(collection of live-written emails, lightly edited but full of skips and mistakes, of the 2012 Bee)
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| Cold blooded |
Welcome to the best ESPN broadcast of the year, every year, the Spelling
Bee. And you are looking LIIIVE at, uh, some glass-walled resort
"minutes south of Washington DC" in Maryland, or as I bet they tell
skeptical venue bookers, 'no, I swear, that doesn't mean Northern
Virginia."
Camera pans over the finalists and- Holy Cow, that kid is huge! There's a
kid - I think from Colorado - who looks like Judah Freelander snuck into this.
Here comes Snigdha from San Diego. Name means “smooth as honey.”
She gets "Samond..." (SPELLING DISCLAIMER: I'm typing these fast, so
they are totally phonetic and very certainly WRONG. That will continue throughout and, no, I
won’t go back and correct them because MS Word won’t know them, either). Snigdha asks three questions, then four, Mom
in the audience in full Indian Sari. Nice touch. It was “PSAMMON” -
WOW! I missed the silent P, so my perfect night didn't last ONE LETTER!
We're already shattering records.
Here's the big kid - he's a solid 5-10. Frank Cahill, from Parker
Colorado... He's going with a shirt with lapels for no obvious
reason. Great opportunity to mention what a terrible idea it was to ditch
the standardized polo shirts, especially now in the post Hunger Games-world
where watching like-dressed kids battle it out is OK for some reason. Frank
gets his word and sits down and he's easily twice the size of Snigdha.
Now they throw to the announcers for the official intro, and I like them so
far. ESPN really learned from the 2010
travesty. The color guy - the ‘Best in Show’ Fred Willard role - is a
former finalist whose sister works for the bee. He's been at it for 7
years and is a steady hand. With him is a respectful, playful woman
co-host, Sage Steele. I like them both.
ESPN used to routinely play the Bee with a patronizing “aren’t they so
cute” approach. Erin Andrews, if memory
serves, was particularly atrocious at it.
But they seemed to have dried that up since 2010. It was never clear if ESPN just completely
blew it or if the field cut itself down too quickly, but essentially the whole
show was host banter, inane backstage interviews, hacky video shorts and
endless commericals, to the point where you could hear the audience boo when
they cut away. But ’11 was much better.
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| A Steele. |
Now they throw it to the on-the-floor
reporter, Samantha... Steele?
Really?
Sage is black, while Samantha is an Erin Andrews-proxy blonde, so they
ain't related. I guess that's just a coincidence.
And it takes this Steele about 15 seconds to patronizingly ruin all the
goodwill the hosts built.
In her bounciest pledge-captain voice, Samantha runs through a few of the
notable kids: there's Gifton, who is from Jamaica and as of this evening the
last 1st-time finalist still standing. Apparently no 1st timer has won
since 2000 (I thought that was the year Champy broke through?). Behind him, though, is Mad Man Arvind. Arvind
finished 10th 2 years ago, and was the outright star of the 2011 Bee in a
chaotic run to third place. He
mechanically rolled through his words, had the entire field terrified and spent
most of the night picking fights with the judges until a fluky German word got
him just before the final round.
He's back. Even has the same red shirt. The other kids look
intimidated. They should be. He’s already got the 'when do the
words get hard?' smirk locked on.
And finally, the Blonde Steele gives us a 2 minute lesson in derision
and mocking with Nick, who is back for his 5th finals, the maximum. He's
only finished as high as 14th. His yellow shirt is the same
one as last year ("I recognize it!" lies Steele), only it
isn't: apparently his mom bought two sizes of the same one when he was in
5th grade.
Spelling Champs prepare to BE prepared.
Back to spelling.
Stuti Mishra, from Melbourne, FL. Lots of Florida this year. She
gets Sahel, arabic - She asks the usual series of questions: what language is
it from? Can you use it in a sentence? Any alternate pronunciations? In
fact, it has three pronounciations. I
used to think that if a kid asked more than 1 or 2 of questions, it meant they
were stalling or desperate and either way were probably going to miss it.
