The Volyně Quelification Tournament 2010
Volyně, CZ, Sat Aug 14, 2010
Zbyněk threatened he would have fucked picking us up and that he would have gone to Volyně himself as early as Friday to live it up in the countryside of southern Bohemia. But in the end he let us prevail him and promised to take us along. "What's left for me to do if you've conspired with each other on me this way," he grinned into the phone. Almost gave me pangs of consience to spoil his plans on a trip to Southern Bohemia, ha...
Me coming from Trutnov and Jirka from Náchod, we met in the tiny town of Starkoč where Jirka was changing trains and we continued together to Hradec.
Did you also think morning trains aren't usually late?
Well, believe it or not, this one "managed" to pile up as much as ten minutes of delay.
The two talked it off on the phone already, Zbyněk, of course, feeling on the high horse and threatening with a grin he would make off in his car without us; then, "giving it up", he said with another grin "well okay, the worst we can be through is missing the first round".
Of course we didn't want either and so Zbyněk hit the throttle. Letting our (short) hair down a little at a gas station at a town near Prague, we continue our race against time heading south, me sitting in the front passenger seat next to Zbyněk, and Jirka in the back one. From the beginning, we were driving through a slight morning haze.
"Either it's a haze, or it's the smoke from Russia's burning woods," cracked Jirka.
"Does either of you happen to have Vašek Jára's cell phone number?" Zbyněk asks with a grin, turning to Jirka and me – he apparently likes leaving us in uncertainty about whether we'll manage or not. Vašek Jára is the organizer of the tourn so we were clear as the sky about what he's driving at (while driving).
"I do," I say, checking on my cell phone.
"Good," Zbyněk laughs. "Might come in handy."
I finally saw us passing by the Volyně road sign. A quarter to nine... in time indeed. Five minutes later Zbyněk parks his car in front of the cultural hall the tourn takes place at and we rush in.
"You're the only ones left for us to still wait for," Vašek "welcomes" us. That's no wonder – we've just made some 300 kms!
I just managed to wave hello to Katka Rusá and I had to rush to the pin-up (unluckily not a pin-up girl) schedule. Who's gonna be my first punch in the snout right after my arrival? Well – remembering my shining results back in Pardubice, there's no reason to be pessimistic.
Who's going to be my first opponent at this "chamber" tournament?
Oops – Petr Landa. No doubt I've beaten him quite a few times already, making his gruble his famoud "all of this is a farce ... I wish I'd fucked goin' here", but he still holds his 1800-plus rating and fights his way into the Finals every year.
At the gas station we had made ourselves the break at I bought me a cuppa coffee and drank it up so I didn't have my usual problem with the "first morning games". I kept neck and neck with him for at least two thirds of the game, throwing a nice bingo "zkoupav" in the 8th turn to even up his 3rd turn one; whereupon a crisis emerged in my rack. A swapping of the tiles would get him too far gone so I decided to take my chances and open a triple by playing súr ending on N3. Súra being a chapter of the koran, its plural genitive súr offers a prologation by an A (singular nominative case), an O (singular vocative case), a U (singular accusative case), or a Y (plural nominative case). Now, he didn't have any of these to help him make a nutritious triple. He went somewhere else, thinking like "I'll let him make use of the triple; I'm too far gone anyway."
Now, I had this 8-point Ď: laying it on the O4 double-letter and tripling the whole word would pretty much be able to make me some 60 points and get me neck and neck with him again.
But whadya think – of course I had no compatible vowel to help me make such a word. And I mean NO such one.
I lose 302 – 425, the 123 point difference being the biggest of all the 1st round ones; it throws me to the last place in the continuous ranking, which of course, pisses me off and makes me say the poor next player's gonna catch it from me.
Lucie Jechová. Not someone I'd have wished to give the dusting, but... scrabble is scrabble, gal.
Fulfilling the dusting threat, I play a bingo as soon as in my 2nd move – rozčeří, "it will stir [water]" for 83 points. In the handful of letters I draw next I see the other blank – and make a second bingo of it a move later, a tripled one this time (uhlídati – a somewhat obsolete verb meaning "to catch" or "to [manage to] watch carefully"). She racks her brains over bad racks, while four turns later I get a seemingly impossible one, too: CKNNRVV. Do your fingers itch to grip the whole rack and swap it? Mine do, too; but then I see a free U on the board. Making a pure bingo cvrnknuv (an ancient masculine past participle of cvrnknout, "to flip"), I make another thing at the same time, too – a sympathetic grin, seeing she's just gritting her teeth. One of those in-vain-in-advance games when one players goes far over 400 while the other one has a hard time making 300. Indeed – the game ends 280 – 458 in my favor, making me afraid this was the only fucking lucky strike of mine at this tourn. Of course it is going to be followed by a game I'll be remembering for a long time, too – but with curses, for a change. Against Michal Přikryl – a neck and neck one I lost due to my own stupidity – because of not challenging an invalid bingo of his. It made him 78 points and although I made one of mine five turns later for 84, I didn't catch up anymore and he took me out by 32 points: 359 – 327. I verified the bingo right away after our game, and on finding out it was invalid, I though I would die.
