Wait's Law of Crosswords

The correct answer to a bad clue is always the awful one that you initially rejected.

Mystery at Mortlake Mansion

Having become inexplicably hooked on simple "hidden object" computer games recently, I played "Mystery at Mortlake Mansion" by Stella Games this weekend as a free download via Pogo.com.  Doing it this way entails frequent interruptions in gameplay for 30-second commercials from ad service MetaCafe.  That's not a criticism of this specific title; just a factor to be aware of when you play a "free" downloadable game from Pogo.

The visual art concept and renderings of "Mortlake Mansion" are terrific, especially the wide-shot scenes of the various rooms in the mansion house (each one duplicated in a darkly magical "shadow world").  This is the strongest feature of the game.  The music lends to the cartoonishly gothic atmosphere without becoming overly intrusive or repetitive.  The puzzles are entertaining and at the right level of difficulty.  Several are more challenging than they appear at first glance, and the degree of difficulty increases slightly as you proceed through the game.

I appreciated the map function which indicates in which rooms you have active puzzles waiting for you to solve or objects to retrieve that are necessary to complete the required actions in other rooms.  The flow of gameplay is well thought out.

The occasional speaking parts (protagonist; raven; spirits) did not live up to the rest of the game, and I found myself impatiently waiting while bits of dialogue loaded and finished.  I would sometimes read ahead and click out of them.

I experienced just one technical glitch: the large game cursor was sometimes accompanied by a smaller, regular-sized cursor on the screen.  The large cursor controlled the action; the small one was an annoying distraction.

In summary, the visual art, music, storyline, and puzzles in this Poe-like production are best in class.  I merely came to wish the raven would speak nevermore.

Zack Attack

In a mid-season game yesterday against the lowly Houston Astros, Milwaukee Brewers' ace starter Zack Greinke was ejected after four pitches in the first inning.  He spiked the baseball into the infield dirt after a close play at first base.  First-base umpire Sam Holbrook, apparently utilizing eyes in the back of his head like the lava lizards of the Galapagos Islands, found in his infinite wisdom and frocked authority that the stoic, silent Greinke, who had said a grand total of no angry words after the play, not to the umpire nor to anyone else on the field, nor faced nor confronted the ump, nor argued the call with vehemence, nor with an air of sophisticated insouciance, nor gestured at the ump, who wouldn't have seen him do so anyway, nor so much as glanced sideways with a stony, hollow eyeball at the man in blue, had nevertheless said one word too many.

Greinke's ejection -- "unprecedented," according to Brewers' television announcer Bill Schroeder, inasmuch as the non-celebratory touchdown spike was spectacularly and notoriously unwitnessed by Holbrook, who nevertheless was evidently convinced it was the deed of a villainous scofflaw rather than the self-scolding of a Gold Glove-caliber pitcher angry at himself for being late to break to first base -- was followed closely by the pro forma ejection of the manager, Ron Roenicke; the Brewers proceeded to lose to the AAAstros, 6-3.

This being the Brewers' penultimate game before the All-Star break, and with Greinke connected to mid-season trade rumors, there's naturally more to the story.  Major League scouts from several teams interested in Greinke were reportedly in attendance, although they probably left to tour NASA's Johnson Space Center with their kids after Roenicke replaced Zack on the mound with 76-year-old Livan Hernandez (spoiler alert: not a prospect).  Unfortunately, the scouts still need receipts in order to write off the space junket, which means they can't return from a suborbital voyage to Houston without filling out their TSP reports, which in turn means they still need to see Zack pitch.  Instantly upon his departure, as he headed up the tunnel to play Three Card Wenceslas with Roenicke in the clubhouse for three hours, the hue and cry on Twitter and the game broadcast rose as one voice, voicing a potentially Nobel-winning concept: could Zack Greinke start for the Brewers in Sunday's first half-closing contest, his last opportunity before the All-Star break and conceivably his last as a Milwaukee Brewer, after throwing only four pitches on Saturday?

If the Brewers want to pitch Greinke today in order to compete and win, that's fine. If, however, the Brewers are considering risking Greinke's arm just to showcase him for the visiting scouts, that's risky and distorts the purpose of playing a Major League ballgame.  Woe to the organization if he gets injured after his every-five-day preparatory routine is thrown off.  Besides, Marco Estrada has been pitching quite well in his spot starts.

To me, the answer is simple: give Zack a cold drink and a lounge chair.  What more can the scouts possibly need to see that isn't already on game film?  He's a former Cy Young Award winner who would be the ace of most staffs and has had an excellent first half.  Either sign him to a new contract extension or start the bidding.