But they all do it now. Now its the spelling world’s version of a
pre-batters box routine.
Advice
from the guy in the booth, "don't make it harder than it is."
She doesn't. Knocks it down and onto the next one.
(commercial)
So up comes Gifton. So far he’s been mechanical and reserved, possibly a
little in shock. But let's assume its nerves and Jamaicain manners. Just
in his "hello" you hear the Jamaicain accent and perfect manners - "thank
you, sir," – the calling card of the Jamaicans in the Bee.
And let’s discuss an obvious reality: Gifton
is black (though, I suppose, not ‘African-American’). There is often, though not always, one or two
black kids in the finals, but sometimes none.
We could discuss the many possible reasons that black kids might not get
this far, but instead let’s think about how great it would be if a black kid
one. It would not make him particularly
famous or make any sweeping change we could instantly measure, but it might be
something on the order of, say, Myron Rolle interviewing for a Rhodes
Scholarship (which he won) then playing safety the same night against Maryland
on a national broadcast. Because of that
night, Rolle’s story probably resonates – and possibly makes a difference –
with a lot more people than if that night hadn’t happened.
So
let’s root for this quiet, perfectly mannered kid named Gifton from Jamaica.
So he gets Haringenform, which means something that looks like a herring.
Its a brutal word, the color guy says. Not only is it, well, ridiculous, but
its not even spelled like herring. Complete trap word. Pretty much
a worst case for your first-ever Finals Word.
And you can tell, as you can always tell, that Gifton doesn't know it.
He starts asking questions: language of origin, in a sentence, etc. He's
looking around and you can feel the desperation. He repeats the
questions, repeats the word, over and over.
40 seconds on the clock. 35. 30. Now he has to spell - no more
questions allowed after 30 seconds.
He says it again, “Haringenform. “ He looks like he might cry.
20 seconds, GOTTA GO GOTTA GO, GIFTON!
Through what looks like physical pain, he starts spitting letters: H. A.
R. 15 seconds. here's the first trick... I N G .. nailed it, now the
crux! 10 seconds! - E N - 5 SECONDS! - F. ORM-BUZZER! AAAH!! GASPS
FILL THE ROOM!
Did he get it in time?!
Did he get it right?!
Is this shy, impossibly polite kid from Jamaica, in a building surrounded by
people who look nothing like him, going to be the first one out on a trick fish
word?
"Correct."
WILD APPLAUSE! SHRIEKING! MAYHEM! THe other kids leap to
their feet to welcome him back to his seat.
That was agony. We're four words in and we just replayed the Man City
final. This can't go on.
Now comes Jordan, who is 14 and in her 4th trip here. She is simply
delightful, a 4-foot walking smile. She has 65 snowglobes at home. As she
gets her word, they cut to her dad, who has his head in his hands. Wonder
if its because she's the first-ever finalist from New Hampshire, or if its
because she knows she doesn't know her word, which she plainly does not.
She fights her way through some tricky multi-vowels, but the dreaded Ding is
waiting her. With a gracious smile she walks off, obviously delighted to
have been this far.
That was like the anti-Gifton moment. We all needed that.
Now comes another girl with a pronounced air of confidence, which, if you’ve
ever met a 14 yo, can be grating. She
gets Ridotto, and says, "let me guess, it's Italian?" which is
correct but incredibly showy and presumptous. But it looks like she’s in
trouble. Struggling, she vamps a bit –
it’s a musical term, which has to sting because she plays piano and
trumpet. When the Ding comes, she gives us lots of hand motion and, after
the reveal - they spell it back to her - she takes a deep breath, throws her
hands in the air in the universal, 'Oh well" sign and yells out to the
audience, "thank you very much!" That ended nicely.
As we go to commercial, Arvind is next. Prepare.
(commercial)
Arvin's intro clip - they cut to his school in Bayside NY, which I guess is, ya
know, in The City (twitter erupts with intrigue: he is listed as Bayside this
year but last year was Garden Grove (or Garden City or something) – is something
fishy going on? (almost for sure no, and moreover, I don’t care)
Whaaaat? So in his little video, Arvind opens with - how gangster is
this? - declaring that his favorite word (all of the kids have to declare a
favorite in their video) is Jugenstiel- the word he got knocked out on last
year! Arvind FEEDS on that moment. He LIVES on that moment. Arvind
is still IN that moment.
Here's his finishing tagline: "When I win the National Spelling Bee,
I will scream so loud that a Volcano will erupt somewhere on Earth."
Drop the mic, Arvind.
Now he's up there. Its been a year coming, but its game time. He
walks up and grabs the mic with one hand, light and twitchy, like he's in a
gunfight. He runs through the questions when he get MAIEUTIC.
Gotta be honest. He didn't look like he had that. But that's one
down. Onto the next one.
And up comes Nic, the 5-timer, from Pickerington, Ohio. He gets a german
word - "he loves German words" - and he's through.
Armand and Nic are seated together, along with Lena Greenberg, who is up
now. She's from Philly, 14, home schooled and maybe a touch flighty and a
bit untethered. You never know with the home school kids. She could go out now in tears
right here or grind on into the final rounds until Arvind finally gets tired of
holding her up. She gets her word... "Utostian"...her reaction:
"Whaaat?" And this is why the Spelling Bee is so great: For a
solid minute, Lena looks SO lost, adrift, seeming to bounce from question to
pained facial expression to nervous giggle with no plan, and then she just
kinda says, "does it come from the greek word ‘oste’ meaning
bone?"
WHAT? How do they do that? Its
like she just aikido-throws the word over itself and break its back in one
move. She asks another question, draws a breath and spits it out, rolling
through the letters without a pause.
Here comes the "great moments of the past" montage - the two staples
are the kid from 2008 who got something like "Numniu" and thought it
was "Numb nuts" and said so 3 times, and of course, the Euonym
girl... UPSET!, no euonym girl, no numbnuts!. Good for them, striking
those from the collective memory. They kept in the kid who fainted.
Good to keep your sense of place.
And here's the Special Talent MONTAGE!
they are: soccer skills - naming 50 states in order (I could do that in
Kindergarten - still can) - a girl named Kate Miller can hulu hoop - one kid
licks his elbow - the juggler - and for the SECOND STRAIGHT YEAR a kid who puts
(this time) her feet behind her head!
Here come Snigdha again... she gets a Spanish word, which is basicly
throwing underhand to a kid from San Diego.
Big Frank with his lapels. Porwigle. A tadpole. Frank Sr and
Jill are watching. porwigle... he puts in an extra g, and that's it
for Frank. He was never going to be a winner - too nice, too big, too
mid-America. But nice effort.
Here comes Stuti - now its Snigdha and Stuti next to each other. Both are
tall, willowy Indian girls. Stuti looks a little happier to be here,
while Snigdha has that driven Honors Kid air. But they clearly are the
first sign of a power block that might challenge Arvind. Melopoeia - at
least the second word with 4 vowels in a row.
Here comes GIfton - don't do it to us again, Gifton. Just get this, hit
and sit down. he gets his definition and answers with more "thank
you, sir"s. Phthisiology... pronounced Fisilogy or Tisilogy...
I mean, it’s a joke. How can you get that? It can be sounded out two
different ways! Gifton launches in with the p-h- and he's so slow, so halting,
you think each letter is about to be wrong. But he nails it. That
was only like a 7 on the Exhale-meter. The Bee is settling into a groove.
A cute skit with the announcer and the 14yo at a coffee shop. That was
funny but do 14 yos drink coffee now? Is that what the kids are doing
these days?
So up comes Arvind.... "Dishtolfink"....a Pennsylvania design
motif of a bird. its distelfink... Apparently the fact that it was
Pennsylvania-Dutch word was a trick, that could have led him down the wrong
path on the F inthe middle... but not Arvind.
He spits it out like it was his phone number. Not today. You come
at the king, you best not miss.
Up comes Nik the 5th-timer... he gets rouille - peppery garlic, french word.
He asks for everything. Then he asked for the letters. Gets his
courtesy laugh. Then he takes a stab... and, when he gets it, gives us
our first "I had NO IDEA!" celebration of the day. THose are
the best.
Here comes the panicy Philly Home Schooler. She get YTTRIFEROUS.
WOW. THere's mom, head in her knees, obviously her standard watching
position... Wow, she's terrified of this one. Its Swedish.
Its based on an obscure element. Trembling she launches into it - Y T -
(deep breath, Oh SHIT FACE!) T - R IFEROUS - Complete leap of faith on the
second T. She jumps all the way back to her seat in shock at still being
in it.
Up comes Snigdha and she knocks out a 12-letter pile-up like its the street she
lives on. She has no weak spots so far.
Stuti... Confident, poised, big smile.
OH!!!! What a move! We've had a couple hand-scribblers so
far, but Stuti turns from the mic as she's thinking and air-types! That's
a Bee first. Wow. Confident, cute, inventing new memory
tricks. If she wins, she’ll be a
breakout star. If she wins. I just don't think she's got the straight-up
spelling chops to run down Snigdha.
Here's a video short of Jamaican kids, starting with Gifton, focusing on his
"Thank you sir" manners, and his coach, the Rev. Glen Archer. Apparently,
the Rev. Glen is like the Bela Karoliya of spelling in Jamaica. And Gifton remains a delight. I'd be
stunned if he's around in 2 rounds, but so happy he's here.
And now he’s up - "air-as-it-tickleous' – which is something like ‘ericeticolous...’
he's trying to pronounce it but doesn't look as troubled. He's asking the
questions, trying to settle into a rhythm, I think. Or maybe not.
We just broke through 30 seconds, and he doesn't seem to have it. Here we
go again.
15 seconds. ero-NO!!!!! As he walks off, he drags his hand over the
front row of previous losers in a chain of low-fives, and the whole place gives
him the coveted standing ovation.
And almost as if to say, 'so much for the pretenders,' up comes
Arvind.... Quattrcento...
Good place to stop for tonight. Rest in the morning.
Annnd we're back!
Our last rookies and pretenders -
Jamaican-me-crazy Gifton and the girl from
Philly - have left us and up comes Arvind to the mic, holding a bow with a flaming arrow because
he's about to light a Wildfire-soaked
Potomac on fire. It's Showtime.
We’re down to a Final Four that has fekt
inevitable for a while: Arvin the Destroyer, 5-time -qualifier Nick Rushlow
from Ohio and the powerblock of Indian Girlhood, Snigdha and Stuti.
Handicapping them:
-
Arvind - he's gone to bed every night for three years thinking about
this moment. By this point in last
year's Bee, he had picked two fights
with the judges (winning both) and was locked in a Private
Ryan knife fight with Canadian Laura Newcombe
that went five more rounds into the night.
In big moments, Arvind answers the bell.
So far tonight, he's barely out of first gear, and I wonder if that's
not
a disadvantage. He needs to hit homerun and this may be a year
for slap hitters. From here on, there's
either insane 20-letter names of extinct bacteria, which Arvind feasts on, or
honey-trap easy ones with silents "J"s. No inbetween.
-
Nick Rushlow. 5X finalist, but
like the 5-timer who went out earlier today in a prelim, you have to wonder if
there's a reason he's never made the top 10 in 4 tries. He's the 'featured' kid on the
broadcast, which never ends well. I've watched probably 6 of these, and when
the narrative says its Your Year, its never your year. You lose right about, well, now. He’s
grinning, going for cheap laughs at the podium, showing up in the cameos, all
of which is always fatal. Spelling bee
winners usually come from nowhere because they’re locked in, not so much ignoring
the antics as unaware of them. It’s the
defining thing that makes it such a great event: when the final kid wins, as
often as not, they have no idea what to do.
