In spite of what my title suggests, this post is not another tired whine about how ZEN is not a valid Scrabble word even though JEEP is.  (ZEN is a proper noun, hence unplayable, whereas JEEP… well, you figure that out.)  Instead, this post presents an assortment of should-be-words, complete with definitions, that have popped up in my seven-letter tray during Scrabble games.  I encourage fellow Scrabblers to try playing these words against friendly opponents, especially after a second bottle of wine has been opened — who knows, these words sound so good they just might go unchallenged.

All of these come directly from my letter tray to you:

POTIFTO (n): a tuberous vegetable unsure of whether it is a yam or a sweet potato

EARKITE (n): Barack Obama on a parasail

EFFOTEL (n): worst hotel you ever stayed in

ITOILET (n): the last place a person drops her iPhone before buying a new one

AOUEIII (int): universal bungee-jumping cry

TOETURE (n): the act of tickling a person’s pedal extremities to make them talk

RETOPIA (n): an idyllic place where enlightened Buddhists live their second lives

PREGOLD (adj): pertaining to the year prior to becoming eligible for Medicare

RAMENZA (n): drug approved in 2003 for treating allergic reactions to Japanese noodles

BEGTIME (n): the several-minutes-long period when one’s child, after being tucked in for the night, pleads for one more story to be read

TRAMPUI (n): honey-flavored liqueur favored by hobos

RAILODE (n): boxcar-themed poetry favored by hobos

SHPUZKA (n): loose outergarment worn in anticipation of drama, as in, “You cad!  I’ve never been so insulted!  Waiter, bring me my shpuzka and get me a taxi!”

QINEDAY (n): day of the week (in the European Union, between Monday and Tuesday) when U need not follow Q

ASSIBOU (n): the rude offspring of a donkey and a reindeer

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Asked and Answered 4.0

I am one of those annoying persons who is kind and cooperative in everyday interactions but whose competitive bloodlust rises to the fore when Scrabble is involved.  Ask my wife.  She stopped playing Scrabble with me years ago, even after I began to spot her 100 points. That was little help, as far as she was concerned, because it only made me dig my heels in that much harder to overtake her.

I play online now, as I assume most players do, because who stops by your place to play Scrabble these days?  I am a good casual player but not tournament-level by any means — not that I care to be.  I have only recently begun to learn the two-letter-words and I am constantly surprised by the odd three-letter-words my opponents play.

Things were different in the analog days.  Back then, diligent players had to memorize the accepted words, because consulting a dictionary was verboten except to answer challenges. (VERBOTEN is an official Scrabble word, by the way.)  But there are no challenges in the online version — instead, players are allowed (and expected) to check whether words are valid before playing them.  And the two-letter-word list is now just a feature of the game.  So no one really needs to memorize much.

That said, there is still a place for vocabulary skills in online Scrabble, tempered as always by the luck of the draw of one’s letters.  And that, at long last, brings me to the point of this article.  I just completed a game with an anonymous online opponent named Micki.  Here is the board we played:

Scrabble Board - The 100 Billionth PersonYou can see that Micki defeated me, 339 to 308.  What you do not see is that Micki drew and played all five of the highest-scoring letters (Q, Z, J, X, K), along with seven of the ten next-highest-scoring letters (two each of F, H, V, W, Y) as well as the two blanks, each of which confer a 15 to 30 point advantage [Thomas, 2011].  Now perhaps I am biased, but this seemed to me to represent an especially good string of luck — for my opponent.

The competitive person that I am asked, what are the chances of such a lopsided draw?  The nerd that I am set about to answer it.

• • • •

At first I thought I would need to program a computer simulation of thousands of games with random word lengths, to see how likely it would be that a real game would have such a one-sided letter draw.  But then I made a few simplifying assumptions.  (That is what old engineers eat for breakfast, simplifying assumptions.  For us, they go down as easily as, say, eggs Benedict did for the last Pope.)

My first simplifying assumption was that each player will likely draw half of the stockpile of letters over the course of the game.  This assumption allows us to neglect the number of tiles drawn on a play-by-play basis.  Once we stipulate that each player will draw 50 of the 100 tiles over the course of the game, we can focus on the distribution of tiles between the two players, as if all the tiles were shuffled and dealt out to the players like a deck of cards.