Then, when Estrada is ejected by Holbrook for glancing suggestively at second base, the Zack Attack will be tanned, rested, and ready.

I See What He Did There

I'm through page 73 of For the Win, Cory Doctorow's 21st Century novel of multi-player virtual reality games and their intersection with bands of far-flung, carbon-based humans facing real, increasingly precarious predicaments.

Already, in fewer than 15% of the novel's rapidly readable pages, FTW has called to mind George Orwell's 1984, Norman Jewison's pithy short story, "Rollerball Murder" (later made into the violent future-sports movie, "Rollerball"), and Thomas Friedman's breathless economic globalism treatise, The World is Flat.

Then, without warning, Doctorow executes a perfect educational ambush and explains how financial arbitrage led to the mortgage and banking crisis of 2008, without ever using the words mortgage, banking, or collateralized debt obligations -- without even mentioning the historical events of 2008, in fact. He accomplishes this in only four pages, written at an eighth grade level, using vorpal blades, gaming gold, and other virtual treasure as currency to illustrate.

I'm now fully convinced of the author's powers. I'm hopeful that if I keep reading, I'll learn how to solve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict without using the word Jerusalem. I'm pretty sure a vorpal blade will be involved.

"He Lived"

The key to this party game is for everyone present to say this two-word tagline earnestly and meaningfully, in his or her best Winston Churchill-on-the-radio-swallowing-the-greasy-roast voice.

Participants of a certain age may find it helpful to summon up the image of the late actor John Houseman, the condescending, faux-fusty Professor Kingsfield from Paper Chase and the stern investor in the old E.F. Hutton television commercials ("They make money the old-fashioned way; they earn it!").

The most outrageous, obscure, or pathetic tale wins, à la The Aristocrats and that "The Most Interesting Man in the World" ad campaign. Shall we give it a go?

"He may have bilked millions of widows and children out of their few meager pennies in order to provide the necessary capital to expand his chain of South American rodent burger franchise restaurants, but...he lived."

"She may have sacrificed her dream of becoming a urological physician's assistant to marry a diseased toad who had bought her two stale beers at a reunion of matchbook trade school graduates, falsely promising her that he was, in fact, the third cousin of a Moluccan prince, but...she lived."

"He may have retired from his promising career as a Triple-A pitcher in the Dodgers organization to produce a new reality show pilot featuring a team of UC-Irvine snail biologists in their attempt to breed a new species variant of sea slugs that, they hypothesize, will better attract bottom-feeding fish unaffected by the Gulf of Mexico oil spill, but...he lived."

Extra points are awarded for true stories about the person on your left.

Three Card Wenceslas; or, Tegwar Revisited

Ten years ago at a family reunion, my sister and I started to play a game that we called Three Card Wenceslas. We'd never played it before, but we both picked it up fairly quickly and, before long, became totally absorbed in a spirited contest.

Three Card Wenceslas has no rules. We made it up as we went along.

She would play a pair. I would meld. She would draw from the deck. I would raise. She would knock. I would discard. And so forth. Complete and utter improvisation. Complete and utter nonsense. Even the name of the game was phony. But we played confidently (and loudly!).

Our mom's cousin wandered over. By that time, my sister and I had progressed to Three Card Blind Wenceslas, played with eyes closed. I think I was holding a card to my forehead. The improvisation continued, with plenty of trash-talking between us.

Our cousin took this in for a while. Finally he asked, "How do you know when someone wins?"

"We just did," I said. Ba-da-boom!

A bit of a lowlife prank to pull on a relative, granted, but at least we didn't scam anyone for money (I rationalize). However, it turns out the cosmic joke of the situation has been on me all along, and I've only just realized it.

You see, I've just finished rereading Bang the Drum Slowly, the touching, tragicomic 1950's baseball and mortality novel by Mark Harris. It was the first time since my early teen years, when I was a budding baseball geek, that I'd read the book. Also, by chance, the 1973 movie version starring Michael Moriarty and Robert De Niro was shown the other night on Turner Classic Movies.

Both are terrific, the book moreso than the movie, but that's not important now. What is important is that the fictional ballplayers played a fictional card game to scam unsuspecting bystanders in hotel lobbies out of their fictional spare cash. The ballplayers' card game was called "Tegwar", and it had no rules. The play of the game was eerily familiar, right down to the trash-talking!

