6
Tips on
S.A.D
♦Do you suffer from
seasonal affective
disorder? Read on and
find how you can get help
BY ALAINNA BROOKS
Staff Writer
The leaves are turning colors, the
temperature is decreasing, and the days
are getting shorter. The memories of
long, warm, summer days are long
gone. Some people love the winter sea
son. For others it is a time of depres
sion.
Seasonal affective disorder (SAD)
is the term used to describe winter de
pression. People who suffer from SAD
feel normal in the spring and summer
when there is more light and the
weather is warmer. However, during
the winter they feel sluggish, have no
motivation, and often seclude them
selves from others. Sometimes it be
comes so severe that people are hospi
talized to overcome the disorder.
Although SAD has been recog
nized since 1984, all the conditions and
causes have not yet been clarified. A
popular theory is that SAD is caused
by lack of exposure to sunlight. Re
searchers know that our internal clocks
are affected by time change and the
amount of light our eyes receive. When
JijgHHk jßJttfL
:J; r
to be happy all year long.
a person does not receive enough light,
SAD can take over.
SAD is a special concern for col
lege students at this time of year. Final
exams are coming up along with the
holidays, which can add to a person's
;pression. Therefore it is important
to stay alert to the signals your body is
sending you. If you think you may be
suffering from SAD or any other type
olease see SAD on pg. 9
Features
Clash of the titans
♦The two true masters of the game battle for Scrabble supremacy while
Guilfordian reporter Williams basks in the unbridled splendor of the participants
BY FRED WILLIAMS
Staff Writer
Two fierce competitors stared at
each other, each determined to destroy
his opponent Two masters, whose lives
had been devoted to honing their art
to such a degree that no one would ever
best them.
However, one of them would be
bested tonight.
This was the battle of the century.
It had been anticipated for weeks, the
showdown that no
one thought would
ever take place: the
Scrabble match
between Scrabble
club president
Zack Hample and
vice-president Jon
Yeager.
Zack was the
heavy favorite, he
of the seven-letter
word and in-depth
knowledge of the
Scrabble dictio
nary. However,
Jon was no ama
teur. He was the
master of the par
allel play and the
witty banter. Jon
was like a mock
ingbird, constantly
chattering, keeping his opponent off
guard, making him lose his concentra
tion, until he struck.
Zack saw the determination in his
opponent's eyes that cold Thursday
night. A fitting night, named after the
Norse God of Thunder, for these two
mighty heroes to test their skill, brav
ery, and determination against each
other.
Club treasurer Mike Filoramo
walked into the tense, expectant
Scrabble club meeting saying only, "Let
the games begin."
Immediately these two warriors
were at each others throats vying for a
prize more important than money or
fame, the prize all men know in their
hearts that they will never rest until
they attain, the title of,
"Scrabblemaster."
The Scrabble board was all that
either of these greats saw for the next
hour, with mere mortals like myself and
the throngs of others there to see what
may have been the ultimate battle since
the "Thrilla in Manila" reduced to mere
■l v M
The battleground. The letters. The humans (gods?) who
play the game. Who love the game. Who are the game.
ultimately answer that query.
Zack opened with the word 'Gel'
for eight points, a disappointing start
for the elder statesman of Scrabble. Has
he been too satisfied with his infallibil
ity for too long? Will his overconfidence
be his weakness? These were all ques
tions that must have run through Jon's
mind as that first crucial word was
played.
Jon countered with "Mace," "Me,"
and "Al," a parallel play (his specialty),
for 16 points, showing that he was here
to play. When Jon drew his next four
letters, the letters on his rack spelled
out "Be No One." Jon acted like he
found it funny, but this reporter
couldn't have helped thinking it might
be a harbinger of his doom, knowing
what past opponents of Zack's had been
reduced to after a match.
Zack was a legend among the club
members. His name was uttered with
an air of respect. He was a man who
had paid his dues to rise to the top of
his craft, and he was respected for that,
as well as feared.
background noise in a contest that
could only come along once in a life
time.
Zack, an old pro, content with his
place as the preeminent scrabble player
the young dub has ever known. And
Jon, hungry for the recognition he knew
he deserved.
Was it to be skill over determina
tion, or the young overthrowing the
old? This reporter is not ashamed to
admit that he was reduced to tears sev
eral times in the tense battle that would
Proving this point, Zack's third
move was to spell 'Loxes' on a triple
word score for 41 points. All thoughts
that he might have lost his touch were
quickly dispelled. Zack continued to
lead for most of the game. Onlookers
must have been thinking much along
the lines of that old adage, "God's in
His heaven and all is right with the
world."
Suddenly the tables dramatically
turned. Jon spelled 'Saviour' for 76
points on a double word score using
all seven of his letters, which gives a
player 50 extra points according to
Scrabble rules, and a standing ovation,
according to club tradition. When I sat
down I knew that this match was des
tined to go down in the history of sport
as legend.
Club secretary Ellen Yutzy leaned
to me and whispered knowingly, "Now
you're going to see Zack get serious."
If the sheer ferociousness I had wit
nessed up to that point wasn't serious
then I truly doubted whether I could
handle a full-fledged assault.
I found, and I'm sure the other
lucky viewers of that epic battle that
raged long into that silent November
eve would agree, that although I tried
to look away, I could not tear my eyes
from the faces of the combatants, de
spite the rage that emanated from them
both.
The fight raged fast and furious.
Words like "geode," "boner," "atop,"
"zinc," and "rig," were registered into
Scrabble history by gracing the board
that saw the face-off of two of the great
est competitors to ever play the game.
Ellen asked Zack, "When was the last
time you were beaten?"
Zack took his icy glare off the
board for one split second only to ut
ter the question, "By a human?" There
was a chill in the room.
Scrabble is a funny sport. There
are no home runs or touchdowns. One
does not so much see the score as he or
she feels it. The push and pull of the
two players grasping for the upper
hand is hard to pin down by mere num
bers. There is no climactic word that
"wins the game."
Therefore it is hard to say when
the decisive blow fell that ended this
contest of champions, but slowly the
whole room began to feel it. A sigh
here, a slow shaking of the head there,
perhaps the odd smile. If you've never
please see SCRABBLE on pg. 8
Alicia Grogan-Brown
The Guilfordian
December 12,1997