Or so I thought. We arrived there pretty early, and there already were previous viscounts (now hexagons like me) Ian McMenzie and Phil Wass, both of whom I'd get to know better later on. Once again, we were taken through, our clothing searched for glitter or anything that could foul up the cameras, and I was calmly told (by Damian himself, I think) that I was still #1 seed, and I would be facing #8 seed, Simon Cartwright, in a local derby to kick off the quarter-finals. Brilliant. I eventually met Simon in the changing rooms (divided into male and female - ironic really, seeing as there were 7 male quarter-finalists and 1 female quarter-finalist), and we hit it off pretty well, Simon getting ribbed about his (now lack of) goatee beard, but pretty soon, it was down to business, and the quarter-finals were go. We met up once again with Marie, Michael, Lee and the crew, who guided us to where we must be, and I (for some reason) chose to sit in the champion's chair for the quarter-final, not realising that it's actually harder there than it is in the challenger's chair. Once again, the credits rolled, and to my dismay, I could not find Matt in the audience - normally, before the game starts, I locate him in the audience, partly for support, partly so I know where I can expect a projectile brother attack from if I start losing (he'd threatened me with violence if I ever looked like giving up after the game against Mike). However, I was still prepared for the game against Simon.
Was I hell. I was falling to bits and I knew it - I was nervous, fidgety and at times had trouble concentrating. Not the best situation to be in, and sure enough, come the end of part 1, I was losing. Nevermore will I spell 'croutons' with seven letters - one of my costlier errors, but it did get better in the second part, as my skill on the numbers (which hadn't exactly been spotlighted in the heats) shone through, and eventually, with thirteen rounds played, I was ahead. Beating Simon in the final numbers game gave me a 15-point lead going into the conundrum - unassailable, but I was still going for points. The board flipped over, and immediately, I thought "Ah! It's SECURING!" and I pushed the buzzer. It then hit me that, after all, it wasn't 'securing', as it only has eight letters. I couldn't think of anything in the microsecond before Richard asked me, so I admitted it - I'd screwed up. Fortunately, to save my embarrassment, Simon couldn't get it either (it was CENSURING - a word I'd never heard of, much like PINETUM, earlier used as an Adagram/Granagram, later to be known by the term "Damian specials", after Damian the producer, who set them), so the score stayed 83-68, I was into the semis, to play the winner of the game between Paul Ryan and Ian McMenzie, #4 seed v. #5 seed, both undefeated. Not an easy task, as it would prove to be.
I was whisked away, back to the green room after the quarter-final, where we were allowed to watch the recordings live on the TV in there, watching as first, #7 seed Brian Capper (oldest man in the quarter-finals) beat #2 seed Phil Wass (2nd oldest in the quarter-finals), and then, as #6 seed Steve Sandalls beat #3 seed Loz Sands. Then, it was time for the last quarter-final game, and my second appearance in the hot seat. Unlike the previous games, this one went to form, as Paul beat Ian in a close game to set up (what would be) Friday's semi-final. I was understandably nervous in the dressing room - Paul, like me, was a viscount and therefore unbeaten - I later remarked that one of us would be the series' first Octochamp! I may have been nervous, but Matt wasn't, calmly predicting that I would be in the final on Christmas Day.
In the hot seat, I believe I predicted a good game - and we definitely delivered in that respect. It was very close, very backwards and forwards throughout, until the end of round 12 - which saw Paul in the lead, 80 points to 73. I knew I had to pick up the pace, and that's just what I did. Getting the 8-letter RIVULETS (beating Dictionary Corner - but hey, it was the last letters of the last recording of the night and they were probably tired - but hey, I still beat them) gave me a one-point advantage - if I got the numbers spot on and Paul didn't, it would give me another unassailable lead. Just. Fortunately, I got the numbers game. Just. I knew (from the by-now established rule for multiplying by 9) that 28 X 9 = 252, but when Carol said "No, it's 262", my heart rate accelerated faster than Michael Schumacher at the start of a Grand Prix. Fortunately (you'll notice I use that word a lot here - I used the meaning even more during the recordings!) Carol and I eventually agreed that it was 252, giving me my unassailable lead, but my heart rate was still a bit on the quick side. That may very well have been a good thing, as it must have got a fair amount of adrenaline in my brain allowing me to spot the conundrum YESTERDAY in one second - I was later amazed how fast it was, because it felt like a good 5 or 6 sitting up there. Final score - Paul 80, Ben 101, although that score flatters me. That was the last game to be recorded that day, so there was only one thing left - to descend upon the bar, where we drank (again, not much in my case), looked back on the day, forward to the semi-final between Brian and Steve tomorrow, and none of us had the heart to tell Richard his hair was mussed.