Buried like an intelligence mole in the Early 1970's quadrant of my baseball-addled subconscious, "Tegwar" had been lying in Wait (so to speak) for decades. It reemerged ten years ago as "Three Card Wenceslas" -- the T-W letter combination is too improbable to be purely coincidental, don't you think? When I came across the Tegwar bit in Bang the Drum Slowly recently, the realization of what I'd likely done sent chills up my spine. Cue the Twilight Zone tones!

We'll see our cousin again this summer. Hopefully he'll get a good laugh at my expense when I tell him the "Tegwar" story. It still might work out for me in the end, though; I'm pretty sure I can sell my remaining inventory of "Three Card Wenceslas" rulebooks on eBay.

In Which We List Ten Life-Long Favorites for Which I Must Remember to Thank My Parents, Who Introduced Me To Them

1. A. A. Milne
2. Dr. Seuss
3. The Wizard of Oz
4. Chocolate Jumbles
5. Macoun Apples
6. RPI Hockey
7. Beethoven
8. Scrabble
9. Tom Lehrer
10. Monty Python

Spherical Recreations

Colorful balls are such a pleasing form. They practically shout out loud: "Sports!" "Games!" "Toys!" And above all: "Recess!"

Superballs from the toy store. Billiard balls on the bumper pool table at the the Y, where we had summer day camp. A game of 8-ball with my dad on the pool table at the volunteer firehouse. A croquet game in progress in the backyard. Yellow tennis balls. Yellow golf balls. Miniature golf balls in every primary color. Baseballs, softballs, and wiffle balls; basketballs, bowling balls, soccer balls, volleyballs. Red-rubber kickballs at school. Red cricket balls too, or so I understand. Pinballs. Bocce balls. Nerf balls, even.

That pile of colorful balls at the Ikea entrance -- sanitized hourly by the staff, surely -- in which you can happily lose a kid for an hour. There's nothing that's not happy about a pile of balls.

Which probably explains my current obsession with a simple, freeware computer game that I found on Yahoo: the aptly named "Pile of Balls". It's an absurdly simple, Tetris-like recreation in which you manipulate the falling balls, three at a time, into color groups that vanish when you get four or more together. Every so often, a satisfying little fanfare sounds -- "Ta-daaaaa!" -- and you advance a level. I have yet to survive Level 7, but it's not for lack of trying.

Toy models of atoms and planets in science class are fun, too. Speaking of which, I've been following the updates of American astronaut Mike Massimino (@Astro_Mike) on Twitter. He'll be on the Space Shuttle that launches into orbit in about a week. I'm really envious; pretty soon he'll have a large blue and green ball out the window to play with.

Review: The 'Watchmen' Experience

My beloved spousal unit, a fan of imaginative science fiction and graphic novels in books and cinema, wanted to see Watchmen, the film adaptation of the highly touted, darkly graphic, flawed-superhero series created by D.C. Comics innovator Alan Moore, before the movie closed. I suggested we catch it today, a Sunday afternoon in late March.

Timing was everything. We needed a location and starting time that would allow us to return home in time to catch the last two games of the NCAA hockey regionals, which we've been enjoying on ESPN2 and ESPNU. Having seen Boston University skate past Denver skillfully and energetically during the regular season, we were hardly surprised that BU became a leading contender to make it into the Frozen Four. (As it turned out, they defeated New Hampshire later in the day to qualify.)

More surprising during the tournament was that Notre Dame was eliminated by spirited upstart Bemidji State, a 5,000-student campus in the Iron Range of Minnesota, in the first round. In fact, Bemidji State made it all the way to the Frozen Four, to be held in Washington, D.C., becoming the lowest tournament seed (#16) ever to qualify for college hockey's ultimate prize. We were equally impressed with Miami (OH) and Vermont, the other Frozen Four semifinalists, and also congratulate a plucky, well-conditioned Air Force squad for giving Vermont a two-overtime run for its money in the regional finals. Both New Hampshire and Minnesota-Duluth scored thrilling, last-second victories in the regionals as well. It's been an amazing tournament that's kept us on the edge of our seats and rejuvenated my interest in the college game.

Also interesting was watching part of yesterday afternoon's games at the ESPN Zone restaurant in downtown Denver, located on the 16th Street pedestrian mall. My beloved spousal unit's birthday had been earlier in the week, on Thursday, but due to the snowstorm that hit Colorado's Front Range we didn't get out that day. But on Saturday, at her request -- she's an avid sports fan; lucky me! -- we took the light rail into the city and walked along the mall a few blocks to the sports bar and restaurant.

