COLUMN: Trivial endeavors

Harry Caines contributes a weekly column to CacheValleyDaily.com. His column is a work of opinion, and does not reflect the views of Cache Valley Daily, the Cache Valley Media Group, or its employees.

While most of you are enjoying this column on an ordinary Thursday afternoon, I shall be immersed in studying.

Have I gone back to USU to get my Masters? Am I preparing to answer one of those silly 100 question psychological surveys for a new job? Am I a janitor at Harvard University trying to figure out an equation that has baffled the world’s greatest mathematicians for centuries?

The answer to all of these questions is, unfortunately, no.

I will be studying for a reason that is entirely selfish and exciting. On Thursday night, I plan to take the online test to be a contestant on “Jeopardy!”.

Ahhh…”Jeopardy!”. That fantastic television trivia show that for over three decades has tried to enlighten the masses, stimulate the literati and scoff at the terminally under-educated dregs of society.

I have always wanted to be on “Jeopardy!”. The problem was not that I was scared to take the test to get on the show. Odds are I will not score high enough…but I know I can! The problem for me is the panic attacks and apoplectic rage I would exude if I got on the show and the categories were not in my “wheelhouse.”

I would not see any clues in the arenas of U.S. Presidents, the Academy Awards, British monarchs, Shakespeare or living in theocratic oligarchies. I am an expert at all those subjects.

Nope! I would get clues germane to physics, botany, classic automobiles, famous oboe musicians and Romanian poetry.

For the entire show you would see me standing there mumbling to myself. My response in “Final Jeopardy”, which would be in the subject of ancient pottery, would be requesting Alex Trebek to commit an obscene act upon himself.

I am finally going to take a crack at the Holy Grail of trivia shows. I doubt I will get enough of the 50 questions on the first test correct for me to be considered for the second round; but I have not been in a trivia competition in a long time. I want to see how far my Ninja skills have eroded.

Two decades ago, I used to be in constant practice regarding trivia. Back in Philadelphia, I played in what is widely considered to be the original game of Quizzo.

Quizzo is a trivia game played by teams in four rounds of 10 questions each. Though many variations of the game exist, the one known specifically by that name saw its genesis at the New Deck Tavern, which is located near the campus of the University of Pennsylvania.

I played on a team composed of “men of girth” that hung out at the same corner bar in South Philly. Our team name was DUI, which stood for “Don’t Underestimate Idiots.” We were a sight to see. Beer-bellied, obnoxiously loud and with a fashion sense that was the polar opposite of preppy, we would walk into this enclave of Ivy League elitism every Monday night like we owned the place—and we did!

Despite Penn’s noblesse standing in the pantheon of academia, those snotty kids were roundly thrashed by my mangy brood of interlopers weekly. The questions were not easy. And yet, we nearly scored a perfect 50 on more than one occasion.

The secondary characters in every Charles Dickens’ book? Slam dunk. The world’s largest producer of vanilla? Madagascar. Duh! The literacy rate of Iceland is 100%? Well, everyone knows that. Right? Our arrogance fueled our success, and the golf pencils we used to write our answers on the scoresheets had the power of 10 atom bombs. And while those Penn kids went on to rule the world in these modern days, we came out of that experience with fond memories of the cases of Guinness we won…and consumed.

Of the countless millions of creatures residing on this blue orb, none has the limitless brain capacity—and the tragedy to underutilize it—more than a South Philly barfly.

When I moved to Cache Valley, Utah, my desire to start my own Quizzo was not a matter of if, but a matter of when. Enter the White Owl Tavern. It was the perfect setting to host a Quizzo. And within months, it was one of the biggest deals you could find in these parts.

Having something to do in the middle of the week was a big part of Quizzo’s success here. And playing trivia is a great way to spend time with friends. But, if allowed to compliment myself, I believe that most people showed up to enjoy my schtick as the host.

First, there was the nicknames. Mr. Wednesday Night. The Round Mound of Profound. And, THE GOD OF ALL QUIZZO! If you do not use capital letters on that last one, it does not have the desired effect.

Next, came my personality. Not only were my questions engaging, but everyone loved to see me go off on my vulgar diatribes about politics and pop culture in my piercing, east coast voice. Of course, this was all an act. The real Harry is a soft-spoken, sullen, humble teddy bear.

The third part that made the “Owl Quizzo” great was the diversity of the crowd. PhD’s from Utah State would be on the same team as rednecks whose great-grandfathers came to the valley with Jim Bridger. A team of Mormons would be seated next to a table filled of gay men…and they were friendly to each other.

Want world peace? Bring the leaders of every nation on earth to my Quizzo. I will have us all singing John Lennon songs within a month.

The final thing my Quizzo needed was a bad guy. Like my team of untermensch that would feel the heat of seething scorn at the New Deck Tavern back in Philly, “Owl Quizzo” needed that one team, that one person, everyone wanted to beat. I cannot put into print the original name of that team as it contains an expletive. Nor will I print the name of the man on that team that was considered to be the most hated man in Quizzo. He is one of my closest friends, so I will use a pseudonym in lieu of his real name. I will call him Schmriggs.

Schmriggs was everything Quizzo needed in a protagonist. He was loud, abrasive, profane and the various incarnations of his team won frequently. Many players told me they could live with not winning Quizzo, so long as Schmriggs’s team did not win. And when Schmriggs lost the Quizzo Cup tournament twice, people were more happy for his failure than for the success of the championship team. Some, even members of his former team, have accused Schmriggs of cheating. This accusation is still hotly debated all these years later.

I have been asked more than once how Schmriggs’s dynastic team would square up one on one against DUI. All cockiness put aside I have to say that we would wipe the floor with them. It would not be remotely close to competitive.

I find it to be a great compliment that after six years of my Quizzo no longer up and running that people still come up to me to lament its ending. It was a great time. It is missed.

Maybe someday I will bring back Quizzo. I would have to implement rules regarding smart phones and bathroom breaks. The mentality of a person who needs to cheat to win a game of irrelevant trivia scares me. How far would they go to succeed at the things in life that actually mattered?

For now, I still have “Jeopardy!”. And if I beat the odds to make it on that show, right before Alex Trebek reveals the first clue in Lithuanian cuisine, I will say a prayer to the Quizzo Gods and beg them for their guidance. I will need it.

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