't quit Scrabble yet.
It wasn't a normal club night. For one thing, the doors I ordinarily enter through had a penciled sign: "door broken, use side." This building has a lot of doors. And a lot of sides. I managed to find a door that worked, but I really had to fight the urge to try the ones I normally use. They looked perfectly fine. It bugged me to imagine someone just taping that sign there and then giggling at the sight of people approaching, stopping, sighing, and veering off to find another door. But perhaps I'm paranoid.
Club turnout was lighter than usual. I was paired right away with someone I'd never seen before. Her name wasn't familiar either. Several times in the game, I found myself wondering what her plays meant; not knowing anything about her, her style, her rating, her history, I kept falling into a potentially fatal loop trying to analyze her moves. This is a big flaw of mine, I have decided. "What does that play imply about the player's rack and intentions?" I ask this too much. Sometimes it is an important question. Often it is a waste of my time.
She beat me. I still don't know her whole name. She could be a novice for all I know.
The other three games really went my way. I drew well. I had a blast. I felt like I was seeing the board, the options, the flow of the game.
Sometimes I focus so much on the games that I forget the other part of Scrabble: the community. I get so shy (yeah, I really do), even in my own club. Tongue-tied. Instead of chit-chatting, I wander around and look at boards. What do I think I'm learning from these boards? It's just a coping mechanism so I won't have to talk. But I remember going up to Manchester this summer and being so overwhelmed by the welcoming kindness I received from the club there. Away from home, from my kids, for so long – going into that club room at the back of the supermarket was like being with my extended family. I felt warmed.
It wasn't a normal club night. For one thing, the doors I ordinarily enter through had a penciled sign: "door broken, use side." This building has a lot of doors. And a lot of sides. I managed to find a door that worked, but I really had to fight the urge to try the ones I normally use. They looked perfectly fine. It bugged me to imagine someone just taping that sign there and then giggling at the sight of people approaching, stopping, sighing, and veering off to find another door. But perhaps I'm paranoid.
Club turnout was lighter than usual. I was paired right away with someone I'd never seen before. Her name wasn't familiar either. Several times in the game, I found myself wondering what her plays meant; not knowing anything about her, her style, her rating, her history, I kept falling into a potentially fatal loop trying to analyze her moves. This is a big flaw of mine, I have decided. "What does that play imply about the player's rack and intentions?" I ask this too much. Sometimes it is an important question. Often it is a waste of my time.
She beat me. I still don't know her whole name. She could be a novice for all I know.
The other three games really went my way. I drew well. I had a blast. I felt like I was seeing the board, the options, the flow of the game.
Sometimes I focus so much on the games that I forget the other part of Scrabble: the community. I get so shy (yeah, I really do), even in my own club. Tongue-tied. Instead of chit-chatting, I wander around and look at boards. What do I think I'm learning from these boards? It's just a coping mechanism so I won't have to talk. But I remember going up to Manchester this summer and being so overwhelmed by the welcoming kindness I received from the club there. Away from home, from my kids, for so long – going into that club room at the back of the supermarket was like being with my extended family. I felt warmed.
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