Tim and Joanna posing for a Christmas card.
Awwww
DOUBLE JEOPARDY
Games were not always
solitary affairs between a kid and a monitor. Years ago they were social events,
sometimes played among family members or at other times with a group of
friends. When my brothers and I were young, one of our favorites was the home
game version of the TV Show, "Jeopardy".
In those far-off halcyon days
the host was Art Fleming and the home game was played with a small plastic
Jeopardy board and coded cards for the host to read to the players. I loved
playing the game, but I enjoyed the role of Art Fleming even more. It was
especially fun to be in charge when my older brother, Tim, wanted to play.
Tim was legendary for his
inability to play a game without losing his temper. Risk boards were tossed
across the room, Monopoly pieces would learn to fly, and strains of "You
are so lucky!" would echo
throughout the house. You'd think we would avoid playing with Tim because of
this, but oh, no – that was half the fun. Beating Tim and causing his
inevitable meltdown was high entertainment.
On one memorable afternoon
some family friends, the Reuter girls, were visiting. Kitt, Beth, and Missy
loved games as much as we did and they were all too well acquainted with the
not-so-dormant volcano who could erupt at any moment. Everyone was eager to
play.
I had my usual role as Art
Fleming and it was a very close game. Kitt, the oldest of the Reuter girls, was
on a hot streak but Tim held a slim lead. Mom, ironing clothes nearby, watched
the game with interest. It was her job to keep things in check if Art Fleming
couldn't do it alone. No problem this time because Tim pulled away from the
others, his score climbing until he was nearly unreachable.
When Final Jeopardy arrived I
cheated by looking through the cards for a question I thought everyone would be
able to answer. I wanted to give the other players a fighting chance to
overtake Tim. Unfortunately, if they could answer, so could he. It looked like
the day's entertainment would end like normal people's games end and not in the
monumental temper tantrum we were all hoping to see.
"The length of the
famous Indianapolis auto race," I read. Who didn't know that the Indy 500
was 500 miles? It was right in the name! I sang the Jeopardy thinking song as
the players filled out their little pieces of paper. Tim smirked as he
scribbled his answer and then leaned back in his chair, knowing he had the game
in the bag.
I started at the opposite end
from Tim and one by one read each player's answer and awarded the points.
Everyone was raking it in but even Kitt in second place couldn't touch Tim if
he got it right.
Noting that Tim had bet his
entire score on the question, I picked up his slip of paper. "500
miles," I read aloud. At that moment I realized I had found a way to
snatch victory from his clutches. He'd made a rookie Jeopardy mistake.
"Oooh, I'm so sorry, Tim. That wasn't in the form of a question. You
lose."
Everyone except Tim howled
with laughter. They recognized that I'd found that one tiny loophole necessary
to give him a loss. As Kitt celebrated her victory, Tim began screaming about
how unfair I was, being in the form of a question didn't count, he'd gotten it
right, and on and on, his volume increasing, his face red with anger. The
laughter simply increased. Even Mom was laughing, though I'm sure she didn't
approve of my having baited him that way.
Unable to handle both the
loss and the laughter, Vesuvius erupted. Tim leapt out of his chair, tackled me
to the ground and started pummeling me. Obviously, I was no longer laughing,
but unfortunately, everyone else still was. Howls. Guffaws. Tears coming down
their eyes. And the loudest laughter of all came from Mom because she knew that
sneaky, snarky, baiting Art Fleming deserved it.
Spurred by the laughter, Tim
increased the volume and intensity of his punches. His fists flailed as I
wriggled beneath him, protecting my vital areas. His own anger, added to his
love of playing to the crowd, may have increased his output, but he didn't lose
his accuracy. Only the arms were fair game on his sister and he kept to that
rule.
In an attempt to halt the
barrage, I cried out, "Stop it! You can't beat up Art Fleming!" It
was the wrong thing to say. Not only could he and was he beating up Art
Fleming, but my referring to myself by my hosting name caused even more
laughter. Sadly, I was too committed an actress to give up a role even when it
would have saved me a 'host' of arm punches.
The joke had obviously been
on me. I should have known that cheating Tim out of a victory was guaranteed to
put Art Fleming in jeopardy.
