The Championship Final

The September Scrabble final came down to one point. One. I have written it twice because the first version still looks insufficient to account for the amount of concentration involved. We were in the East China Sea, but for a while the only geography that mattered was a square board containing an unreasonable number of occupied spaces and very few helpful ones.

I had the final tile and nowhere useful to put it. I studied the board for five full minutes while Priya watched. Five minutes can pass unnoticed in many circumstances. Under observation, holding one small letter and hoping for a revelation, it acquires the dimensions of an afternoon. The tile remained precisely as useful as it had been at the beginning.

Priya ate the last lemon cream. This was not, as far as I can establish, against any championship rule, but it added a distinct sensory cruelty to the proceedings. There I was attempting to rescue the game, and there she was quietly completing the biscuit supply. She managed to look patient, composed and entirely aware of my difficulty, which is an impressive combination.

She won. The championship standings now occupy half a noticeboard, giving the result rather more public permanence than I consider necessary. Beneath them she has written October. I looked at that single word with mixed feelings. It promises another month of defeats, disputed arithmetic and very agreeable evenings in her company. My objections to the championship remain available in principle. In practice, I appear to have entered the next one.