I hate pub quizzes, every stinking one of them. Rollover jackpots you can never win, quizmasters with body odour reading from crappy quiz books bought from the Arndale center; bad sound, heckling know it alls… all that for a round of drinks? I won’t put myself through it anymore.
People argue at quizzes… a lot. Who played Governor Tarkin in Star Wars? Where was St Edmund buried? Who fucking cares? Well, lots of people do and in a strange way I know why… but it’s not big nor is it very clever.
I was once attacked at a pub quiz whilst hosting it… I had the audacity to ‘know all the answers’ a common misconception as I certainly didn’t have all the answers but did have lots of questions (it’s quite important when your hosting a quiz). The ‘Attacker’ was clearly irritated by this rampant display of reading and decided to kick the shit out of me, looking back I don’t blame him, quizzes and quizmaster are just a load of old wank aren’t they?
Well they can be… but as much as they irritate I can’t help going back to them whether it’s as a host or a punter… You see, I like to know I’m right and I like to be rewarded for that whether it is with money, beer, or a voucher for Argos… I don’t mind…just reward my significant intellect and let everybody know I’m the fucking Daddy.
Ok I lied, I love quizzes... So much so I started to host my own. I do have a crappy quiz book from the Arndale centre but I never read from it because that my friend would be sacrilege. I try and wash regularly and before the quiz I douse my self in deodorant.
The reason why we go to these things is because we all like the moment when you answer that one question correctly. In that moment you feel special, you knew the answer and somebody else didn’t… that feels good.
I make sure everyone can hear what I’m blathering on about with the aid of a microphone and then I proceed to ask questions… a lot. Sometimes I even research and write my own questions on diverse topics like Tight Trousers In Rock, MFI Kitchens - A History, Special Shoes, Dancing on Crystal Meth, Grouting A Bathroom In Your Pants, David Cameron's Imaginary Friend, Films With Dogs (On Wheels) and Ghost Hunting With Justin Bieber. I even create sound rounds with a magic box and mess about with TV footage in order to hurt your little heads with questions like “What’s Dale Winton doing with that dog?”
My quiz is called Eat My Mind... not Brian’s Tuesday night Pub Quiz. Eat My Mind sounded better, don’t ask me why. It doesn’t appeal to everyone, it’s not a fight to see who’s the smartest or who knows the most about sport or general knowledge, it’s actually a show, a very silly, very rude show which disguises itself as a quiz. It’s the culmination of years and years of slog hosting pub quizzes in the North of England to audiences who really just came because it was better than staying at home. And there is the crux, the reason why we go to these things is because we all like the moment when you answer that one question correctly. In that moment you feel special, you knew the answer and somebody else didn’t… that feels good. My quiz (like any other) gives you the opportunity to compete but it also revels in the mundane. I’m more likely to ask questions about cake than geography and your more likely to make shoes out of bread than tell me who won the FA Cup in 1972 (Leeds by the way).
Have you ever portrayed the fall of Nazi Germany in plasticine? Performed underwater Karaoke? Arm wrestled in jelly? Murdered C list celebs with the throw of a dart? Searched for Badly Drawn Boy’s hat by smell alone? If the answer to these questions was no then you’ve been missing out... Quizzes aren’t what they used to be.
Eat My Mind takes place every Sunday 8pm at Trof- Fallowfield, Manchester
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