Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SATURDAY, July 7, 1990 TAG: 9007070129
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: E1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: JOE KENNEDY STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
I lost $25 of my employer's money for the same reason.
Tyson's taste for expensive cars, fur coats and other diversions may have cost him his title. My unwillingness to take a carnival game seriously left me battered, bruised, and without a large stuffed animal to take home to my children.
Mike and I can tell you it hurts to lose.
It hurts worse to see someone else win.
Tyson's trouble started when his mentor, Cus D'Amato, died. Mine began a few weeks ago with a book called "Carnival 3 1 GAMES Games Secrets" by Matthew Gryczan.
Gryczan's book, a self-published venture out of Michigan, was vaguely interesting. I decided to give the author a call and see if he could offer any advice about winning the games at the Salem Fair, now in full swing at the Salem Civic Center.
On the telephone, Gryczan, an ad agency executive from Grand Rapids, was informed, congenial and perhaps a little sheepish about his obsession with knowing all there is to know about carnival games.
"There are three types of games one finds on the midway," he told me. "Games of skill, games of chance and games that are for entertainment."
A game of skill would be "bottle set-up." That's where you take a pole with a string and a wooden ring affixed and try to lift a long-neck beer bottle from its side to an upright position.
A game of chance is "crazy ball," where you toss a ball into a box with numbered depressions. You win prizes for scoring, say, less than seven points or more than 14.
A game for entertainment is guess your weight and age. Lots of people win that game, though the prizes cost less than what you pay to play.
Under state law, every carnival game must be a game of skill. But Gryczan is right. Some games, like "crazy ball" (which is known by other names, as well) are mainly contests of chance.
Crazier than "crazy ball," at least to me, was Gryczan's recommendation that I choose a game from his book, gather materials, make a home version of it and practice before the carnival came to town.
At my age, with my obligations, there is not much time for worthwhile activities like reading. There is no time for constructing mindless amusements.
But I'm game. And so, over a period of days, between taking my son to his swimming lessons and delivering my daughter to the pediatrician's office, I bought a three-foot-long wooden dowel a half-inch in diameter; a roll of string; a half-pound of small nails and a packet (costing more than $6) of wooden curtain rings.
I borrowed an empty, long-neck beer bottle from Shirley Thomas at the Iroquois Club.
Putting the stuff together was no problem. Finding time to practice was. Practicing without interruptions from my two young children was impossible. And so, a few days before the fair, I stayed up late cramming for the event. But my heart wasn't in it. It still seemed a stupid way for a man to spend his leisure time.
In my last practice session, I stood the bottle up three times in about 20 tries. I began to feel ready. I could see myself striding toward my car on the fair's opening night with a giant bear in my arms. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.
But it was.
I went to the fair Thursday, opening night, when all the rides are free, thanks to the sponsorship of a local television station. The weather was hot. The crowd was large and orderly. I saw some fascinating tattoos.
The bottle set-up game stood near the big Ferris wheel. It was supervised by an outgoing, heavyset young fellow who went from bottle to bottle, righting each one with ease.
I watched for a while. Other people tried and failed at the game. I began to feel confident. This might be fun.
I handed the assistant a dollar and took my first try.
Not even close.
That's OK. I was just warming up.
I handed him another dollar, and another, and another. I was getting better.
I gave him another dollar and almost had the bottle upright. He gave me a tip or two and took more of my money. Not even close. The heavyset supervisor kept walking around the booth, turning bottles as he went and shouting, "Watch me! Watch!"
I took a break. The game boss pointed to another player and said he had won last year. I watched him fail again and again and then went over to talk to him. His name was Paul Voorhees. He's 27, drives a truck for Valleydale meat packers. He said he expected to win a big stuffed animal this year, too.
I started playing again. The assistant offered me a deal - three tries for $2, the mark of a real chump. I accepted. A couple of times I had the bottle just about there, but sent it tumbling at the last second.
Ha-ha, I said. This was as much fun as a hemorrhoid. I'd spent about $15, I guess, when the heavyset guy shouted, "There's a winner." A blond-haired man was standing across the way, smiling and looking at his upturned bottle.
Envy is a terrible thing. I swallowed mine long enough to talk to the fellow. His name was John Sakschek. He is 28, originally from Oshkosh, Wisc., and he works at Ingersoll-Rand. He played the game last year and won after spending $7. This year, he practiced at home - a total of six hours spread over three days. It took him three tries - $3 - to win the big stuffed animal. He was a nice guy - excited, exuberant. He didn't know he was breaking my heart.
I took a walk down the midway, spent $1.75 on a lemonade, talked to some people I know. But the bottle set-up drew me back. I handed over $2 for three plays. The carny told me his boss had granted me a second extra play on top of that.
Nothing helped. I had the yips. I kept spending money. The bottles kept falling. At least twice I heard the boss yell, "He's a winner!" I didn't even look at the guys. I just kept handing over the money. At $25, I quit.
The heavyset guy must have liked me. He gave me a big smile and a warm good-bye.
On the way to the parking lot, I met Dave Gresham and his 7-year-old son, Michael. Dave was carrying a stuffed tiger 3 feet tall. He won it shooting pool - two tries. Michael was jumping for joy. They made me sick.
On the way home, I thought about Matt Gryczan and his ridiculous obsession with carnival games. He doesn't know it, but he's doing a lot of damage with his book.
This weekend, I have a lawn to mow and weeds to pull, but instead I'll be practicing with a dowel, a string, a bottle and a ring.
Ain't nothing getting done till I win one of those bears.
The Salem Fair and Exposition continues through July 15 at the Salem Civic Center. Hours: to 11 p.m. Monday through Thursday, 5 to midnight Friday, noon to midnight Saturday, noon to 10 p.m. Sunday and noon to 7 p.m. July 15.
by CNB