Toadless in Toledo

I like playing Scrabble. The intellectual challenge, while narrowly focused, is almost always enjoyable. Sure, there are times when you're staring itchy-eyed at a rack full of i's and u's, cursing the gods of distribution, and wondering what's new on Netflix. But mostly I look at such circumstances as an opportunity to be creative and clever. From such desperate times words like VUG and TUI are discovered.

I really like playing Scrabble with my friends George and Tom. The mental challenge remains strong, but the geeky fun of discussing words and etymologies, real and fanciful—especially fanciful!— can be as much fun as a drunken game of spoons.

And then there are the weird discoveries. According to The Official Scrabble Players Dictionary (OSPD), Fifth Edition, there is a remarkably small number of objects or feelings you can be without. For example the word TOADLESS exists, meaning "Having no toads," but there is no entry for FROGLESS. Apparently one can never be without frogs. There is an entry for FISHLESS, but not FOWLESS. Nor can you be CATLESS, DOGLESS, COWLESS, PIGLESS, or CLAMLESS. Somehow each of us always possesses at least one of these animals, and myriad others.

You can also be LOVELESS, but not HATELESS. It seems we must retain at least a dab of hate at all times. That would explain a lot.

You can be SUCKLESS, although inexplicably that is defined as "Having no juice." Let your mind wander.

There are far too many other examples to count. (The OSPD usually doesn't have words longer than 8 letters, so we may never know if one can be GIRAFFELESS.

What's the point of all this? Not much except whiling away a few spare minutes. I do wonder about the circumstances that led to the need for creating the word TOADLESS. "Excuse me, but I'm lookin' for a load of toads? You got any?"

Maybe some things are meant to stay a mystery. I guess I'll turn my mind to other fascinations, like the word REBOZO. Yeah, that's real.

More Scrabble poetry

George Daley, Tom Redding and I play Scrabble and Boggle regularly. Tom's game has definitely improved over time, although victory usually belongs to me or George. Nevertheless, I was prompted to write this next poem with Tom as the hero. It came about years ago during the infamous "Scrabble Poetry War" between me and George. I think this might have been the last barrage that finally overwhelmed Dr. Daley.

Inspired by The Charge of the Light Brigade:

Happily! Happily!
Happily onward!
All holding their breath,
while Tom played for six hundred:
Forward past the others he played,
Charging with the mighty word he made,
still holding their breath,
as Tom played for six hundred!

Forward, past the others he played,
Was there a man dismay'd?
You bet!!!
'Til someone noticed he'd blunder'd:
There's not a FASH in the book,
There's Tom with a phony hook,
There's nothing like it, why even look?
All letting out their breath,
when Tom played for six hundred!

Challenge to the right of Tom,
Challenge to  the left of Tom,
Challenge in front of Tom
voluble they thundered
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
But Tom said, "Oh, what the hell."
Huffing out a breath,
with confidence he tried to sell,
Tom played for six hundred

FASH would be there, they'd all see
FASH as George turned past letter E
While Spencer giggled, "Tee hee hee"
Charging into F he paged
All the table wonder'd:
Plunged into the book,
Bella barked, the table shook,
Coffee and Pepsi spilling,
Then reeling from the brilliant stroke,
Shattered and sunder'd, George spoke:
"It's in there!
Tom scores six hundred!"

Challenge to the right of Tom,

Challenge to the left of Tom,

Challenge in front of Tom

voluble they thundered

Storm'd at with shot and shell,

But Tom had said, "Oh, what the hell."

Huffing out a breath,

with confidence he played so well,

Tom wins with six hundred!

And then he woke, from fever'd dream,

To find no tiles on the scene,

He looked around and wonder'd:

"They really were a pack of cards",

or… something like that old canard.

No honor for such skill with lingo,

No Triple, Triple, Triple bingo,

No awesome score of six hundred.

"But next time I'll take all your damn ears!"

So... I guess I'd better get back to work.

Scrabble Poetry

I'd not blogged for more than a handful of months in part because of so much going on -- "The vicissitudes of life" as my old friend Victor Lyons used to say.

I was prompted to get back to it recently because of something my daughter Jamie said. Yet when I did, I started (yesterday) with a note about my new novel Knights of the Full Moon.

So I decided to try again, but realized I wanted to take more time than I really have at the moment to write about Jamie. That's when I noticed how I mention Scrabble at the top of this blog, and yet I haven't said anything about it yet.

So, without (much) further ado, here's a Scrabble poem that I wrote some time ago during a fierce war with my friend George. It was the opening volley in a horrible conflict.

How do I spell thee?  Let me count the ways.

I spell thee OBI, OBE, and OBEAH, all are right,

We know even when the book is out of sight,

But FATTEND upon all seeing made me lose face

I spell thee XI and CHI and KI, with definitions not the same,

I spell thee freely, what 'ere it takes to win the game

I spell thee with passion that all can feel,

And thus bluff the phony, so you will think it real,

In thinking of GRIEFS, is it I before E?

Do ADZ and ADZE both correctly use my Z?

With my lost challenge, I'll spell thee again, but not the same,

But now the spot is gone.  Damn!

I shall spell thee better next game.


With lazy apologies to Elizabeth Barret Browning. More later!