Part II: Understand This

Here's the second part of that TPQ-related rant/reflection I had started on a few weeks before. Since I've written it, I might as well publish it here, though I have to warn you: It may not actually make sense and goes on for a bit. Quite a large bit in fact. You wouldn't believe the stuff that doesn't get printed here sometimes. My first Deal or No Deal diatribe I believe could have provided solid grounds for my permanent committal to an asylum.

Jonathan Swift once said something along the lines of dunces always ganging up on the clever folk. Of course, he could have just surmised that from being bullied as a clever arse schoolkid, but it will tell you something about how sympathies fall and narratives are constructed to please the majority of people on TV quizzes.

In TPQ's case, as in all quiz shows, the empathy of the viewers will always settle on the side of the underdogs when the favourite is constantly being bigged up and expected to smash his opponents. And when the upset comes, it makes for an exciting, wonderful surprise. Predictable outcomes are such a let down, while we still remember Hereford United beating Newcastle United in the muddy old skanky days (okay, I wasn't alive at the time, but I taped it one FA Cup final day and couldn't stop watching Ronnie Radford launch the most famous giant-killing goal of all time). Now that was a classic upset everyone loved, except for my mates Paul and Ben and any other Geordie.

But my major problem with the unthinking television quiz viewers is that they love nothing more than seeing who they think are regular Joe/Jo winners appearing to conjure up good knowledge from absolutely nowhere, while also amazing them with their incredible recall and the ability to shock and surprise the viewer at home and perhaps invite the immortal quiz exclamation of disbelief "How did they know that?". Simple. He or she read it somewhere IN FILTHY REFERENCE BOOKS that happen to be full of quiz answers, watched quiz shows obsessively, read those fact compendiums we all get deluged with at Xmas, attended pub quizzes religiously and generally done all these things that help pack their mental fact-bank with impressive knowledge. Everybody does it. Everybody practices in their own way and gets the competitive bug if they find themselves in such a situation. I understand that Steph was actually part of a pub quiz league for 16 years. That is brilliant and devoted preparation in itself. I mean, that was by my estimate at least 5 years before I even deigned to start watching quiz shows at all. But when Mark and I's "professional" credentials were blurted out on screen it suddenly made everyone else look like Sunday afternoon footballers plucked from their local park. The problem is that on prime-time TV quizzes, the equalisation factor is there from the start and affects contestants' chances in subtle and random ways.

I cannot understand this bullshit adherence to the amateur spirit; call it the quizzing Corinthian thang that confers professional status on anyone who has spent a fair-to-substantial amount of time improving their knowledge. Are you Corinthian clods bloody idiots? Everyone you see seriously competing is doing middling- to-major revision/learning time, I guarantee you. While you give the ones who stay schtum a pass and who you therefore assume to be law-abiding citizens who gained their knowledge through "normal" means (newspapers/magazines/TV etc), but the people who mention titles, tournaments and question-gathering - even the cursed computer files! - who are often the people in this wonderful nation of ours who are doing more than anyone else to promote quizzing and get people in this country involved in a fantastic, social pastime, get it in the neck for taking it too seriously and giving forthright opinions on the state of British quizzing, and are therefore regaling the dunces at home with names, places and information they had no idea about before and have great difficulty understanding, which means they'll relate to the threatened-looking and sympathetic regular-looking contestant who likes their local pub quiz and nothing more. Seriously? Are you kidding? Of course, you can take it seriously. Here's three important and persuasive reasons why: MONEY, MONEY, MONEY.

Ever since the launch of Millionaire, all those years ago, the chance to win thousands, if not the big million, has made such work a necessity due to the highly lucrative rewards on offer. You can win seven figures, and the ones who have problems with the "pros", are suggesting that it can be done just by turning up on the day with a tabula rasa mind, using psychic powers to channel the Cosmos's almighty vault of knowledge into your vacant brain. Honestly, if you ain't seen the question ever before, you're screwed. What's better certainty or hope?

You - ye hypothetical chimera of past dumb contestants I have just genetically engineered in my mind - maybe should have done a bit more work before getting your one and only chance to sit opposite Mr Tarrant. (I audibly gasp then start shouting at Hot Seat occupants, whose gaps are quite unbelievable and betray the fact that they should have done a little bit of work - "I have no idea". You silly sod. What made you think you could make it anywhere after you made such a huge effort to get on the show. You did the really hard work to get into the high chair, why didn't you wait a bit and flick through Pears Quiz Companion or the Montague A-Z obsessively for a few weeks?). To anybody, who comes away with a few thousand (no offence to any mates that have, this is aimed at those who really missed out), if you had done a bit more work, okay a shitload more work, then you would have got further and won a lot more money. Like a PRO. That's the facts, I'm afraid (and, my word, it is multiple choice. The answer is there! In front of youse!).