"How many penalty crosses did you have?" a player to whom Michal talked about that asks me – if I had had two, it could have been practically the only reasonable reason for not challenging, as that way I could have been afraid of having to pass a turn.
"None," I grin.
"Is that possible? He's got no penalty cross, and still he doesn't challenge..."
Yeah, that was a stupid mistake – but at least something to learn from and a cause of an easier opponent to come.
Ohhh nope.
Aleš Horák? What the fucking fuck...? He's as high as second in this year's qualification for the Finals and a steady top 30-er on the Chart.
Yeah. But in spite of all that, at this tourn he's been sorta outta luck and has just one win of three so far just like I do.
But hey ... does downright he have to be my opponent right now? Oh well – I've taken out bigger aces after all. Just come – you're asking for going back with your tail between your legs, as Allison Moorer would put it...
He fights hard, apparently pissed off by the bad luck pursuing him. But when I get a blank and throw a bingo – vzteknem, "we'll hit the roof", he seems bound to hit the roof as well – apparently no letters coming to enable him to make up for the difference, the bingo of mine making him even more upset.
In accordance with the Czech saying that "luck shits on one heap only", I get the other blank, too, and increase the difference between us while he's glad to at least get over 300. I win 384 – 304 and say to myself, 2 – 2 is a good current status to spend the dinner break with.
As always, Vašek didn't dissapoint us as far as dinner is concerned – the goulash was delicious just like the year and two before. A superb rest before taking on my fifth opponent.
Franrtišek Růžička, I read on the schedule – for a change another someone I always feel confindent against, although as I learn later on, he had beaten 1838-rated Radek Mannheim in the third round. But I start off like a rocket, which makes my cofindence to rocket as well. I play a bingo right in my second move (kordónu – a genitive case of kordón, "cordon") and throw another, this time a pure tripled one, right after that (rozešlo – "it went apart", "it split") – for 88 points. The two bingos put me ahead of him by 150, which he commented with a resigning look. I beat him 245 – 427.
After this fifth rounds statistics are made and a look at my average tourn score sure warms the cockles of my heart. 380 – damn good... one of the best averages after the five rounds.
I have been asking for trouble, of course. I get an every-year finalist Martin Daněk for my sixth opponent. Games against such people have one advantage though – you don't even hope to win so you're quite at ease.
Hey – but still, Martin, you don't have to demonstrate the impossibility of my winning right away! He spits a 82-point bingo at me right in his second move, confessing it was rather about good luck. He then makes off with high-point moves and I have a hard time catching up. When I get a blank, my bingos are homeless, of course – same old curse. I play off some tiles, still trying hard to keep a "bingo-prone" rack while he gets well over 400, up and gone.
He empties the bag, turning it the wrong side up. I shuffle my tiles – the last chance for me to come up with a bingo and shrink the difference at least a bit.
I get it together quite easily – vyplivnu , the 1st person dingular future tense of "to spit out" – with a blank for the I – but the obvious problem with such last-minute bingos is you often – well, almost always, eh – got nowhere to put them. That's why I'm X-raying the board all over with my eyes for a good minute of my move.
Well, I guess my final move's gonna be anything but minute! I finally saw that V on the board and gathered I could hook the seemingly homeless bingo to it, making vyplivnuv, an ancient masculine participle of "to spit out". (I guess the former metaphor of spitting a bingo at your opponent would fit in better here, heh).
"Well done – nice conclusion," said Martin, who even after deducting his leftover had a great score of 460. The freak...! But I guess my losing score of 382 is one of dignity, too – one for which you don't need to feel ashamed even if you lose.
This loss kicks me down in the continuous ranking of the tourn – from 9th place to 15th. But no worries – I'll be right back.
"Hey bro – are you 3 – 3, too?" I greet my upcoming opponent at table #12, Jirka Kracík, an old scrabble freak and a Parnas scrabble club companion.
"Yeah," he sighs. I saw his loss to 1700-rated Filip Vojáček in the 2nd round – he lost by a bit just because of the letters he had to deduct, which kind of loss pisses off the most, duh.
Not getting "bingo-prone" racks, I just stuck to getting the shit out of each and every move, just like the players would in "copy scrabble" – the variant where all the players get identical racks in every turn.
There's a lot of advantages to this kind of tactics – your subtotal grows steadily and it gives you a good TurČAS criterium. But you get in trouble when the opponent springs at you with a bingo or a similar high-point move – you're in trouble catching up.
And that's what Jirka just did. Playing a tripled konexí, the gentitive case of "[good] connections", "influential friends", with a blank for the O for 52 points, he escapes for awhile, but soon I breathe on his beck again, representing a threat. Hell, this "copy scrabble" tactics turns out to be good sometimes...! Especially when no blank seems to come. Who gets the other one? Him, too. Of course.
