Prisoner of Trebekistan: A Decade in Jeopardy! (33 page)
Read Prisoner of Trebekistan: A Decade in Jeopardy! Online
Authors: Bob Harris
Myasthenia gravis
You don’t want to know the invasive procedures Connie has endured in order to receive such diverse explanations. Rest assured, however, that she is deeply familiar with a half-dozen -ipsies, a variety of -opsies, and one unforgettable expedition thrillingly described as “fishing up the urethra.”
That Connie has not yet been reduced to a boneless heap of quivering infective goo by all this, and has in fact raised two brilliant children, shows that her heart is made of strong elastic and her spine is cast from purest titanium. Her husband, meanwhile, has the loyalty of your average moon.
The first diagnosis came when Connie was in her early twenties and suddenly had an inexplicable series of red bumps on her shins. The doctor blinked at her, went away, then returned with a definitive diagnosis of erythema nodosum. This may sound impressive.
Erythema nodosum, if you have not spent months studying Latin roots in case Alex Trebek asks you about them, simply means, quite exactly, “red bumps.” Which is what Connie came in complaining about. Gosh, thanks. As to what to
do
about the erythema nodosum, the doctor had absolutely no idea. It could have been associated with anything from tuberculosis to hepatitis to leprosy to, I kid you not, cat scratch fever. Ted Nugent, stay away from my sister.
The erythema nodosum could also have been, in the doctor’s words, “idiopathic.” “Idiopathic,” when said by a doctor, means “we have absolutely no idea what the deal is,” although the literal Latin translation would be closer to “one’s own unique suffering.” Both definitions are entirely too accurate.
Eventually the erythema nodosum went away on its own, although the doctor had to be paid to do the same.
This story repeats many times, changing only in what hurts for how long, and how much of my sister they surgically remove. The one thing I can assure you Connie does
not
have: hypochondria. I have been present for many of the various innard rebellions, and can certify that there are days when her vital organs seem likely to fly out of any orifice at any moment. I would suggest an exorcism, but once confronted with some of the doctors Connie has had, any demon would long ago have retreated to Hell.
She will in any case be diagnosed with many other things, if only out of habit. Some doctors send Christmas cards with fresh diagnoses every holiday season. As I’ve said, if
Jeopardy!
ever has a category on
AUTOIMMUNE DISORDERS
, stand the bloody hell back.
Meanwhile, my PWW status during the Tournament of Champions is above question.
Double Jeopardy begins with these categories:
WANDERERS
(What is this? Explorers, maybe? Hmm.)
VIVE LA DIFFERENCE
!
(And what the heck is this? Some gender thing?)
EXCHANGES
(What? Like needle exchanges? The barter system? I’m really lost.)
NAME THE MUSICAL
(Great. I know what this is, and I’m not good at it.)
AN “I”
(Things that start with an I. That’s kind of a long list, but I’ve got a prayer.)
FOREIGN EYE
(And, once again, what the heck is this?)
It is the first time in eight games that I have looked at a set of categories with such confusion and fear.
My head’s central heating system kicks up one degree.
Kim begins, playing from the top of the board, eschewing any hint of the Forrest Bounce or Daily Double hunting. It’s a cordial, we’re-all-friends sort of move. It doesn’t feel like a surprise.
FOREIGN EYE
turns out to be about fictional non-American detectives. I manage
Who is Sherlock Holmes?
and
Who is Hercule Poirot?
while Dan reels off
“Who is Dick Francis?”
“Who is Father Brown?” and
“Who is Lord Peter Wimsey?”
—which are three more responses I’ve as yet never heard of. And I know that Dan has heard of Holmes and Poirot. This is not encouraging.
We wander to
WANDERERS,
which turns out to be about gypsies, bedouins, and other nomads. Kim gets the first clue, and then I reel off three in a row to jump back in the lead. My timing is finally perfect again—five for five in this round when I try to buzz in—but I think the Ivy League Serial Killer can smell my fear.
I call for the $1000 clue in
WANDERERS.
It turns out to be a Daily Double:
THE MEANDER, A RIVER IN PHRYGIA, IS SAID TO BE THE INSPIRATION FOR THIS MYTHICAL STRUCTURE
As with the
Compleat Angler
clue, I have no idea. None. I never learned this in school, and I have no mnemonics in my notebooks. This is nothing I have ever heard of. However, there are almost always hints in the clues. Here, again, my frantic internal dialogue:
OK, don’t give up. Mythical structures. Whose name means the same as “Meander.” Mazes? Mythical mazes? Maybe. OK, what else…Phrygia was a Greek term for someplace or other. So this is a Greek mythical maze. Wait! Icarus’s dad was in a maze of some kind. Was that the “labyrinth”? I think so. Sounds kinda Greek, rhymes with “Corinth,” at least. Yeah, there was a bull and some girl who rescued him, I must have read that somewhere. OK, all I got, give it a shot…
What is the Labyrinth?
I ask, and I am genuinely asking.
And this is actually correct.
In memory, the thought process takes several minutes. On the tape, it lasts just six seconds. However, as the adrenaline screws with my body chemistry, my timing begins to falter. As Jane will notice later, in watching my games on tape shortly after we meet, I always lose my timing and train of thought after any Daily Double, right or wrong.
Perceptive woman, that Jane.
Five clues later, I find the final Daily Double. I have a $1400 lead, and we are late in the game. Dan and Kim are starting to grow a little frustrated; I’ve gotten all three Daily Doubles, have not made a single mistake, and am in position to start taking command of the match.
What they don’t know is that my fever is returning.
This is the Daily Double clue that comes up:
MALES OF THE PIPEFISH & THIS RELATIVE HAVE A POUCH FOR INCUBATING THE FEMALE’S EGGS
Once again—as seemingly always now—I have no idea. None. I’ve never heard of the Pipefish. I have no idea what its relatives are. I am surprised to learn that fish with pouches even exist. So here again, I try to work with what’s there:
Pipefish…what does that free-associate to? Um…Tubefish? Plumber-fish? Drainfish? Toiletfish? Monkeywrenchfish? Crap. God, I can’t think. Pouch. Try pouch. Maybe that goes somewhere. Kangaroos? Mail pouch tobacco? Diplomatic pouches? Crap. Incubating…birth, pregnancy…heat lamps…fine, I’ve got kangaroofish with little diplomatic pouches under goddam heat lamps. I can’t think. I just can’t think all of a sudden.
“Aw, I know this one, too,” I say out loud, trying to convince myself while I’m thinking. It is not actually true. I just want it to be. I am helpless.
Even if given several weeks, the correct response—
What is a seahorse?
—would never fall from my lips. I just don’t know, and I don’t see any hints.
Thanks to this sudden case of actual ignorance, I blow this Daily Double. I fall back into a tie with Dan, whose over-my-head responses continue to punch holes in my confidence. Moments later, Dan whips this one out:
LATIN FOR “SWADDLING CLOTHES,” THEY’RE BOOKS PRINTED BEFORE 1501, IN THE INFANCY OF TYPOGRAPHY
