Conversations with my 13-year-old self

Today I was at the gym, on an elliptical as usual, straining my eyes to watch the last 20 minutes of Jeopardy! being projected on one of the noiseless flat-screen TVs hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room. It was a Kid's Jeopardy!, meaning that I was able to feel jolts of superiority as a slew of crazy intelligent 12-year-olds failed to identify Prince Charles' eldest son. (Rather than my typical sensation of feeling shamed when a triad of people with my same level of education are somehow effortlessly able to both spout off the major export of Kenya AND unravel a complicated anagram containing the first three letters of Bob Dylan's hit single from 1968 without breaking a sweat.)

As for the Kid's Show, one wee lad was positively creaming the other two. He was a average-looking little white dude, wearing glasses, a trim button-up shirt, a dimpled smile, and an attitude of such premature intellectual superiority that I could feel it radiating through the TV. He managed to buzz in on practically every question, answering factoids about obscure Olympic sports that I sure as hell didn't know, smirking a little after each correct response before barreling down the rest of the ambient columns. He picked both Daily Doubles and bet half his winnings on each, confident enough in his knowledge (or risky enough in his youth) to not care about potentially losing his hard-earned prize money on a vote of hubris rather than skill. He won both times. His opponents (a little-braided-nerdy-girl and a probably-cooler-other-dude) were, frankly, nothing but floor polish in comparison. BraidGirl ended the second round with a mere $1,000. CoolerDude: $12,000. Brainiac: $30,000.

Then came the final round; the topic was "Famous Women." What famous woman was born in Virginia in 1595 and died in Kent, England in 1617?

Those of us who spent at least six semesters of our public education in American History (and another 20 hours on Disney movies and their sequels) will immediately recognize the answer as "Pocahontas."

BraidGirl answered correctly. Not that her new total of $1,500 did her much good.

CoolerDude got it wrong, bringing him down to $7,000.

I held my breath a little for Brianiac. With his Dexter's Laboratory attitude, I figured he bet $20,000 and would walk away with 50 grand.

In actuality, he got it wrong. Really, really wrong. I think the name that he generated was completely made up. But how much did he wager?

$1. The little punk walked away with $29,999.00.

After talking with GR, I realize that there are multiple reasons why this scenario could have played out the way it did. Despite this, and despite the fact that I typically try to invoke Other Rational Explanations before breaking out the Feminist Yellow Card, one thing does seem sort of obvious:

Brainiac cognizantly knew that, when it comes to "Famous Women," his knowledge was severely lacking, so he intelligently acknowledged his deficiency and bet as little as possible on the Final Round wager. (It's also possible that he was just safely tucking away his winnings, assured in his success and ready to coast to the finish line, but given the monstrous amounts that he wagered on the Daily Doubles, this doesn't seem likely; it seems more probable to me that if he had the slightest inkling that he'd excel in the round, he would have bet the house.) Even though this is a strategically smart move, what does it say that a youngster, who could literally wipe the floor with his competitors for a myriad of other categories, suddenly ducks, shamefaced, into his intellectual shell when faced with a question about important women?

A cliche and repetitive point, fo sho, but I'm honestly a little disappointed that in a selection of three well-above-average youngsters, only The Girl was able to dredge up the name "Pocahontas," which, seriously, is one of, like, three female names that comes up in discussions of 16th century America.

Shape up, TNG.