A little knowledge is a dangerous thing

TV PREVIEW: 'Trivia's' writer, DAMIEN OWENS, has a confession to make

FOR AS LONG as I can remember I have both loved and hated quizzes. Back in the mid-1980s, when Bob Holness was at the height of his considerable powers and Blockbusterswas on every day after school, I would sit transfixed in front of the TV, every bit as drawn in by the staccato rhythm of questions and answers as less nerdy boys were by football or rugby or Formula One.

There was a delicious shock, I thought, in realising that you knew something but hadn’t even been aware of knowing it. What L is the capital city of Bolivia? That’s La Paz, Bob. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. Must have picked it up from a globe or something. Now I do believe I’ll have a P.

The downside to Blockbusters, of course, was that it was for kids, albeit older kids. Any sense of satisfaction it afforded was short-lived and tainted by a thin coating of shame. Real glory lay in conquering the twin peaks of Mastermindand University Challenge.

Those two were the real McCoy. And I tried. God knows, I tried. But I never made it more than a few questions into either one before slinking away, utterly defeated. Going from Blockbustersto University Challengewas like going from shadow-boxing to Mike Tyson-boxing.

Thankfully, I found another outlet for my ever-growing mania. My school, St Macartan’s College in Monaghan, entered a quiz competition and I unexpectedly found myself on the team when another lad dropped out, following a late-night visit from a hired goon.

We didn’t get very far, I seem to recall, but I loved every minute. Mumbling correct answers in the general direction of the TV was one thing, but declaring them at the top of your lungs while looking right into the eyes of your enemies – excuse me, your competitors – that was something else entirely.

A few years later, I discovered that it was possible to combine this heady cocktail of competition and theatre with easy access to actual cocktails. They called it a “pub quiz” and, right from the start, I was hooked. Drinking and answering trivia questions? In the same place at the same time? This was a real thing? I felt the way I imagine Silvio Berlusconi would feel if they came up with an activity called Sex Governing.

I hadn’t attended more than a handful before I found myself thinking that the whole affair would be more enjoyable if there was a little bit more hush.

The venue was a pub, granted, and, fair enough, not everyone was taking part – but this was serious business. How about a little respect for those of us who were wracking our brains trying to remember the name of that fourth Monkee?

Looking back, this was an obvious warning sign of greater insanities to come. But I ignored it. Before long, I was finding fault with my team-mates, no matter who they were. You could have put me on a team with Stephen Hawking, Barry Norman and Jimmy Magee, and I would have complained that they were hopeless on books. Bear in mind that I’d have no problem rubbishing the performance of my colleagues, even if the only answers I’d provided all night were “A pint of Guinness, please” and “Down the stairs on your right”.

Then there were the questions: almost none of them were good enough. In order to meet my approval, a pub-quiz question had to meet more criteria than a space-shuttle engine. Easy ones were no good, obviously. Pointless. Difficult questions could be good but only if a) I knew the answer and b) I was the only one on my team who did. Scoring a point wasn’t enough, you see – it had to be a point that would have otherwise been lost. For every question that I liked – example: what was unique about US president Grover Cleveland? – there were several dozen that drove me to frothing rage.

The ones I hated most, the ones that had me snapping pencils and booing really quite loudly, were those that strayed beyond the accepted borders of general knowledge.

Possibly the worst was this (tellingly, I quote verbatim): “In a recent survey, what was rated as most people’s number one fear?” Even typing those words has made me all tense and sweary. “A recent survey”? How specific! And “people”? What people? Who . . . no, no. I mustn’t get sucked in again. It’s all blood under the bridge now.

The long and short of it is that I came to my senses. Pub quizzes brought out the worst in me, then tarted it up in an eye-catching outfit and put it under a spotlight. I got out and I’ve stayed out. One day at a time and all that but it’s going well.

As I write this, it has been almost 18 months since I attended one. To be specific, it has been 17 months, three weeks and six days. Not that I’m counting.