Eventually, it was to the old Holiday Inn Express at 11:15, and I was quite unaware that the roughest 12 hours of my life lay ahead. First up was Matt whining about needing a p*ss like ten men, then about having to put down a deposit of ten quid for extras we wouldn't have minded being removed from our room, then his whingeing about there being only a double bed and a sofa bed - not so bad, you may think, but this was Leeds in November. I eventually got to bed at about half past 12, Matt getting in about 40 minutes later, and promptly trying to climb into bed with me, declaring the sofa bed too cold. It was about quarter to 2 before either of us started to nod off, Matt having put his fleece on to combat the effects of the sofa bed, which had no duvet, unlike my double, which had. All was quiet, all was peaceful, all were ready for a good night's sleep, then came the "errrnnnccckkk rrrrrttttttt aiiiiiikkkkkk" of what could only be buckling metal, from directly above us. Trying to get even remotely any sleep under those circumstances was damn near impossible, but somehow we managed it. The next morning, which came far too quickly for my liking, we theorised that maybe Superman was teaching how to bend metal bars above us, but it was revealed to be a loose TV antenna - not anyone's fault, but still irritating, especially when one is deprived of essential sleep. I went down and got a complimentary razor and comb from reception (I packed in a hurry), which meant I missed Matt's reaction when he discovered the duvet underneath the sofa bed while putting it back in sofa mode. This put him in a foul mood to begin with, and our foolhardy decision to journey into Leeds city centre, by road, did nothing to improve it.
The nightmare morning started off well enough - we arrived at a pay-and-display car park only to find that the barriers were stuck in the up position - so we just parked for free, then went into Morrison's for some isotonic drinks and some snacks - only to be barged out of the way in the queue by an old couple who (literally) threw their shopping on in front of ours. Matt calmly held the "next customer" thingy still so it held their shopping in place on the conveyor belt, and informed them that "we have something in Britain called f***ing queuing." The old people weren't too impressed with the profanity, but I was grinning - it's always good to put in their place someone who's just jumped out of it. To take our minds off the incident, we went for breakfast at McDonald's - only to be confronted with another incident. I had ordered Chicken McNuggets, fries and a cola, and was eventually presented with a bag, which had a noticeable lack of McNuggets. Matt had had enough - he grabbed the nearest person looking like they were management and complained about the person who served us the incomplete meal - theorising that what comes around, goes around, and it's about time some justice went in the opposite direction from what it had been doing up until then - that is, coming from Matt rather than going towards him.
After a look around a few of the shops (Matt wanted a model kit of his motorbike), we headed back to the car, left the car park (without paying - if they don't charge us, we don't pay) and started trying to get back to YTV. And God, the journey was very, very trying. We eventually wound up in a part of Leeds neither of us had been in before (easily done, seeing as prior to October neither of us had ever been to Leeds full stop), and it was when we were about half-way to Wakefield when we realised we were on the wrong road. We headed back to the city centre, trying to re-trace our route, only to find ourselves back outside Morrison's. We had just spent 45 minutes tracing a b****y circle around West Yorkshire, only to get nowhere at all. It was 12:10. We were due back at 12:30. Panic started to set in. We set off again, I tried to direct Matt, but once again, we wound up outside Morrison's. Panic turned to outright hostility as several four-letter words were heard emanating from the car in Leeds city centre. A few of the heated ones were heard in Bradford city centre too - nothing to do with us getting lost, more the volume level of them. We were not happy campers. We tried one more time to negotiate the loop road (who the b****y hell designed it?), and hurrah! we wound up back on the inner ring road, and back along Kirkstall Road to arrive at YTV studios, at exactly 12:29. We were eventually let in at about 12:40, but that was no hassle - I was only due in the hot seat anyway (that'd be my THIRD time there). Hot seat in this case being VERY hot - I was still a bit on edge, which would explain how well I did when matching myself up against Brian and Steve - I stank. Truly, utterly stank. I was getting 5's and 6's to their 7's and 8's, and when Steve eventually won with 99 points, I was wondering how to spend my £500 runners-up prize already. Matt was confident I was going to beat Steve (as always), but I wasn't so sure. Never mind - win or lose, I'd reached the final of Countdown, something only 91 other people nationwide can claim to have done. I got changed into the shirt YTV loaned me for the final (they insisted I wore a shirt, it being Christmas Day and all that), and I once again selected the challenger's seat (the toss being literally conducted 5 minutes before recording started). The name tags were placed, and the final began.
