Another year and another American Crossword Puzzle Tournament, but our last go-round in Stamford. Let’s get into it.
Heading into this year’s event, I admit I wasn’t looking forward to it as much as would seem appropriate. A number of factors played into this feeling. There were some life doldrums, the details of which I needn’t go into here and can likely be surmised anyway. I was more worried than usual about the travel, though that ended up being almost entirely smooth. I also felt some unease about the competition itself. I’d once again failed to do much of anything that could be considered formal practice or training. I wondered if my forthcoming performance would make me feel like I’d let myself down, and I hoped I could be kind to myself and maintain a calm and upbeat demeanor against the pressure of the tournament.
I certainly had reason not to love my chances at the victory, any training, or lack thereof, aside. I was delighted to see that Erik would be among us for the first time in several years, but it was reasonable to think that he, Will, and Paolo would all beat me if they solved to their ability, and there are only three easels on that stage. Plus, Dan and David, both of whom topped me last year, remained threats, as did the people right on my heels in 2025.
These, however, were matters for Saturday. I had a lovely Thursday evening in New York ahead of Crossword Con and the subsequent socializing on Friday. Though I tend to be somewhat tired at that event due to my travel and erratic sleep, it has been a welcome addition to my ACPT weekend. I hope there’s some way it can continue even as the tournament moves farther from Manhattan.
The good times kept rolling in Connecticut. As usual, I eschewed the Friday night games in favor of a leisurely dinner and hanging out at the hotel bar. It’s a familiar haunt, even as this year’s scheduling meant there was no college basketball on TV like usual. Later in the night, I opted for “one more hour, one more drink” and I think that was the right decision.
Moving on to Saturday and the tournament itself… it seems like every year, I’m less inclined to dive into the details of my solving and the standings. We all know the drill by now: the margins at the top are razor-thin, the dreaded :59 could be lying in wait for any of us, and so forth. Among the six puzzles, a mere two significant moments remain in my mind about two weeks later.
Puzzle #3: I had some time within the minute to check my work, and I used it entirely on one theme answer, which was based on a phrase I’d never heard in my life. It seemed solid, despite the presence of another bizarrely spelled answer in the vicinity, but my dread concerned the rest of the puzzle. I was worried I’d neglected it in favor of that one theme entry. Had I done something stupid that I would have seen with a more general once-over? I couldn’t think of anything else I wavered on at the time, but it was hard to feel completely assured. Lunch passed nervously as I tried not to refresh the scores obsessively.
Puzzle #6: The puzzles on the weekend brought little to no drama timing-wise; it seemed like I finished each puzzle with something between 20 and 40 displayed after the colon. #6 was the exception. I looked at the clock with :01 and obviously had to get it in. I was fairly certain there were no blanks, but being unable to check things beyond that always brings some unease.
To my great relief, everything came back clean. I was actually very pleased with my performance. I neither barely missed a minute nor danced on the edge of one, with the one aforementioned exception. I wasn’t hitting too many sticking points. I’d negotiated the notorious Puzzle #5 very well. I really felt good about it all… and I was still in fifth place, needing multiple miracles on Sunday morning to get into the final. The circumstances certainly weren’t unexpected, but seeing them official after Saturday’s solving was nonetheless a jarring reminder of how fierce this competition is.
The silver lining of my disadvantageous position was a lack of nerves on Saturday night, so I was able to take my mind off of the tournament for my last evening in Stamford. I enjoyed another great dinner, though this one proved to be a little too leisurely, as the inexplicable full hour between appetizers and entrées meant that I was late to the Saturday program. I caught most of the Wordplay retrospective but sadly missed the MEmoRiaL presentation. Congratulations to Lynn Lempel!
I pretty well maximized my socializing before going to bed for a slightly abbreviated sleep ahead of Puzzle #7. Deeming my hygiene good enough for the moment, I arose shortly before the start time and picked out a new seat at the edge of the room. With my hopes for a championship all but dashed, I could at least have the goal of hanging on to my current ranking, and particularly the top spot in the West. I found the puzzle relatively low-stress, and once I had the gimmick it was smooth sailing.
The big shock coming out of the ballroom was that David had edged Paolo on #7 to claim the third spot in the final behind Erik and Will, so the title was going to change hands. Predicting a quick championship round with those three giants on stage is almost too easy. For my part, I found the puzzle a good bit harder than last year, forcing some hopping around the grid, but I made do well enough. In the end, Erik proved he hadn’t lost even a fraction of a step in his absence from the tournament, plowing through for his second title. Largely because he solved the first seven puzzles on the lower level of the hotel, I hadn’t crossed paths with him at all over the weekend until I made my way over to offer well-deserved congratulations. I wish we’d talked more, but I’m glad I at least got to do that.