Luckily he didn't count on getting it, and so, as the game slowly but inevitably drew to the ernd, he didn't have time to prepare a "bingo-prone" rack to accompany the blank. He uses it in a 30-pointer for a reason which delights me – just to keep up with me. Good – now that the blanks are gone, it's time for my "killer endgame". I play a 30-pointer of mine, for a change, which he comments with his usual "for Jesus's sake", even if it's not a bingo – it just seems to be a deciding move right now. And indeed. Getting quite an easy rack to go out with easily, I add his leftover and win 291 – 328.
"Weell then, thanks a lot," he chuckles ironically and congratulates me, shaking my hand. He puts the results of our game down in his notepad as usual – finding this a good idea, I bought one from the cop store beautie next door and began writing them down into it too, instead of doing so on various slips and scraps of paper like I had done up till then.
"Losing with both blanks, shit, what a shame," he laments. I didn't predict at all I'd be lamenting similarly in about an hour as well.
Four wins – well, one more to have "positive balance" of the tourn – prevalance of wins.
Marek Lašťovka. Ouch. No doubt his rating is a bit lower than mine now but still, if you remember, he was my very first opponent at my very first tournament – here in Volyně three years ago and when I got seeded to play against him in the then first round, I was called an "unlucky fellow". So the feeling of respect towards him remains.
But I'm given a dose of optimism, be it by my win in the previous round, or by recalling a win over the leading player in the qualification chart. I go at it with the "copy scrabble" tactics of making the shit out of every move, because as he has been playing off one tile for several turns, it has been clear to me he's been cooking a bingo. So let's get substantially far away point-wise in the meantime – that way his bingo's gonna have hardly any effect.
Exactly as I had predicted – when he finally threw a 70-point bingo onboard after fishing for it in the waters of the bag for ages, it didn't represent any particular threat to me anymore. Then he got the other blank, too, and used it in a 30-pointer, but I played a similarly fat move of mine and rushed to go out and end the game in my favor. Which I finally did – 348 – 303 against both blanks AND against a bingo...! Daaamn good. 11th place of 36 sure sounds better.
Statistics are made after the eighth round – I can't believe to have played 369 points on average per round, while Martin Sobala, one of the best Czech scrabble players and last year's Slovak champ too, has 373.
For the ninth and last round I was to play against Eva Baďurová. She hasn't gotten over 1600 rating until recently but still she can turn out to be dangerous sometimes – for instance she has beaten the feared-of scrabble site ghost Petr Vejchoda twice. And now, she has five wins of eight so far just like I do.
I feel I'm quite done in, but I'm determined not to show any signs of it – as always, after all.
I have already said that before that I hate this kind of games – these games where everything, and the bag especially, seems to be playing against you. First, I get rid of all the shit I've been getting up till then and, sweat on my face, I get together a pure bingo. Now, what do you think? Right – nowhere to put it in (the bingo, that is!)! Wouldn't that just fucking piss ya off...! Now while you where composing the bingo she'd long have made off point-wise. And, on the top of, what do you get now – now that the board has all been used up? Yeah – both blanks.
I use one of them in a 30 pointer, but still I don't kinda manage to catch up. Had there been a place for the homeless bingo...!
My brains rotate at top speed striving desperately for me to be the first to go out, but to no avail. The other blank in my rack is surrounded by a bunch of letter so mutually incompatible that hardly anyone can imagine that – and I hadn't believed either up till then anything like that could ever happen. There just are things a blank can't save you from. I lose by mere 24 points – 325 – 349, which leaves me pissed off like hell, even though I end up the second best of 5 – 4 players – 11th of 38.
It kind of destroyed my mood for awhile. But hey – even 11th place of 38 ain't that bad and still gains me 28 qualification points for the championship. I win a bottle of delicious sour cherry wine but have to grab it and go – hardly managing to pat and wave goodbye to Katka Rusá. Zbyněk and Jirka are waiting, Jirka all nerves about catching his last Hradec-Náchod train if we manage to get to Hradec on time.
Seeing we do have quite a lot of time, we stop over at a nearby little town to refresh at a restaurant. Zbyněk and Jirka agree they both are hungry and sink their eyes into the menu. Me, a nutritious dish was the last thing I wated to have as my stomach was upside down after the car trip. I gathered it needs "impregnating" for the rest of the way so I ordered a shot of Jim Beam whiskey. It worked as always – so well that I even got a sweet tooth after that and had a piece of the famous Armenian honey cake. An yummy even my mom can boast with being able to bake ... sure made me able to survive the rest of the way. And anyway – I sure got a success to flush down. My first Championship awaiting me at the end of November...! But I still will go to two other tourns to fasten my qualification for the championship. Just for the hell of it and having fun.
Jirka did catch his train to Náchod in the end and me I stayed overnight in Hradec at my grandma's. Next tourn to come midway through September in Brno, my used-to-be university city. Gonna kick asses there...! Let alone if it's gonna be followed by the last, deciding part of the team league.
linkuj.cz vybrali.sme.sk
poslal scrabblista,
31.08.2010 2:24:00