-
Which brings us to Stuti and Snigdha.
The Operators. Jason Statham
would play them in the movie. Snigdha
literally hasn't so much as blinked yet.
She knows these words like you know Kelly Clarkson lyrics. She's got The
Look - mentally locked in, not even aware of the size of the moment. That's the magic combo. Stuti, I think, would be a little lost on her
own, but I think she's drafting on Snigdha, looking for an opening, staying
alive. She's looked a bit nervous on a
couple words, but never in real doubt. She's
confident, tall, flattering earrings,
tremendous smile, the crowd favorite and seems to be enjoying herself more than
the others, so she’s definitely a long shot behind Snigdha and Arvind, but her
path to the trophy is actually the same one that worked last year: if she gets stuck and has to guess, she's
least likely to lock up, while the favorites – feeling each other on their
backs - may implode in front of her. That’s
exactly what happened to Arvind and the Canadian girl last year.
Likely endgames?
If one of the girls goes out before Arvind, I
think Arvind will finish the other one off. After last year, he's not losing a one on one
fight. But if the girls can hang
together, there's a good chance Arvind will run himself off the rails
again. Then it will be Snigdha trying to
shake Stuti, and we'll see who blinks (did I just completely discount Nick From
Ohio? Sure did. He's not winning, and that's that).
Back to it.
Up comes Arvind and we’ll see what kind of tone he sets….
(pause)
BOOM!!
AND HE'S STILL
STANDING AT HOME PLATE WATCHING IT GO!!!
Holy cow. I don’t believe what I just saw.
If Arvind had
gone to the back of the stage, kicked down the rear wall and revealed 200
chorus girls and an 80 piece orchestra, it wouldn't have been as
breathtaking as what he just did. I don't know if he's going to win this - at
this point, I can't see them allowing it - but tonight we are all Witness to
Arvind.
Here's what just happened, with just enough
background to fully take it in: going
back to last year, Arvind has a history with the woman judge. Not the nice-guy word-pronouncer, Dr. Bailey,
whom all the kids love, but the woman who works as his No. 2 beside him, who
can get snippy. I’m sure she’s a great
person who loves the kids but on gameday she has three jobs, and none of them involve
good news for the spellers: she prompts them when they are late on the clock,
corrects them when they mispronounce something and, worst of all, she's in
charge of the bell - Ding! - so if she’s in your life for any reason, you’re probably
in a nosedive.
At last year’s bee, she stopped Arvind at
least three times to make him repeat a word over and over – as slow and
insultingly as possible - until he got some unreasonably perfect "ah"
or "err" or "oo" sound into the end of some impossible
word. And unlike the other kids, who are
terrified of her, Arvind fought back. At one point, as she made him repeat an
obscure long ‘O’ over and over, he dropped his voice down two octaves and did a
Big Bopper-style “oooohhhhh”, openly mocking her.
It was testy, and as Arvind fought Newcombe
in the final round, it might have knocked him off focus.
So back to what just happened: Arvind came up and got Quatrocello (or
something). He was saying it as
"Quatrrojello" or "Quadrotello" or whatever, saying it wrong. But you could tell he knew the word (and
since it looked like one I would have a shot to guess my way through, I assume
it was an easy one). It also kinda felt
like he wasn’t taking the pronunciations seriously, following each crack at it
with a smirk. This clearly irritated the
judge and at some point she seemed to decide she was going to show him up. There's no other explanation.
So Dr. Bailey kept repeating the word, over
and over, Arvind would say it a little off and she'd jump on him, "No, no
Arvind, listen." She even told him,
like a two year old, "Watch Dr. Bailey's lips at the end,” TWICE.
And Arvind simmered.
First couple repeats: amusing. Next couple: awkward. But as she got angrier and snippier, and Dr.
Bailey got more and more nervous, Arvind seemed to start to enjoy himself.
