Doug Blough

So at the dog park the other day, I run into this guy I used to know — we'll just call him Rocky Lehman, since that's his actual name — and introduced him to my sweet girl, Naomi. He says, “Ya know, Naomi spelled backwards is 'I moan?'” I did not know that, but immediately said, “You must be good at word games.” He confirmed as much and we engaged in a vigorous round of WordScapes on my phone.

When I-moan and I walked back to our truck, I thought, “Rocky's brain must be as tortured as mine, analyzing and dissecting words on a never-ending loop.” With addictions to the Jumbles, crossword puzzles, the Daily Wordle and the aforementioned WordScapes, I'm now spelling names backwards in my head to try and match Rocky's observance. When I'm introduced to a gal named, let's say, Fedelia (which is highly unlikely), I'm immediately ruminating “Ailedef,” tossing it out as a failed experiment. There aren't many female names to accurately reverse, so Rocky has my utmost respect.

Of course, “Anna” and “Bob” are easy ones even for those not word-game obsessed. But try and dissect a name like Alexandria, and you're likely to miss the entire conversation that follows the introduction. It brings to mind a girl in high school, Iris Kaltenbaugh. The fact that Iris spelled backwards is Siri is irrelevant, but Iris was a friendly gal to say the least and sadly, achieved the nickname, “Iris the Virus.” Inappropriate, but strategic wordplay.

Word games are fun and reputedly a lethal weapon against premature dementia, but I fear the constant preoccupation with words could counteract any benefits. With my OCD, long after I complete my Wordle and WordScape well into the wee hours, my mind is still kicking around letters, with nothing to gain at that point.

I'm strictly a bathroom crossword guy, so thankfully I live alone and no one's impatiently pounding on the door. Long after I've gotten up — sometimes with my legs asleep — I'm trying to solve 33-down in my head. Walking around engaged in that kind of mental rumination can make a man appear dull, listless and almost creepy, especially when walking outside with an open bathrobe.

I was surprised to learn nephew Jay has been doing WordScape for several years, and is part of a tournament team he interacts with regularly. After weeks of him badgering me to join his team, consisting in large part of elderly women, I acquiesced and he introduced me online to his team and their newest Wordscaper. Everyone has nickname handles, and Bird, her sister Joy of Gators, Eve and Sasha welcomed me warmly. Jay, or “Cinjay” directed everyone to address me as “T-Bone.” I chimed in: “Cinjay did you tell the ladies I'm an architect?” (Hopefully these gals are Seinfeld fans).

Words are of abnormal importance to me, and that's probably why I get so furious at cellphone spellcheck. I texted my nephew Rusty to ask, “Were you able to get on my Facebook page?” Of course, it was changed to “We're you able ...” Hey, if I wanted an apostrophe, I'd have darn well inserted one! I said “were” and meant “were.”

Where does spellcheck get off with that kind of crap anyway? I can understand if a person is voice-texting, like Rusty often does, asking things like, “And how does my face look?” That's forgivable because he probably mumbled, so what is an imperfect app supposed to do — ask, “Come again?” No, it prints what it thought it heard. But when I actually go to the trouble of pressing individual keys, I expect it to be replicated, not reworded.

Anyhoo, I love, but am tormented by word games. Talking to my neighbor Barbara Carlson the other day, I almost blurted out, “Do you realize there are two bras in your name?” Oh God, make it stop!