And me? Well, my #7 scan came back clean, so I indeed maintained fifth place and won the dogfight that is the West division. On the one hand, I was pleased to rank the same as last year given that Erik was back in the mix this time around. On the other, well, you know. It’s the usual litany of questions, nothing I haven’t asked myself before. What’s my hunger level? How much work will I put in? Is my ceiling still high enough to begin with? Et cetera. In the wake of this year’s event, I am heartened by two thoughts. One is that I do feel I solved strongly, and I don’t think I’m miles off the pace. And for two, I had a fun weekend. That should be enough.
Because, ultimately, I don’t want this post to be about the competition. I didn’t record many details of the other aspects of the weekend above because I felt they should be at the end. I want this post to be a send-off for the longtime home of the ACPT.
As mentioned, this was the last tournament in Stamford, more than likely for good this time. It’s the right thing to do; we simply don’t fit in the humble Marriott anymore. Turning away dozens if not hundreds of solvers while scattering participants to the farthest corners of the hotel is nobody’s ideal scenario. I’m looking forward to a more capacious home for the tournament so it can include more of our wonderful community and thus be more emblematic of it.
It really is about the people, of course. This was made even clearer when my uncle (well, my dad’s cousin; close enough) joined me for Sunday’s program. He took lots of pictures and frequently remarked upon what a brilliant and friendly group we have. I’m grateful to be part of such a group whose qualities are so readily apparent. We’ll carry that wherever the tournament is held.
That said, so much of this community is linked with Stamford and the Marriott. It’s the building I walked into as a hopelessly jet-lagged teenager in 2001, having come over from England for my first time seeing people who previously existed only on my family’s computer screen in the old Cruciverb forum. It’s where I tried way too hard to ingratiate myself and annoyed the shit out of probably more people than I’d like to think. And it’s where I’d make cherished memories over the next quarter-century, hopefully presenting a little bit better version of myself each year.
Late on Friday night, well after the ballroom had cleared out and it stood empty and silent ahead of the next day’s commotion, I walked in and took a few minutes to take in the space and reflect. Some of the most triumphant moments of my life took place in this very room, from my first playoff win (Division B in 2003) to my first championship in 2005 to scraping together one more (one last?) title in 2022. Sure, there was a handful of agony-of-defeat moments in there too, but overall this place had been very good to me. It was an odd feeling knowing I likely wouldn’t see it ever again after this weekend, never mind annually.
It’s not just the ballroom, of course. There’s also the bar, where those of us inclined to be in such a space drank, laughed, and groused about the glacial service. On Friday night, I found myself at a table with Al and Patrick, two people who are dear to me. Al was one of my first friends at this event and even lent me a good writing surface that first year. Patrick directed Wordplay in 2005, changing the course of my entire life in ways I couldn’t possibly have predicted at the time. Catching up and reminiscing with them both, it felt like coming full-circle.
There’s the lobby, site of countless hellos and goodbyes as well as chats, cheese cracker tastings, and, this year, a scissor-aided conversion of jeans to jorts. There’s the rear area, where I willingly ate into my sleep time on Saturday night by playing original Jeopardy! games by Mike Shenk, frequently interrupted with kibitzing and laughter. There’s the basement, where I didn’t venture this year but spent many a nervous minute waiting for the final. The list goes on.
The look back at Wordplay on Saturday night was particularly poignant. It included the monologue from Mimi (who attended at age 100 this year!) about the hotel’s “pleasant haunting” followed by the montage set to Shawn Colvin’s cover of “This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody).” I teared up even though I’d it seen it probably two dozen times before. It’s a moving scene on its own, of course, but this time it carried the added weight of a farewell.
Yes, it completely makes sense to leave Stamford for a larger spot. The Sheraton in Philadelphia will certainly have analogues of the places I listed above, perhaps superior ones, and the travel will likely be easier. Nonetheless, the familiarity will take time to build, and the venue change clearly marks the end of an era most worthy of appreciation. It’s also not lost on me that the move severs one of my last ties to my home state of Connecticut, and I’m not likely to return anytime soon. I’ll carry it with me all the same. Go Huskies. Go Whalers.
And thank you, Stamford. As for the rest of you, onward to Philly!