SPELL THESE
Apparently, I’m the Last Person Still Playing Wordle
It’s still just as fun without you
Most of you just slunk away. For a hot minute, you were riding the crest of the wave. Posting results daily with chest-puffing pride or rueful chagrin, depending on the outcome. All the while quick as a fox to whip out a huffy “No spoilers!” to any and all transgressors.
Several of you felt compelled to make an announcement of the “I’ve moved on” variety. As if the Wordle community, i.e. me, really misses your participation. Like a new word isn’t going to appear tomorrow if you’re not around to conjure it onto your screen in six tries or fewer.
Quitters, the bunch of you.
Oh sure, you all have your reasons, none particularly convincing. One favorite seems to be: “It took time from other activities.” Like what, unloading the dishwasher? Complaining about the fact that no one else ever unloads it? None of that ever stopped you before. You used to spend hours on sudoku, and now suddenly Wordle is too much.
A lot of you claim Wordle is repetitious busywork. One bitter ex-player told me it’s less challenging than matching socks.
Want to hear another juicy excuse? “My Dad started playing, and I’m sick of hearing about brain plasticity.”
Oh, there’s more. Like the so-called friend who told me peeling a banana requires more decision-making acumen. Seriously? Sure, we’ve all had to decide which end to start from. But after that, it becomes pretty straightforward, except maybe for what to do about those clinging strings.
Even if you’re no longer a skilled Wordle competitor, if you ever were, you should be able to pick out the pattern in these types of explanations. The all-too-evident subtext here is that my consistent 3s and frequent 2s generated unbearable jealousy and resentment. I soared too high. The truth shines through like blue screen light piercing a sleep-deprived retina.
I never intended for my superior performance to raise anyone’s hackles. I tried not to gloat or preen or do any other 5-letter words outside the confines of the game. The last thing I wanted was to discourage anyone. That’s what I get for trying to be a role model and set standards others could aspire to. Instead, in the face of my consistently dominating victories, you gave up.
Now I’m the last oak standing in the forest. Facing that blank matrix at dawn; populating the squares with letters; perpetuating the grid of life.
Make no mistake: just because the rest of you skulked off doesn’t mean I’m not still the chump.
Champ. That was obviously supposed to be an A.
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Unless you’re in the midst of a Wordle, enjoy more from Tom Navratil: