by Bob Harris
It’s the disease, we will learn a year later, that she probably actually has.
Please throw this book across the room in frustration.
Frank jumps us to LATIN AMERICAN HISTORY. His tone of voice says he considers it a strength.
It is. He reels off three quick responses, including the nation once ruled by Pedro II (“What is Brazil?”) and the first democratically elected Marxist in the western hemisphere (“Who was Salvador Allende?”).
The guy’s good. But I’m not giving in. The next two clues ask for the South American country once ruled by Alfredo Stroessner and the capital of the Aztec empire.
What’s Paraguay?
What’s Tenochtitlán?
I’m beating Frank on the buzzer, I am sure, by fractions of fractions. (On the tape it looks like only one frame.) I still want to think ahead in the remaining full categories, and there’s a good chance of a Daily Double at the bottom of AUTOIMMUNE DISORDERS. So I dive for the last clue in that category. There’s no Daily Double, but there’s this:
THE NAME OF THIS AUTOIMMUNE DISORDER MEANS “HARD SKIN”
Jane has grilled me on classic roots every night. “Hard” and “skin,” translated into Greek roots, would be sclero and derma. Without even thinking I blurt out:
What’s scleroderma?
The audience, strangely unaccustomed to hearing people blurt “Paraguay,” “Tenochtitlán” and “scleroderma” bang-bang-bang like this, audibly gasps.
I will tell Jane about this later, doing an audible-gasp dance. She will then gasp audibly in quotes.
But I also know Frank and Rachael will get their own gasps and applause by the end.
Alex takes us into the first commercial. I look up at the scoreboard. I’m up to $5800, more than twice the score of Frank and Rachael combined. I’ve made fifteen good buzzer decisions and—as always—let a third of the game go by without playing.
So far, so good. One quarter of the way home.
The only surprise is that I’m winning on the buzzer. And I’ve been lucky to land on a tailor-made category. The latter is over. And the former can’t last.
As the commercial begins, I look out at the theater, where the audience is still applauding on cue. Radio City is a stage like no other. I am seeing the obvious, detaching from outcome, enjoying the moment.
This lasts for perhaps five seconds. I let the sensation soak in.
Years later, here in Los Angeles, the walls of this coffee shop shake with the sound.
I start playing ahead in the categories left, pondering cakes, wax, and watercraft with all my might. Nothing comes whatsoever. Not one thought. I have nothing inside me but air. So I just try to relax as the chats start with Alex.
Frank is soft-spoken as always, self-deprecating, shy with his eyes. For the first time I see that what I’d always read as ferocity was just nerves and focus, perhaps magnified by sheer physical size.
Rachael seems playful and funny and bright, with the demure body language of someone too internally busy to notice how attractive she is. She’s here to win, after all, as she has done many times.
When my turn comes with Alex, I’m already thinking of the buzzer, trying to feel the rhythm in my body, hoping not to lose my timing. I burble out words that I hope will sound grateful.
That’s what I am most of all.
The second half of the first round begins.
Frank!
Rachael!
Rachael!
Rachael!
Frank!
Rachael!
Bob!
Rachael!
Rachael!
Rachael!
Bob!
Rachael!
Rachael!
Frank!
Frank!
Rachael and Frank get their own gasps now, too. So goes the rest of this round. I know as little in real time as I did playing ahead, letting half of the clues go untried.
Rachael is flawless. I can see how she won a Tournament of Champions. Not a single wrong guess. Not a single wrong buzz. When a difficult clue has a lateral hint, she’s the one who will think it through first.
Frank also makes not a single mistake. In the last clue of the round, the monitors display a black-and-white photo of a nondescript steamship. No markings, no flags, not one visual hint.
SEEN HERE, IT SHARES ITS NAME WITH A FRENCH REGION, AND BROKE THE TRANSATLANTIC SPEED RECORD IN 1935
There are a dozen French regions we’d all probably recognize—Brittany, Burgundy, Picardy, Champagne, all the other popular children’s names in Hollywood—so the only real hint is the query itself: What boat held one specific speed record seventy years ago?