“Quadrotello. Quadrojello. Quad-dra-tell-ooo”
At
some point, he obviously knew the word and was baiting her.
Finally he says, "Quatrocello" –
correctly - and Dr. Bailey says ‘that sounds right’ and the woman shuts up and
everyone kinda takes a breath. Now we
can get on with it.
Then in an attempt to defuse the moment, Doc
Bailey says: "is there anything else I can answer for you?" and the
audience nervously laughs.
But then Arvind smiles.
The audience gasps. Air rushes out of the
room. Everyone knows what’s coming. No
one can stop it.
For half a beat,
Arvind holds the moment up, savoring it.
Delivery:
"Are there any alternate
pronunciations?"
PAN. DA. MONIUM.
If he'd climbed down from the stage and
slapped her, the audience would have been less stunned. They're all aghast. As am I.
Amid the ensuing chaos, I assume he spelled it because he was back in
his seat before anyone woke up. The audience was applauding, I guess out of
sheer disbelief. Even Snigdha looked
rattled. Wow.
I gotta shake that one off. The conclusion later.
And
now things are moving quickly. With everyone still digging out from
Arvind’s detonation, what chance does Nick have as he comes up? He gazes
around at the wreckage in the room, terrified, and misses his word. Deflated
but looking as much relieved as beaten, he lingers as long as he reasonably can
at the podium. He gives a little salute to the crowd, collects his
standing O and is off.
And with that, we’re on to the CHAMPIONSHIP ROUND! From here, there are
25 Championship words - if two or three kids are still standing at the end of
them, we have co-champs. It seems like that should be a real threat, but
it hasn’t happened for 50 years, and in the Bees I’ve watched, its never gone
more than 10 words or so. I think it’s as much a question of the pace as
the difficulty. From here on out, by the time you get back to your seat, you only
have the time it takes the other kids – or kid – to spell their word to
recover, and I imagine that you’re too hyper-focused on your opponent’s turn to
even relax.
The
bee also has a particularly wicked version of sudden-death, making you win by
two. First, you have to ‘win’ a round, spelling your word correctly while
your opponent (or opponents) misses. Then you have to hit another,
all-the-marbles word to win. If you miss the winner, your opponent is
back in.
So,
depending on the order, you may have to spell two words in a row, with no
break, to win it. CRAZY pressure.
FYI,
I’ve never seen a kid blow a game-winner.
They pull back to show the stage – Snigdha and Stuti stand together, with Arvin
a few feet off - he's 5 inches shorter than them, but they seem to be trying to
hide behind each other. And for the history book: with three left, its official
– somebody of Southwest Asian heritage (probably Indian but I hate to assume) wins
again. That’s 5 in a row, and 10 of the
last 14.
Up comes Snigdha... Even with Arvind seizing the stage with the ‘pronunciation’
moment, she’s showing no signs of backing down. They flip to the crowd
to show her family, and – uh oh – this bears keeping an eye on. Mom is in a full sari dress, but its little
brother we need to watch. He is
literally starring directly into the camera with a giant grin. And
bouncing in his seat. Now a wave. He’s a threat for a double-fishhook/tongue-out
funny face.
Back on stage, Snigdha is a blank screen. Giving nothing away. Pure
mechanic. If you’re going to take down Arvind, this how you do it.
Don’t get drawn in, stay in your lane. Boom,
she nails her word and sits. She’s almost bored.
Well, here comes Stuti, who for all her charms, will need some help. She
knocks one out, no problem.
Arvind comes up, schwannoma.... he runs through his questions... It’s a
German word, like Jugensteil last year. He’s going slow here. He
looks trapped.
The clock is onscreen now, 45 seconds, 40… We’re under 30…
Can this happen again?
S
C H E O –
AAAAHHHHHH!!!!!
Arvind is OUT! ANOTHER German word!!!!!! No volcano!!!
3rd place 2X in a row!!!
I
can't believe it.
I
can believe he lost, but not on a German word, in the first Championship round.
