09-034
Contests
Contested
The rousing spirit of competition is as American
as apple pie and escargot. Yet there is a sinister underbelly (probably caused
by too much apple pie and escargot) beneath the cummerbund of most formal
competitive proceedings that would set the world spinning on its ear (if it
weren’t so overladen with apple pie and escargot).
I speak, of course, of the suspicions that arise
when a questionable champion is crowned amidst worthier opponents, for example,
when a dyspeptic landlubber walks off with the trophy at a trout eating
contest. Clearly, something is fishy.
One need only look at the popular
survival-themed challenge shows that currently capture the American fancy to
realize something is amiss (namely the contestants’ clothing, as askew attire
appears to be a prerequisite for success).
The eyebrow-raising proceedings are predictable
to the public by now: A sinewy hulk the size of Sasquatch - with architectural
skills rivaling Frank Lloyd Wright plus the camp-craft savvy of an Eagle Scout -
is curiously defeated by a wispy n’er-do-well who couldn’t light a match with
the help of a blowtorch, much less locate sustenance without a trail of
breadcrumbs leading up to a buffet line.
If we have learned nothing from the game show
scandals of the 1950’s (other than that people sweat profusely in isolation
booths) we have been awakened to the possibility that the odds may not be
pointing in our direction (unless we are drawing straws for the designated
driver on New Year’s Eve).
Shocking examples abound:
The boss’s hirsute daughter wins the Bathing-Beauty
contest at the company picnic.
A voluptuous, yet tone-deaf chanteuse captures
the singing prize.
“Teenywhiz” the racing Chihuahua is knocked off the track by a
rival resembling a denuded St. Bernard.
Malfeasance at bug eating contests is so
legendary as to require no further comment here.
But nowhere is injustice more apparent than in
literary competitions where scholars are often pitted against upstart amateurs
who possess only a cursory knowledge, or even mocking disregard for the subject
matter at hand.
A case in point: Dr. Desdemona Guildenstern,
whose Brilliant Bard contest entry,
“Benvolio’s Verisimilitude” (so subtly nuanced as to be initially mistaken for
a lost masterwork by Ben Jonson), was passed over by judges in favor of a
demented monosyllabic rant entitled “I See London, I see France, I see
Shakespeare’s Underpants.”
Regrettably, as evidence later revealed, the
winner had been selected on the basis of living two subway stops from the
awards banquet location, thus eliminating the expense of airfare, taxi and
tips, and freeing up funds for refreshments (like apple pie and escargot).
In an ironic twist of fate, the respected Dr.
Guildenstern, reduced to performing street corner soliloquies from her rejected
essay while drowning her sorrows in pints of ale, was recruited by the Literary
Barfly Association, thereby enabling her to win the annual Stratford-upon-Avon
Mead Hall Chug-A-Lug Challenge.
Heartfelt congratulations go out to Dr.
Guildenstern! (last seen face down in a plate of apple pie and escargot).