“What’s the Normandy?” Frank replies nonchalantly. That’s not almanac data—and I’d know by now—and not a thing on a list in a textbook. Frank actually walks around knowing this stuff.
At the break, I’m still clinging to my pudu-sized lead, $7000 to $6000 to $4800. But Frank and Rachael are charging.
The token from Jane is still right by my buzzer. I remember the plan. Fifty-seven good decisions and just one Final Jeopardy. Just detach and relax, and fire the Weapon with care.
I have twenty-nine done. Not a single mistake. In the lead by $1000.
Just one round to go.
The Double Jeopardy categories are
THE NEW YORK TIMES ARTS & LEISURE(Hmm…that’s pretty general.)
FROM THE GREEK(Yes! Thank you, Jane!)
THE RENAISSANCE(Not my best; I hope we get through this one early.)
MIDDLE NAMES(This could be anyone, ever. Oh, dear.)
HOPE YOU LEARNED YOUR AFRICAN CAPITALS
Again, I say: really?
HOPE YOU LEARNED YOUR AFRICAN CAPITALS
it says. And, um, yes. Yes I did. Every night, as a matter of fact. And finally:
PLACES TO PUT YOUR BIG WINNINGS
is the last category.
Frank jumps directly into the heart of THE RENAISSANCE, preferring to push his own strengths, hunting for a quick Daily Double.
DUE TO THE GREAT SCHISM OF 1378, POPE URBAN VI REMAINED IN ROME; RIVAL POPE CLEMENT VII MOVED TO THIS CITY
Of course Frank would know. “What’s Avignon?” he replies for $1200. But what he doesn’t know is that I know it, too. I’m not out of my league, I am starting to realize.
I belong here.
But Frank also gets Cesare Borgia and Jan Hus, the reformer, and Brunelleschi the Florentine architect. Passing Rachael in second place and me for the lead, he’s ahead by $3000 in seconds.
The audience cheers, which Frank fully deserves. He seems to be pulling away.
We dive into Greek. Pudu fights back against moose.
Bob!
Frank!
Rachael!
Frank!
Bob!
The $2000 clue here you’ve already seen. You may know it from just reading this book.
FROM GREEK FOR “TRIBE” OR “RACE” IT’S THE PRIMARY SUBDIVISION OF A TAXONOMIC KINGDOM
Remember “King Philip Glass Ordering his Family a Generous Special”? So what comes after “kingdom”? That’s all that this clue really asks.
If you remember “Philip,” then “phylum,” you’d have gotten it, too.
What’s a phylum? I respond.
I am back in the game.
The AFRICAN CAPITALS come up next. I make a mistake on the first, confusing Kigali, Rwanda, with Kampala, Uganda.
That’s my one small mistake, I think to myself. Be glad it was small. Just relax.
But still distracted, I blank on Niamey, the capital of Niger, one gaffe living on in my head to make two. I am forced not to fire my Weapon.
Rachael and Frank, however, are not touching their buzzers. Neither of them, on the two easiest clues in the column. They don’t know Africa, I realize. So I relax and let the next three just come, as if sitting up late with Jane in Los Angeles. For perhaps the only time in any game I’ve ever played, the buzzer simply may not matter for the next three c
lues. Slow down, I tell myself. Ignoring the blah-blah, I see the following capitals:
N’Djamena. What’s Chad?
Bujumbura. What’s Burundi?
Bamako. What’s Mali?
And I’m back in the lead. Six thousand people applaud.
Just three categories left.
MIDDLE NAMES. I grab one. So does Frank. And then Bweedwoo, Bweedwoo, Bweedwoo-dwoo-dwoo-dwah. Frank gets the first Daily Double.
He goes big, betting $4000, which would give him a $3000 lead.
I hold my breath, helpless and hoping. He can still lose with a single mistake now, just like me. But I’m just watching and waiting, like you are right now.