Quizzes are a lottery, yes. Yet every time I hear someone say "you can't revise for this sort of thing" it angries up my blood no end. Yes, you can. You can revise. You just have to sink a lot of time into it. The benefits will show up soon enough, including the feeling that your brain is swelling to unimaginable dimensions (that may be cack, or encephalitis). Because quizzes are a lottery, the more facts/tickets you absorb/buy, the more likely you are to win the things. Don't you see the logic in that?

Of course, there's no point in starting the night before. Try weeks, even months, if you are prepared to. It will bulk up the GK and increase the sharpness. It makes recall increasingly crystal clear, whilst weighing down the brain at the same time with good fact volume. A paradoxical way to improve, but still. It will do you good. It's tiring, but worth it.

But having said that, when you learn for a tournament, at times you will realise that you are not cramming for that particular competition. You know that you are doing it for the dozens of GPs, TV shows and championships due to take place in the years to come. It's delayed gratification, but it is worth it. Just look at me (well, not in light of TPQ final): steady progress up the rankings over the last eight years. And all because, of some good old toil, which I've loved anyway. You might be surprised by how much you will enjoy your time reading and learning stuff and satisfying your curiosity. The chance is if you like quizzes, then the work will not actually seem like work. It may even come to resemble fun.

So many people forget that intelligence is innate, but general knowledge facts are most certainly bloody not. I'm lucky that I decided to have an only slightly raucous teenhood (okay, I had been thrown out of sixth form parties for illicit booze smuggling and done all sorts of silly, brain damaging things, especially on Friday lunchtimes when I lurched into English class with Chris, as it became obvious that both of us were pissed as farts), but I made it my mission to pack in the base knowledge I needed to compete at a decent quiz league level. I feasted on the chestnuts, ran through every quiz book I could find, and laid the rock solid foundation that got me past a substantial portion of the serious quizzers I had come to know by the time I was about 19 (8th in the British Championship in my first event ... not bad). I knew I had to catch up, and I did, and compartmentalised my life quite well too to take on the challenge. Ever since the intensity has reduced. I did the basic work a long time ago. Sure I am still writing questions, but these are for the prestigious championships (Euros and Worlds) and were therefore ruddy hard and incomprehensible to anyone used to questions on English football grounds and Fireman Sam having a dog called Pilchard.

What truly frustrates me is that these "search for the finest quiz player in the land" TV shows could make their questions SO much harder (TPQ's history questions were 10-year-old level, everything else was really female fashion/weekly mag-oriented, the sport was okay), and they would still find contestants who can cope with them. They could hurl correct answers at us so bloody hard that it would amaze everyone who watched. And yet they're afraid of the audience at home being baffled and perplexed by the incomprehensible trivia exchange. It's sad. They haven't even tried unleashing such a show. Try it, please, dear TV people.

How do you know they won't like it if you don't give them the full-on elite quizzer experience? If we can be startled and amazed by a Federer-Nadal rally, in which we see constant moments of genius and quick-thinking and we have no idea how they are capable of producing them but can plainly revel in the spectacle, seeing two awesome quizzers going head-to-head and performing at their supreme best, I believe it could be almost as riveting as any elite-level sport (almost, remember). People love seeing competition played at its highest level. Maybe, this is because they are enthralled by watching something that is completely beyond their capabilities. Same with darts, snooker and a whole lot more televised guff.

It hasn't really been done before (yes, I'm still thinking that Mastermind's GK questions are still aimed a notch or two below usual Quizzing.co.uk level; and University Challenge is a conferring quiz, with idiosyncratic starters and a love of tedious "quotation" questions). Though I have suggested that individual England's national team standard players should take on UC teams on their own to see what happens. My guess is that we would hand their collective ass back to them.

That's my tuppence (see the Quizzing.co.uk website for the My Beautiful Game outburst ... my last raging against the dying of the light after the show's last broadcast). Some end credits, however: The TPQ crew and researchers were friendly, brilliant, patient and generally lovely. The Quiz Gods and Jamie T were great and do the celebrity crowd proud. The studio was an ice-box. The questions a mite too trashy but still fine really. Jamie Oliver would have puked his guts up in outrage at seeing the food laid on for us in the green room. Wardrobe, despite my diva-like behaviour, always took care to find me the acceptably fashionable opposite of the branded, gloomy cool clothes I feel compelled to wear and I thank them dearly for it. Other than that, any aggro has largely evaporated to leave pleasant and enjoyable memories about the whole experience. In the end, you never remember the times when you found yourself waiting around for so long that climbing the walls and pretending to be an enraged spider monkey seemed like an ace idea.

My only mild regret is perhaps drinking until 3 in the morning before being called to the studio at 9. I function very very badly with anything less than 8 hours shuteye. At the moment I'm racking up 12 hours in the recovery period. Nice. Here's hoping life returns back to its trusted, foolproof, humdrum routines soon and I can look towards the horizon for the next challenge or two, once my mind and body has regained its pre-TPQ equilibrium.

And that is the last thing I have to say on the matter.

Maybe.