Spelling
Bee, and the NBA, but #SorryICantDateYou is no 1?
Up
comes Stuti, as if on a trapdoor that just swallowed Arvind: Chionablepsia –
she is a bit less assertive, but her game shines through. She knocks it down. This is ridiculous.
Snigdha gets Arrondissement - double-double letters! Dr. Bailey presents
it with no less than FIVE pronounciations. Honestly, that seems a little
unfair because on the 4th pronunciation, which pronounced the “ss”
as “sh”, her eyes flared, so obviously something about that gave it away.
The announcer even said, “she’s got it now.” That’s rubbing up against a
fix. I think I’m outraged!
Meanwhile, the camera cuts back to little brother who CANNOT STOP grinning at
the camera. I don’t understand where he’s hiding the can of Jolt.
And with all the drama of New Orleans getting the first pick last week, she
knocks down the word. No nerves. Nothing. Assassin. I
don’t think somebody in the crowd with a laserpointer could distract her at
this point.
Here comes Stuti, and she takes her word and starts doing her air-typing.
A year from now when every single speller in this is airtyping, we’ll talk
about Stuti the way we talk about Dick Fosbury. And she is so
ridiculously at ease. Not really focused or dialed in like Snigdha, but
just enjoying the moment and utterly poised. I can’t imagine a Student
Body President Race she could not win.
But this ain’t a popularity contest, sweetie. The Bee, like Ball, don’t
lie.
Schwarmerei - German. Similiar to the Arvind-Slayer word. She starts
in… DING! THrew an extra E in there!
We’re
in the Endgame! (as for the win by two, Stuti was the second speller, so
Snigdha wins that round and now only has to hit one to win it all).
Here’s your Portrait of A Killer: They had a camera on Snigdha during Stuti’s
turn. She was listening with her head down, but as soon as she heard the
Ding, she snapped up in what you’d pretty much have to call a snarl. Her
entire body basicly said: “Finally.”
And up comes Snigdha, the crowd already applauding, not for the moment, but for
the end we can already see. The truth is that the Bee is always like this
on the last word: the night is exhausted, wrung all the way dry of its last bit
of drama, as the lone survivor drags themselves the last few feet to break the sagging
tape.
Even the wind has fled.
G
u e t a p e n s.... BALLGAME.
And she stands there.
Annnddd.... she stands there...
Anndd... She. Is. Still. Standing. There.
10
seconds go by, she’s grinning – is she expecting another word on the 2-to-win
rule? Are the judges confused? The
crowd’s applause gets louder as the realization rolls through the room that its
over, but nobody is moving to congrat-.
CONFETTI
GUN!!!!
Nothing
says “Its Over” like a confetti gun!
And HERE COMES LITTLE BROTHER, FULL SPEED ONTO THE STAGE HE MAY JUST KNOCK HER
DOWN STANFORD-TENNIS STYLE!!! Snigdha absorbs the hit, and jumps with
him. Snigdha has been planning for that last word for a year, but little
bro has been planning for this celebration even longer.
Behind
Snigdha, Stuti is clapping through the confetti. She looks like she lost
but also like she knows the right speller won.
Up come the families... Out comes the trophy, and – WHAT!?!?!? –STEELE TRIES
TO GIVE IT TO STUTI!!!!! She didn’t know who won!!! Stuti did a little
finger-twirl point as if to say, “no, it’s her!” WOW! It could NOT
be more clear what just happened: Steele was playing with her phone for the
last 2 hours, ran out on the stage when the producer yelled in her earpiece and
just started congratulating whoever looked prettiest. She must have been on twitter because that could not have
been more patronizing if she’d held up a hand-drawn sign that said #SorryICan’tDateYou.
In
grand bee tradition, Snigdha can’t lift the trophy by herself, but here comes
little brother – he won’t be held back - grabbing it from her to hold it over
his own head. So awesome.
From
the weird part of Maryland that we swear isn’t Alexandria, good night and God
Bless!
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