THIS MIDDLE NAME OF SUPREME COURT JUSTICE WILLIAM DOUGLAS REMINDS US OF AN EARLY AVIATOR
It’s a lay-up. He’ll nail it. But Frank pauses to ponder. Come on, you can do this, I think. The “O” was for Orville. I know that you know this. And then I think, What the hell, why am I cheering him on? Like he can hear my thoughts from two podiums away.
“What is Orville?” Frank says, like he hears me, leaping far in the lead. I feel twenty-eight things, but there’s no time to sort them. In seconds:
BECAUSE THIS IS A MILLION-DOLLAR TOURNAMENT, YOU HAVE TO SPELL THIS MIDDLE NAME OF PRESIDENT WARREN HARDING
What’s G-A-M-A-L-I-E-L? I blurt, no hesitation. Another small gasp from the crowd. I’m still trailing, but charging. A pudu, now ferocious himself.
I belong here, I think. I may not win or go on. But I’ve earned this now. I belong.
In the first clue in WINNINGS, I pick up $400. Frank’s lead has been cut to $1000.
The second WINNINGS clue is worth $800 more. Frank is now up by only $200.
Eight clues left. Closing in.
But I am thinking too much. I am forced to let the $1200 clue go by:
USE YOUR GENERAL FUNDS IN THESE TWO “GENERAL” COMPANIES IN THE TOP 5 FIRMS IN THE FORTUNE 500
Asked for two giant “General” companies, I think quickly of three: General Foods, General Electric, General Motors, in that order. I cannot aim my Weapon and hesitate. Frank instantly buzzes in, and chooses Electric and Motors correctly. I have truly forgotten my engineering degree.
His lead is $1400. Seven clues left. For $1600 and the lead:
ON THE CHICAGO MERCANTILE EXCHANGE, THIS INVESTMENT OPPORTUNITY IS ABBREVIATED “PB”
I think quickly: PB is a chemical symbol for a traded commodity…
What is lead? I blurt out.
This is wrong. Very wrong. A klutzy high-dollar mistake.
“What are Pork Bellies?” Frank says, picking up the rebound and jumping far in the lead with just six clues remaining.
Six thousand people suddenly chortle and giggle. It is a moment of choking stupidity.
The Merc, as I know, because I once lived in Chicago, is a place where you trade cattle and lumber and livestock. It’s the Commodities Exchange where you trade metals. And lead is so cheap, of course, it even means “worthless,” although they trade it in London and elsewhere. It’s no “opportunity.” Pb, yes, of course, is the symbol for lead. But my answer is still almost as dumb as it looks.
All of Radio City Music Hall begins laughing. Six thousand people. More in-flight entertainment. Just like that. It took less than ten seconds.
But this time, I don’t care. I’m not thrilled, but it doesn’t hurt. Kinda cool. I’m still playing and glad. I think I might laugh, too, given time.
Rachael soon finds the last Daily Double, so I can’t catch Frank before the Final. I breathe and refocus and remember the plan.
A wild card is still possible with a correct Final response. So I let most of what follows go by unplayed, never guessing, barely touching the buzzer. At the end of this round, Frank has $19200. I have $15800, and Rachael has $10100.
My goal was $20000 when I walked on the stage. I can still pull it off.
It comes down to just one clue again.
I bet $4200 for an even $20000. A wild card spot, if I respond correctly. A small present for Jane I can take home.
The Final Jeopardy category—p-TING!
ESPIONAGE
HE WAS BORN IN INDIA; HIS FATHER WORKED FOR THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT, & HE WAS NICKNAMED FOR A KIPLING CHARACTER
OK. We need an overlap between Kipling characters and spies in Great Britain…Jungle Book…Mowgli…Gunga Din and Kim…Kim…Kim Philby, the Third Man case, MI6 in the sixties.
Before Alex has even finished reading the clue, I begin. Clackity-click-whap-clackity. Electronic pen on hard glass.
I finish exactly three seconds into the Think Music, dropping the pen with a certainty I once couldn’t have imagined: Who is Kim Philby? and done. I check my spelling and reasoning, and find no cause for worry. This is an unusual feeling for me, as you certainly know.