To further simplify the problem, we can imagine that the special, high-scoring letters are dealt out first, followed by the low-scoring letters, using the following process.  Start with the Q.  To see which player gets the Q, the dealer flips a coin.  If the result is heads, the Q is dealt to my pile, otherwise it is dealt to my opponent.

The dealer repeats this process for the remaining high-scoring letters and the two blanks, seven tiles in all.  Since the chance of my being dealt a tile after a coin flip is 1/2, then the chance that I would be dealt all seven of the special tiles is 1/2 to the 7th power, or 1/128.  Needless to say, this is also the chance that my opponent would be dealt all seven tiles.

Though not common, landing all the best-scoring tiles is not as rare as I had first assumed. But wait — my opponent not only also played the top seven tiles but also seven of the ten four-point tiles.  So we need to do a bit more math.

In the second phase of the process, the dealer takes the ten four-point tiles and again flips a coin to determine which player is dealt each tile.  What is the chance that I will be dealt exactly three of the ten tiles?  Interestingly, I found that this specific problem was asked and answered on Mathematics Stack Exchange.  The general formula is

prob(k heads in n tosses) = C(n,k) * p k * (1-p) n-k

where C(n,k) is the number of combinations of n things taken k at a time (explained here) and p is the probability of a single event, which in our case is 1/2.  For n = 10 and k = 3, the answer is 15/128, or a little better than one chance in nine that I would be dealt three of the ten four-point tiles.*

So the overall likelihood of Micki’s lopsided draw is the product of the two probabilities we calculated, that is, 1/128 * 15/128 = 15/16384.  Expressed as odds, this would be 1091 to 1, or about the same likelihood as getting bumped from an airline flight due to overbooking.  If one looks at it this way, yes, I was a bit unlucky (or Micki lucked out, take your pick).

The big difference between one-sided Scrabble games and overbooked airline flights is that my bad luck did not result in my getting beaten up and hauled out of my recliner, kicking and screaming — instead, I wrote this post.  So there.  I’m vindicated.  But I still lost.

______________

* Some readers with penchant for details may be asking, wait, what about the rest of the tiles?  How does the dealer make the piles come out even, when one player has been dealt most of the special tiles?  Easy.  Take the remaining tiles, shuffle them and deal them out until one player has 50 tiles, then deal whatever is left to the other player.  For good measure, make sure the unlucky player gets most of the I’s and U’s.
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Inspired by Elton John, a mere six years my senior, I have also decided to announce the start of my farewell tour.  But rather than three years, I intend that my farewell tour go on for twenty or thirty.  Indeed, my Farewell Black Asphalt Driveway Tour will last as long as I can pull out a piano bench, but then wisely push it back in and instead find an interesting art gallery to visit and a fun place to have lunch with my wife.

CHCollins as Elton John WannabeMy twenty-or-thirty-year farewell tour grants me a long opportunity to say thank you to my hundreds of fans and friends.  (Okay, not hundreds.  More like a handful.)  But I will not wait to the end of my tour to express appreciation to all those who somehow have overlooked my faults and remained my friends.  First things first, and the first thing is love — that will be the motto of my farewell tour.  The second thing will be humor, which is fitting, as humor always seems to be an afterthought around here.

When one announces a farewell tour, thoughts naturally turn to opportunities wasted and hurts unintended.  But let us all be positive about this — or as positive as anyone might be upon hearing of a farewell tour by one so beloved (ahem) as myself.  Positives you say? What might the positives be?  First, I will continue to publish blog posts for the foreseeable future, in spite of my having no foreseeable rise in readership.  Second, I will keep writing inscrutable poems and the occasional one-panel comic.  Third, I will continue to design and produce The 100 Billionth Person branded items for my fans to briefly cherish before they regift them to their casual work friends.  (Contact me if interested in those items.)  Finally, I will offer refunds for the tickets to all those performances I had to cancel due to circumstances beyond my control, like all the times that the arena accidentally scheduled me and Lady Gaga to perform on the same day and the same time but she showed up first.  I feel really bad about that and I want to make it up to you.

Some of you are questioning what warrants my confidence in scheduling and completing a twenty-to-thirty-year Farewell Black Asphalt Driveway Tour.  If I make it, then I make it.  If I don’t, the loss will be mine, not yours.  Just don’t expect a ticket refund.

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