Sometime as the sun was poking its head over the horizon, I awoke for no known reason. I delighted in the fact it was still early enough to enjoy my bed a bit more and rolled over with the intention of returning to happy slumber. Thoughts began to bubble up at random from the previous day, and then, for no apparent reason, wrestler John Cena's ring entrance music started to play in my head.
When the John Cena brass section fanfare plays, it's definitely time to get up. Check for new podcasts (Hmm, no Three Patch yet.). Check Twitter, and . . . WHAT?
Margie and Paul are already looking at the John H. Watson Society 2019 Treasure Hunt!!!
It must be August first.
As I feed the cat, I grumble silently about how much I hate quizzes. I reflect upon the time quizzes almost destroyed our local Sherlockian society, those Sherlockians who have foresworn the vice, and those who have taken it to extreme levels. Quizzes, bah!
And then I find the announcement tweet, click the link, and answer the first question as soon as I've read it. Oh, Michele, you devious, devious quizmater. As the saying goes with any addictive substance, "The first hit is free." Without even realizing I did it, I've already started the month-long trial that has become the August ritual since I first discovered it.
This year, I feel a little better about it, as I wisely took up a team up offer from someone who is currently one of the sharpest Sherlockians out there. But even with that kind of back-up, I know I'll have to struggle through every single question now that the challenge has been laid down. Why?
For those of us who didn't acquire testing trauma during our school days, the Sherlockian quiz offers just one more way to wander through our favorite stories and discover or revisit those thousands of beautiful little details that make those stories so grand. It's tempting to use such things as a yardstick to measure your Sherlockian worth against others, but just don't do that. You'll get a momentary buzz, perhaps, but in the end, you're setting yourself up to be taken down by some future young gun, just like the old West gunslinger. (This, by the way, is the part of the blog where I am really just talking to myself, and trying to quell my competitive demons.) There is joy enough in just wandering the Canon, which is why it's called the "Treasure Hunt."
So the annual worldwide Watsonian version of The Wacky Races has begun. Tires are squealing and Dick Dastardly has surely chained someone to the starting post already. (Or, maybe some of us just have to go to work and chomp at the bit for eight or nine hours.)
Good luck to all the brave souls across the globe about to undertake the challenge!