As the Think Music enters its second chorus, I have fifteen full seconds to relish the scenery. I am standing near center stage of Radio City Music Hall before a packed and excited house, near the climax of a show they’ve enjoyed.
Some contestants also receive memories they will cherish.
I catch Alex’s eye with an accidental glance. He’s smiling in the half-light, possibly taking it all in for himself. I suppose he might feel something similar here. But I look away quickly. These moments are private. And the Think Music is ending at last.
Rachael has written down “Who is Kim Philby?”
She’s right. So I know I’ve advanced.
Frank will respond correctly, of course. This is why his name has become such a gold standard. But Frank, to my shock, is just shaking his head.
Frank has written “Who is John le Carré?”
This is a very good guess at first glance. This is the pen name of David Cornwell, who is British and writes novels about espionage. This fits most of the clue.
It’s an even better guess at second glance. Before writing novels, Cornwell himself was a spy, working for the British Foreign Service during the Cold War. He was betrayed in West Germany, however, by a Soviet mole.
And which spy betrayed Cornwell? You guessed it: Kim Philby.
It gets even wilder at third glance.
As this very clue is asked on that Jeopardy! stage, David Cornwell is about to begin writing a novel called Absolute Friends. In this book, Cornwell mentions Kim Philby. Not as a double agent. Not as a mole. Not as the man who betrayed him.
Cornwell describes Kim Philby, of all possible things, as someone with the same name as a Kipling character.
Trebekistan is everywhere.
I have won.
What the hell?
I have actually won. I’ve defeated Frank Spangenberg, whom I watched long ago from a world far away, who ranks with the best who ever played.
It’s an upset, of course. Douglas clocks Tyson, Flutie passes to Whelan, How Green Was My Valley beats Citizen Kane. A pudu outrunning a moose, just this once.
I cannot wait to see Jane. We did this. We did this.
Standing with Alex, center stage. I look up from Frank’s armpit. He is pleasant and sincere with congrats. Since he’d bet large for a win, not simply to advance as a wild card, he was now out, eliminated, just like that, falling not to my skill but to having thought about outcome.
Still, Frank is a New York City cop. We are playing this game only months after September 11. I believe Frank knows far better than I how little this game really matters.
If we play twenty times, I think Frank wins a dozen. Or twenty. Or quite possibly thirty. And this would be fine. I have one. It’s enough.
So we stand there with Rachael, herself a Tournament of Champions winner. Six thousand people applaud. Years later in Los Angeles, the windows of this coffee shop might break any second.
In a moment we’re off, ushered down into the front row, to watch the remaining four games. I sit between Rachael and Frank, making friends, spending the day watching a parade of great players displaying their skill.
Each group descends from the green
room and plays. Each trio soon joins us and asks how the first game turned out. I take secret delight watching each group try to mask their surprise. I could let their shock tell me there’s still much left to prove, so much that I still need to show. But there isn’t.
Nine of us will play again tomorrow. In two days, one of us will be a million dollars richer.
But the token from the Luxor is worth more.
It was strange that two such great champs were already out of the field, but of course, that was the point of the tournament. More shocks followed in the other games, too. Soon, Robin was gone, our international champ, felled partly by bioluminescence in the category 15-LETTER WORDS. (Glowing meat is a thing best not trifled with.) Eddie, Kate, and Babu also fell by the end of the day.
But Chuck Forrest played like Chuck Forrest, of course, overcoming Leslie Frates and Eric Newhouse in one of the finest games I’ve ever watched. Between them, they responded correctly fifty-six times:
“Who is Gaudí?”
“What is Bayreuth?”
“Who is Aaron Burr Tillstrom?”
At the end, Leslie and Eric advanced as wild cards, and Chuck had the highest score of the day.
Returning to the hotel, all fifteen of us agreed that the matches were all fairly even. It was obvious there was little between us. One clue here, a Daily Double there, one lucky category, a millisecond of a blink on the buzzer. (My math, incidentally, had been surprisingly decent. If Frank had won our game, my $20000 score would been enough for the last wild card spot, advancing in a tie. My guess was correct to the dollar.)