ESPN Zone is a theme/destination eatery, analogous to a Hard Rock Cafe for music lovers. The entire experience is organized around the multiple sports events on numerous television screens around the interior, including one enormous screen with the featured broadcast in the main room. We knew that the college basketball would claim the large screen -- indeed, we saw Connecticut advance to the Final Four while we were there -- but neither of us had to strain to see side screens showing the college hockey. We enjoyed parts of two games on the ice, along with our cheese fries appetizer, entrees and drinks. We could have done without the pushy, grinning waiter, however; what is it with these fools who think they have to bother you every five minutes to see if everything is okay? Particularly irritating was that, in the middle of our meal, he came up and asked us three times if we were saving room for dessert. Hey pal, we didn't answer in the affirmative the first two times; would you kindly take a hint? Overall, however, the experience was a treat and a rare indulgence -- although I'd happily relinquish a few of the television screens for control of the big screen's remote!

So anyway, having decided on a theater and time -- we were happy to see that the first Watchmen showing of the day at the Landmark Theater in nearby Greenwood Village, CO was parenthesized in the newspaper listings, indicating a discount show -- we parked and approached the theater. It's one of those new, upscale movie complexes, eponymously named after the adjacent luxury condo development in the south suburbs of Denver. I suppose this kind of mixed-use development makes good economic sense, if the condo units can be sold, although a more utilitarian example of the New Urbanism would feature some more affordable housing units, as well as closer proximity to the light rail or major bus lines.

As it turns out, we didn't have to shop for a condo to experience The Landmark's stratospheric economic aspirations. "Would you like the V.I.P. seating?" said the box office manager. He explained that, for three dollars more per person, we could sit in special seats and have the privilege of being served food and drinks -- at least for the next five minutes until the previews started. No thanks, we indicated. "Okay. That's eighteen dollars." I handed over my credit card, but also asked about the early show discount that we'd seen advertised in the Sunday paper. "This is the discount show. It's normally twelve dollars." Oh. "Thanks, guys. Theater Three, on your left. You can enjoy the complimentary popcorn and drinks, right over there."

So that's the new business model, I thought. Sell a six dollar ticket for nine dollars, and give the illusion of offering free snacks. Oh well; at least we're not paying New York or L.A. prices. We helped ourselves to sodas and popcorn, admittedly a nice touch, and wandered in. Inside Theater Three, we found our non-V.I.P. stadium seats, perfectly comfortable ones, and watched the previews. We noticed a waiter serving -- you guessed it -- soda and popcorn to the only couple in the V.I.P. seats. And charging for it. And collecting a tip. I hope they enjoyed their seats and treats, for I think we came out at least $15-20 ahead on that deal. (And, unless their popcorn was flavored with premium cognac, ours was just as good.)

My favorite preview was actually a well-produced import beer commercial featuring Italian bicyclists in a road race who sabotage their tandem bike so that they can sit roadside at a cafe and enjoy their upscale ales while the other bikers pass by. It's come to this, I thought again; I'm compliantly attentive to the advertising that we've paid eighteen dollars to see at the early discount show! At any rate, later on I appreciated the cleanliness of the rest room that I had to visit midway through the movie, once my free soda asserted itself. Note: I'm not being sarcastic here; I really do appreciate well-designed, well-maintained sanitary facilities. At the ESPN Zone, in fact, you don't have to miss any of the action being shown on the main screen while visiting the men's room -- I can't tell you why, exactly, but perhaps you can guess -- nor do you, I'm reliably informed, in the ladies' room, although the ergonomics of that are more difficult for me to imagine. Still, what more could an obsessed sports fan of either gender ask for?

Upon leaving the theater, the warm spring breeze and sunshine enticed us to take a walk around our favorite local park, and despite the warning signs, we encountered no coyotes along the nearly dry, paved walking trails. It's amazing how Denver winter weather can dominate the national weather report -- we'd received about 10-12" of snow on Thursday, in blizzard conditions -- and then the snow was all but gone three days later. We came home in time to see most of the BU-UNH hockey game, followed by the day's second game, Bemidji State's decisive win over Cornell, accompanied by Sunday dinner, my beloved spousal unit's delicious chicken curry over brown rice, and raspberry pie for dessert. All in all, a wonderful way to wrap up a delightful weekend.

What's that? The Watchmen movie? Thanks; I almost forgot. Way too violent. Sorry, kids.

Domination (a.k.a. Risk): Research Findings

Last month, I wrote about Domination, a free, open source implementation of the classic Risk board game of world conquest. For the past few weeks, I've played Domination against several automated opponents at a time on various game maps, and by now I've optimized my strategy so that I almost always win.