Whatever I expected from the final, it certainly wasn't what I got. I expected a back and forth game, the scores never being constant relative to each other. What I did not expect was nine rounds of utter deadlock. Nor Steve ditching the trusty 6 small numbers in favour of 4 large and 2 small. Still, I was able to leap ahead in the tenth round thanks to a now-trademark brilliant numbers game. Following that up with the 7-letter BONNIES (amazed that was allowed) in round eleven had me feeling confident. Like the old saying says, Pride goeth ......
"This time I've got a four." I sounded happy there, didn't I? Add a seven from Steve to my six in round 13, and my 17-point lead was slashed to just 4. Then came my final humiliation - blobbing the numbers game. Me, the RW-appointed "maths man", blobbing the numbers game. Still, at least I now know that 54 X 9= 486 and 56 X 9= 504. I also now know how to actually get 519 - (8 X 7 + 1) = 57 X 9 = 513 and I think you can make six out of the remaining two numbers. But that's not important - what is is that Steve scored five points to my sod all to bring the scores to Steve 75, Ben 74 - the first time I have ever been losing going into a conundrum. I've been tying once, but never behind. The board flipped over to read SANTASITS - and for three seconds that seemed like an eternity, I was desperately unscrambling the letters - then it hit me - ASSISTANT! I hit the buzzer, said the word, and all was forgiven. There I sat, Ben Wilson, 46th champion of Countdown. An undefeated #1 seed too - not bad by anyone's standards. Steve was understandably disappointed, but he went away with a whole load of OUP books and a cheque for £500 - which I imagine eased his disappointment somewhat. Next came the clips assortment - and yes, the first I saw of that was on December 25th. And in case anyone's wondering, the thumbs-up at the end was directed towards Matt, in the audience, who was reacting as if England had won the World Cup (and that was just me winning the semi-final)! Next came the presentation, which, in true fashion, had to be re-recorded about 3 times due to me and Steve not waving properly (or at all). Even on the broadcast version I look like I'm waving like a Thunderbirds puppet. Afterwards, I was congratulated by about everyone in the studio, and I went off to get changed, and in true fashion, proceeded to go down the pub to play pool, accompanied by Matt, Simon, Phil and Ian. Ironically, I lost in super-record time to Simon - I only managed to play three shots before he won. Steve dropped in about half-way through to say goodbye, then left us to continue our game. After a few more games, we returned to YTV, just in time to see future Octochamp and boy wonder extraordinaire (even above me) Tom Hargreaves win his third game. I had earlier joked with him in the changing room about possibly meeting him on Champion of Champions - now I hope I don't as I'd get caned badly. Of course, what else happens after Countdown recordings are finished? Yep, the bar, and it's free, all free!
Even the champagne that YTV laid on. I was congratulated even more in the bar, although I felt the need to apologise to Damian, who had drawn Steve in the office sweepstake. Still, it was only £16. I also got Richard to sign his book for my grandmother's Christmas present, and told him about the letter from my long-lost grandfather, although, to be quite honest, he didn't seem all that enthusiastic. This was later attributed to over-indulgence on the champagne, but who can blame him? Earns a packet and still gets free drink. Eventually, we retreated at 10:45 (before Matt got too tired to drive), and started gunning for Lincoln, eventually arriving at 12:10. Mum was naturally enthusiastic, and once December 25th had been and gone (as had the mix-up over the prizes - initially Steve had got the dictionaries and me the £500), I was being recognised more, and more, and more. I now work at a shoe shop in Lincoln as a sales assistant/till supervisor, and even as I write this (5/1/2002), I get recognised on average three times a day. That'll die off eventually, but hey, there's still Champion of Champions to come. Hopefully I won't have killed too many brain cells with beer by then.
Have a nice day, and keep watching Countdown!
Series 46 champion, Ben Wilson.
Still only 18 years old (until March).
P.S. Di-di, di-di, di di li di - BOOOW!