The parking lot was filled with rather witty vanity plates which turned out to be pithy harbingers of the mind-benders inside. I'd never seen such a huge gathering of word nerds before. Everything was a playful pun or an anagram and signs posted on the doors read "Quiet Please, Minds at Work." One woman wore a pin that read, "Only Lefties are in their Right Minds." Another solver is a tournament favorite due to her elaborate, homemade crossword clothing. These people were a total trip and a total joy.
I took a seat on the sidelines a little before 9 a.m. as Puzzle 7 was about to begin. The long rows of tables covered all the floor space of the ballroom. The only thing more popular than a thesaurus was the pencil sharpener. Some puzzlers warmed up with Jumbles, other puzzles or a cup of strong coffee. A stage erected in the front of the room supported one microphone, an improbably large stopwatch and Will Shortz, founder of the tournament and editor of The New York Times Crossword.
A member of the National Puzzler's League warned me, "That basketball March Madness is nil compared to this."
Shortz got on the microphone and announced the puzzle, introducing its constructor Bob Klahn, and set the solvers working. The room was all but silent, save the furious pencils and the judges roaming the floor, until after about eight minutes: the first solver had finished, throwing down his pencil and violently hoisting his paper into the air. The nearest judge sprinted over, took the puzzle and marked the time. From here on out, other solvers followed suit as they finished while Shortz held aloft signs alerting the puzzlers to the time left in this 45-minute puzzle. When he called time, many hadn't finished and the crowd outside was just buzzing about 14 Down.
The frantic scoring of the puzzles and the adjusting of the standings to reflect the top three marked the next hour and fifteen minutes. At 11 p.m. all contestants gathered in the ballroom as Shortz announced the leaders in each division. The winners were all met with applause and the finals were under way with C and B leagues going first. Joan Herer and Greg Brume (a.k.a. Soggy B) won, respectively.
The Division A competitors, Jon Delfin, a middle aged chap, Al Sanders, a methodical solver, and Zack Butler, a youngish hippie type, took the stage as judges fitted them with white noise-spitting Walkmen and air cargo worker headphones placed over the top. This was both to keep the puzzlers focused on the puzzles and also to allow the crowd to speak. The two most notable members of the crowd being puzzle constructor Merle Reagle and NPR's Neal Conan, who called a hilarious play by play, certainly wittier than any sporting event I've seen. Bob Costas should have been in attendance taking notes.
The three contestants worked madly at their giant white boards in front of the crowd until, at eight minutes and 10 seconds (I do the Boston Globe puzzles in about an hour), Jon Delfin put down his pen and playfully collapsed on the stage. Butler finished a distant second at 14:25 and Sanders was unable to finish altogether. This was the Manhattan musician's sixth crown, having taken titles in '89-'91, '95 and '99. Delfin is now one of the winningest puzzlers in the competition, as well as the recipient of the $1500 purse. I spoke to him after his win and he commented that to effectively solve puzzles one must "approach it as a language. If you do The New York Times everyday you hear Will Shortz's voice." Delfin also recommends doing puzzles everyday and making sure to look at the answers.
Shortz, who has a degree in enigmatology (the study of puzzles), has created a tournament that has become a place for puzzle enthusiasts to meet and share their common affinity. Often, after the puzzles are done, people will stay up into the wee hours playing games, many of their own creation. Friday night was marked by warm-up games, a wine and cheese party and contestants performing a kind of musical revue of crossword songs, some written by the solvers themselves.
Both the contestants and the spectators were really terribly fun and friendly and, while the competition was stiff, there were no hard feelings at the end of the day. The only noteable drama surrounded Puzzle 5, when the clues appeared in narrative instead of list form. Puzzle 5 creator Henry Rathvon, an R. Crumbish looking man, took enormous mischievous glee in the stir, but I'm sure he made it to his car without incident. I couldn't stay for the award luncheon but I'm sure it was filled with humor and wordplay and that Delfin got a good ribbing.
The Ebro, as it happens, is Zaragoza's river.