It's My Game and I'll Cry if I Want to

The following is a follow-up column to a recent one I wrote concerning my propensity to correctly identify song titles and artists while listening to the radio. The game is called Scanners and I invented it, with the eventual help of one of my assistant coaches on a long road trip.

You may remember that I am master of the Scanners domain. Undefeated. Perfecto.

Here’s how it works. Opponents shake hands, take an oath of honesty and integrity, then switch the radio button on. The first person to identify the name of the song gets a point; if you name the artist, you also get a point. If you name both, you get two points. If you’re not positive of your answer, you don’t take credit.

If you guess correctly, you control the scan button. You can leave the station where it is or scan onward. However, you may not stay tuned in to a station for more than two songs. If a commercial comes on, you’re done. First player to reach ten points wins a game. Just like the World Series, first one to four games is the winner. (There’s other minor rules but you get the gist.)

Anyway, as I was driving one of the team vans recently down in Florida, I mentioned the Scanners game to some of my players. Within moments, a full-scale war developed between myself and everyone else on the van. (10 versus 1.)

Since we were down to an hour or so of riding, I agreed to modify the rules and allow constant scanning to allow points to be achieved more rapidly. I took an early lead and cruised to victory in Game One by the score of 10-4.

The little rascals came back and beat me 10-8 in Game Two but I easily won Game Three and took an early 4-0 lead in Game Four. It was then that I made a critical mistake. I taunted my opponents. “I need some competition. See if you can call the guys on the other van and let’s make it 20 against 1,” I bragged.

Suddenly all the Christian radio stations went to talk shows. Then the oldies stations disappeared and artists with names like Snoop Dogg, Usher, Bow Wow, Amy Winehouse, Radiohead, and My Chemical Romance dominated the airwaves. Immediately I went into a slump the likes of which I hadn’t experienced since my junior year in high school when I went forty straight at-bats without a base hit.

Defeated and humiliated, I pouted about the unfair adjustment to the rules while the guys high-fived and savored the spoils of victory. I guess I was sorta proud that I had invented a game that could illicit so much emotion. Nevertheless, my first ever loss cut to the heart.

But not to fear. A few days later my teen-aged son challenged me to a match. “You’ll get your feelings hurt,” I boasted to cover the insecurity I felt concerning my losing streak.

I was impressed when the chap pounced on “ The Pina Colada Song” by Rupert Holmes from 1979-80, but in the end, Dad started a new streak of dominance. And little do my opponents know if I ever get too far behind again, I’ll switch the radio off and take my little game home with me.