The omnipresent cameras. The grimacing parents. The locked knees. The hot television lights. The sycophantic reporters. The thick spectacles. The violent strains of early puberty.
And the words.
The question isn't why some spellers faint, but why most of them don't.
Thirteen-odd years ago, a full-blown geek in brown glasses and a purple and red striped t-shirt, I stormed into D.C. for a chance to win the big one. By taking the Seattle regional, I'd already garnered a set of encyclopedias and a week at the Hilton, with Mom in tow. Among all the touristy events, the National Spelling Bee took up only about half the time--less for me, because I went out in round three.
In the year I went, the Bee took place in the conference room of the downtown Hilton. Contestants sat and sweated on a stage in front of the judge's table, rows of seats for a parent-heavy audience, and a bank of cameras. (I'm not sure, but I don't think ESPN was providing vowel-to-vowel coverage back then.)
Off to the right was an adjoining "Crying Room." When the bell rang at the enunciation of a misplaced letter, the teary contestant would shuffle off the stage and enjoy the consolation of cookies, juice, and parents. Yes, I cried. You would have, too.
Reporters milled around outside the Crying Room, ready to get the human interest angle. A couple from my home state cornered me and sat me down for a televised interview. Mind you, at this point I was beaten down, upset, disappointed, tired; but I grudgingly assented. The questions started off normal, then veered into the inane. My waning patience vanished with the last, delivered cheerily as only a reporter can:
"How did the bell sound?"
A million stupid answers flashed through my mind. Ask not; it tolled for me. It echoed through caverns of loss. It was a funeral peal, a fatal tintinnabulum, a carillon of despair. It sounded the death of my dreams.
Instead, in my moment of glory, I said:
"It went ding."
I haven't been on television since.
[twentieth in a series]
3 comments:
Brilliant.
Wow. A little bit late, but congratulations on making Nationals. In 1983, I made it to the Colorado/Wyoming State Bee (which makes them half a state each). Didn't make the oral round (missed 47, the cutoff was 36).
What was your fatal word? I remember most of my fatal words from the spelling years.
(Or is this a brilliant work of fiction?)
It's true, at least as true as memory. I bombed on an easy word, given the circumstances, adding an extra "a" to... to... I can't bring myself to name it. Sorry.
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