The play is epic. I am a Scrabble god. I bingo with “oleander”, not even really knowing the word, just total recalling from a book cover Moon read years ago. I see the title in my mind, White Oleander, and brilliantly surmise the presence and placement of “white” makes it likely not a proper noun so it’s a legit play. I am amazing. I am going to be on SportsCenter. I see the highlights of me spinning and running through a field of oleander shrubs. I hear the postgame interview where I say all the right things.
ME: “My opponent played well but at the end of the day I just wanted it more.”
SC: “Wes, tell us what you were going through when you made that scintillating bingo.”
ME: “I guess I was just in the zone.”
SC: “How can you explain your high level of play?”
ME: “I’ve got to give thanks to my teammate my brain, I would not be here without him. We really left it all out there on the board tonight.”
Admiring my score, I reach for my next tiles (need to replenish a full seven you know because I just bingo’ed). This is the stuff champions are made of, I might make the Hall. Still grabbing tiles when–> no….no wait –> without realizing it I’ve created a triple-triple opportunity for my challenger who swoops in to score 60 with a three letter word. She’s only half awake but that’s all you need when a rookie maneuver leaves a triple-triple wide open. Um. Suppose the Hall won’t be calling after all. Now I’m the goat. I hope the camera crew and attractive sideline reporter went home early. My self-image as a strategist aware of all possible outcomes instantly shattered by three little letters. So caught up in my own awesomeness I’d lost sight of, fact I’d never even seen the big picture.
Scrabble I love you, I hate you. Oleander, you’re not so sweet anymore either, you’re just a poisonous plant whose flowers are usually pinkish anyway.
