I’m in trouble. Big trouble. There’s a truck barreling down the highway with its brakes out and I’m Bambi standing there watching it. I’ve got six days to get my act together, or I’m in for an embarrassment not seen since Rob Lowe danced with Snow White (for those of you too young to remember what I’m talking about, think Clint Eastwood with the chair, only with more people watching and set to music). This is serious stuff, people.
I’ve lost my trivia mojo.
I haven’t flat-out won since the beginning of August. Since then, I’ve had a couple of second and third place finishes sprinkled around, but I’ve been dwelling in the fourth and fifth spots far too often. And it’s not like these have been narrow defeats where the difference is one question here or there. Oh no. These have been full-scale meltdowns, where I’m in contention, then totally blow it in the final round. I’d probably botch it if they asked me my middle name. Wait — crap, what’s my middle name?
This becomes more ominous because the next Battle of Wits is Saturday, only six days away. And it’s at my bar this time, the Pour House. I’ve got home field advantage, all my favorite servers, and I stand a very good chance of spectacularly flaming out in front of all of them. Oh, I’ve tried to play it off with clever quips like, “I’m pacing myself” or, “I’m resting my starters,” but it’s false bravado. What’s more, all the other teams like me now. Because they’re all beating me. Clearly this is the worst thing ever.
I’ve got one more trivia night before Saturday to get my groove back. It’s bunker time. I need to hit the Random Article link on Wikipedia. I need to start memorizing state capitals and time zones. I need to run the periodic table over and over again. I need to fall asleep on top of an encyclopedia and pray for osmosis. Being happy with fourth place was for the first time around. This time, it’s war. No mercy. Fire when ready. Smile, you son of a bitch. Sweep the leg.
Okay, I’m mixing movie references now, so it’s clearly time to stop.