I commence this report as a nervous, ill-prepared best-man would begin his speech at the wedding reception. Trivia...what can I say about trivia? Dave is gone. Fitz is gone. Who then was to take up the most crucial position on any trivia team, the Lord Protector of the Pen? Should we promote from within or head-hunt some young up-and-comer from without? I thought about advertising the position and accepting applications in much the same way that Rhodes Scholars are selected. The candidates would be judged on their all round abilities: leadership, trivia knowledge, fairness, services of beer to the community, sense of humour, singing, sculling and scissors-paper-rock skills (1), and beach body. It was then that I realised that a true Lord Protector of the Pen chooses himself and not t'other way round. What easier way was there to become Lord Protector of the Pen than by supplying your own pen? As it happened nobody arrived with a pen and we had to borrow one from the quizmaster, which by the way was not Rupert!
Who would know about our proud, rich tradition of mocking Harry, delivering a pride crushing defeat to the 'memes', dancing with cartons of beer born upon our shoulders through the swing dancers and all the way back to Lorenz's desk to drink our winnings. How would we get points for answering questions with Rupert? (2) It was like history meant nothing. I now know what it feels like to be an exponential distribution.
Well, Harry was still there. That's right, THE Harold Steven Robert Kinsman. Who the hell are you? That's all I'm saying. All your favourite Harry traits were on display: hair that hadn't been washed in months, the stench of tooheys, cigarettes and failure, mirth inducing umming and ahhring, insincere sympathy, an exaggerated sense of important and finally the most important Harry trait, without which he would have little to elevate himself above your typical denizen of the Red Room; two middle names.
But enough about Harry and onto the part that ultimately decides whether a game of trivia is won and lost, the report. In the greatest restructuring of power since the Magna Carta, the Lord Protector of the Pen no longer writes the trivia post-mortem. You might rightly question how lacking divine sanction I could possibly deign that my report is the one true report. Well it says so right here in the report. Case closed.
The question remains though, with what style should I report. Any sensible man would look to his predecessors for guidance. First there was Dave, renown for his dispassionate newspaper-style reports and attention to detail. Some harsh critics accused him of phlegmaticness but any historian knows that you should judge a person by the standards of their contemporaries.
At a time when every other live journal user was busy writing slash fiction, Dave was a revelation.
Contrasting starkly with Dave were the trivia posts of the son of Gerald. Less concerned with facts and structure, he preferred to grab on to your gonads and squeeze until you passed out. Sure his posts were trite, his footnotes gratuitous, his prose stifling and riddled with anacolutha but occasionally he mentioned your name and that made it ok.
I acknowledge my forebears for if in were not for them I would not be writing this report today. So what then for my style. Well, there will be footnotes, for one. However, unlike my forebears I will not feign a dispassionate voice, and I will not pretend that everyone played an equal role. There will be no mention of affirmative action trivia players that did not pull their weight, such as the girl who offered us two answers, one incorrect which we used, one correct which we ignored. I will however describe my style as melodious. I will start andante with the woodwind and stringed instruments before the crescendo bringing in the brass and percussion. So if you are ready, we may commence.
We were an eclectic set. In attempting to assemble a well rounded team with absolutely no weakness or redundancy I had before me a mathematics post-graduate student, a different kind of mathematics post-graduate student and a physics post-graduate student. One shameful person had the temerity to ask me why I had stolen his seat in the middle of the table. I replied in my usual anserine fashion, "This better ables me to distribute beer to the four corners of the table". I got a good laugh, not great, just widespread enough to ease the anxiety and nervous tension created by the uncertainty of not knowing who will collect the trivia sheet in the post-Fitz era (3).
Questions were asked and answers were given. The first three rounds were entirely ordinary; we weren't running hot, just well enough to be ahead of the riff-raff that have nothing better to do than visit the red room on a Wednesday afternoon at half five (4), and level with our arch-rivals the "memes".
The stage was set, it was the bottom of the ninth with the bases loaded, or perhaps more accurately it was the fourth and final round. The theme was proverbs; we were given the beginning of a proverb and required to complete it. Some notable examples (5), for those playing along at home, were: a half truth is ... and a truly wealthy man owes ...
Someone remarked that the questions seemed easy, maybe this was the feel good round, to which I retorted, "It will be the feel good round if we win!". The tension was palpable as we argued over who should collect the sheet. We got, ladies and gentlemen, a perfect 10 out of 10, handing us both the round and match. A mighty cheer rose up, interrupted only briefly to disparage those doubting Stevos who questioned whether our winning ways were to continue.
Our victory was soured somewhat when the beer de triomphe arrived and many of the pusillanimous members of our team decided that they had had enough to drink. To those people lacking any intestinal fortitude I say, “Have a glass of concrete and harden the fuck up!”
This ends the post. I would like to thank Sam for allowing me to guest-star on his blog. Let's face it though, his blog needed some outside assistance. Some of you are probably wondering what possessed me to strive so hard for laughs that ineluctably, I will never hear. Well I may not experience your mirth, but some day I will be wandering the corridors of the mathematics department and Liz Billington will be crossing my path, look over at me and make a pistol gesture towards my heart, and maybe even some explosive sound effects. It is at that point that I will know my trivia report was worthwhile.
1. Girls only like trivia players with skills and our trivia team desperately needs some feminine influence.
2. Stevo was the first to realise this and cleverly asked for the Quizmaster's name. Dan by the way, thanks for asking.
3. This footnote is dedicated to the late great Fitz, may he rest in peace.
4. If you have something better to do, let me just inform you that you're mistaken.
5. Notable in the sense that I could remember them.