Considering that I routinely lost when playing Risk against the neighborhood kids when growing up, this is quite a turnaround! If I ever meet them again for a titanic reunion battle, we'll see whether my new strategy holds up -- or whether it's too much attuned to the A.I. program in Domination. I suspect the latter.

Our youthful strategies featured a general preference for capturing and defending continents, which earns you extra armies, as early as possible in the game; and double-defending all occupied territories, whether crucially located or not. We eventually came up with three basic rules for success:

1. Always move forward each turn.
2. Always attack your strongest opponent.
3. Michael is always dangerous.

While Rule 3 likely remains valid -- knowing Michael as I do -- my new strategy calls the other two rules into question. Moreover, the new strategy is cards-based, not continents-based. For those unfamiliar with the game, Risk cards are earned throughout the game and can be traded for escalating numbers of reinforcement armies as the game progresses. Crucially, if you eliminate a weaker opponent, you capture his or her Risk cards. It turns out that this is key to victory, especially if you can eliminate an opponent later in the game when Risk cards can be traded for dozens of armies. Thus, the new strategy:

1. Pile most of your armies on only one or two remote outposts at the start of the game, the better to survive early onslaughts. Don't worry if opponents capture your more thinly defended territories.

2. Early in the game, only attack and advance far enough to earn your one Risk card per turn. Forget about capturing a lot of territories or a continent; it usually spreads you too thin.

3. Later, whenever possible, use your one or two highly armed territories, plus new reinforcement armies that you get from trading in Risk cards, to launch an attack that eliminates a weak opponent in order to capture his or her Risk cards. Repeat.

Having developed this winning strategy, I'm happy to offer it to you for your gaming success. I ask only one thing: whatever you do, don't tell Michael!

Domination (a.k.a. Risk)

If you've ever enjoyed strategy board games, you might enjoy an excellent computer simulation of the classic "Risk" game, called "Domination". It's freely downloadable at

                        http://domination.sourceforge.net/

If you want to play the game solo, I recommend deleting all of the players except the human (you, hopefully) and adding opponents using the Easy AI setting. Once you get the hang of it, try playing several Hard AI opponents.

You'll probably want to start with the traditional, six-continent Risk map that is the default setting. Later, you can experiment with a variety of game maps and their associated territory cards. Though not a Tolkien fan, I like the "lotr" (Lord of the Rings) map for its intricacy. The "europass" map makes for a good continental game. Additional maps are downloadable; some of the novelty maps like "tube" (London subway map) and "solar" (planets map) are fun, while some like "cow" (beef cuts diagram) are just silly and don't play as well.

It's open source, so you can examine the A.I. strategy engines and tweak them to your heart's content. There's also a map designer, which I haven't tried; just playing the game has kept me up late into the night.

Recommended. You too can realize your Napoleonic fantasies!

How about Blog-opoly?

I bought a Monopoly game the other day. To get to it on the shelf, I had to browse past Star Trek-opoly, Star Wars-opoly, MLB- NFL- and NBA-opoly, the Batman, Beatles, Boston Red Sox, and Chicago White Sox editions, and the Christmas Story edition (no doubt a heartwarming holiday tale of mortgaging your toy train while it's still under the tree to buy a luxury condo). There's a Monopoly for Indianapolis and one for Minneapolis, and in the Superman edition, you can buy up Metropolis. There's the Lord of the Rings edition, the Harley Davidson edition, and an edition for seemingly every syndicated TV show from the past 30 years. M*A*S*H-opoly, The Simpsons-opoly, SpongeBob SquarePants-opoly. Even I Love Lucy-opoly. "No, Ricky, stop! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!"

I bought a computer book the other day. To get to it on the shelf, I had to browse past Visual Basic for Dummies, Windows for Dummies, MacOS for Dummies, Linux for Dummies, Java for Dummies, C, C++, C# for Dummies (I didn't see the Bette Midler edition, C-Minus for Dummies), ASP, PHP, SQLServer, Oracle, and SAP for Dummies. There were Excel for Dummies, Access for Dummies, Word for Dummies, PowerPoint for Dummies, and to provide equal time, OpenOffice for Dummies. There were references for Dummies on computer languages I've never heard of and ones I wish I hadn't. Reeling, I sought refuge in the other aisles and found that the entire target market for retail book consumers now comprises nothing but Dummies. This was likely the conclusion of some publishing executive who'd read Market Research for Dummies on his lunch hour.

Only one place to go with all this madness: "Dummies-opoly". The first one to trade in four independent bookstores and erect a hotel on Amazon.com wins.