Old man watching Jeopardy

LARRY ANDERSON
Larry Anderson

There are certain things everyone should know about old guys locked into retirement:

1. We are angry.

2. We shout to be heard.

We don’t really care if we can’t hear other people because we don’t like them anyway, but if we are watching television, then yelling is required.

3. We like old television shows better than the new ones.

Personally, I’d rather watch a re-run than be a witness to how many times some unshaven doofus can drop the f bomb. (I said I/we are angry. I/we mean it.)

4. We have forgotten much, but not everything.

However, our mental reflexes are similar to a tortoise making its way across the desert.

With all the above factored, we retirees turn on Jeopardy so we can watch Alex Trebek, 75, assault us with trivia, much of which we should know, but, curiously, don’t.

I wait for Jeopardy daily. It is my life.

The Missus watches Jeopardy too. We share a brain.

Sometimes we shout at Alex in unison if we have an answer that is wrong 80 percent of the time.

Once in a while, I will get one right, even though I have no clue from where the answer came. It just pops out like a watermelon seed fired at a sleeping cat. It is a curious thing.

Much of the time, my answer has nothing to do with the category. The category might be “Constellations;” my shouted answer could be “Mount Rushmore.”

Now, that doesn’t make sense, but I don’t pay a lot of attention to the categories, only the questions. The reason is the categories make me angry, and I’m angry enough already.

I’m ticked because some Jeopardy categories are unnecessarily complex, as in words that begin with “c” and end in “x.”

Who cares? I want straight-up categories like “literary characters” or “rivers in North America” or “Civil War battles,” so I have a fighting chance.

I especially want western movies as a category because I know a heap of stuff about that.

For instance:

“He shot Liberty Valance,” Alex might ask.

“I know! I know!” I shout at Alex. “John Wayne.”

“He got second billing to Henry Fonda in Fort Apache?”

“I know! I know! John Wayne,” I scream at the television.

“Bruce Dern plugged this actor in The Cowboys?”

“Easy. John Wayne,” I holler triumphantly.

I also have my hand up as if I’m still in second grade, missing math problems.

“Stop shouting at the TV,” the Missus commands. “I can’t hear the answers.”

Excuse me! I just gave the answer.

You may have noticed I didn’t state any of my answers with “What is” or “Who is.”

I consider that an unnecessary preface to responses.

What’s the point?

Besides, I don’t like rules.

I can just hear Alex if I was one of the contestants: “Oh, I’m sorry, Larry, but you didn’t say ‘Who is’ before you said ‘John Wayne;’ therefore, we can’t accept your answer. But hang in there, big fella. You are only $10,000 in the hole.”

But the answer was right, right?

Bite me, Alex Trebek! You are why I am so angry!

By final Jeopardy, the Missus is snoozing on the sofa, and I am adding up the answers I have given.

Typically, I have shouted eight to 10 answers and have gotten one right.

I live in Jeopardy poverty. If I were a contestant, I’d have to pay Alex.

Just so you know, the 102 is not the longest river in Missouri. That would be the Missouri, same as the state.

Who knew? I mean besides all the contestants, everyone in the audience, and Alex Trebek.

I learn something every day, angrily watching Jeopardy with both brain cells glowing and the volume on high.