Our Angel gets no love from the refs.

Sue Holland is the Marketing Manager at EYE WEEKLY, which involves securing media sponsorships with big events like last weekend's 2008 Yahoo! World Rock Paper Scissors Championships at the Steamwhistle Brewery. But scoring the sponsorship wasn't enough for our Sue — no, she had to roll up her sleeves and get in the ring. This is her story: 

Team Zechpreller gathers at its make-shift headquarters near Bloor and Ossington. This is an important team-bonding moment: time to get in pre-game drinks, discuss strategy and step into our uniforms. An initial attempt at dressing like techno-loving Germans has floundered, and leads one member to quip that two of our teammates look like Russian prostitutes. From here on in, I only answer to “Angel,” as I am deemed by the bejewelled embroidery on my shirt.

A heated discussion begins regarding which school of Rock Paper Scissors strategy to follow.
According to Wojek Smallsoa, as quoted in The Trio of Hands, "To the beginner the choices are few; to the expert the choices are many." Techniques abound, from the simple practices of trying to psych out your opponent or reading their tendencies, to the more complex Zen approach, where you are encouraged to “be” the symbol.

But statistically the merit of the gambit approach cannot be refuted, whereby a series of three successive moves are made with strategic intention; examples include The Avalanche (three rocks), The Bureaucrat (three papers) or The Scissor Sandwich (paper, scissors, paper). The importance of choosing the proper strategy can’t be denied, once you learn that several of the same contestants consistently make the finals, year after year.

As we ride to the Steamwhistle Brewery I solicit advice from the perennials on the team. What words of wisdom can they offer a rookie like myself?

My long-john clad captain, offers his two cents: “Whatever you do, throw down, or up, or straight, just not sideways — never sideways!” He winces as the memories of painful disqualifications past come flooding back, and he vows that his inebriated tendency to throw horizontally will not cost him the title this year.

The competition is formidable: Team Shredder from Montreal, Thunder Fist from New Jersey, Team Hopkins from Baltimore, Hi-You-Sip from Calgary and the Team Norway Vikings, to name just a few. Even New Zealand and Argentina are represented. Regardless of who rises to the top, it’s clear that the World RPS Society is garnering some serious international traction.

Anticipation is building. There’s a lot on the line. Everyone wants their crack at the $13,000 prize money. Hmm… what would I do if I won? Baby-blue Vespa? Pay my back taxes? Ooooh I know, a vacation in the Galapagos!

I am re-routed to official arena H, where I get matched up against a dude dressed as a preacher from Minneapolis. I recognize the referee, C. Urbanus from Philadelphia, as one of the renowned RPS professionals featured in the documentary Rock Paper Scissors: A Geek Tragedy. The preacher attempts to intimidate with a Cheshire smile. You need to win two out of three rounds, in flights of three. Preacher takes the first round in a clean sweep. I’m feeling the pressure, but I re-group. The crowd starts chanting, “An-gel!, An-gel!” I call on my psychic power (be the rock) and pull out the second match. The preacher is visibly ruffled. This is it. We’re tied. One a piece… I need this one… Darwin’s Island really would be incredible this time of year… One-two-three, throw! And… d’oh! He covers my rock with a perfectly horizontal paper. Seems he does have the good book on his side tonight. First round and I’m out. Sigh. Serves me right; at the first sign of adversity I abandon my pattern and throw a random sign, doubting my gut. Such a rookie mistake!

Maybe someone else from Zechpreller has had better luck? We rally the troops and it seems we’ve been hit hard all around. Only one of us has made it through to round 2, and they too are cruelly denied in the first match of the next series. Hmmm. Seems I won’t be getting a taste of glory-by-association either.

But all is not lost: upon registration, each participant is given eight “street” dollars and can play anyone at will for an agreed-upon amount. The person with the most street dollars at the end of the night gets $1,000 cash. (This keeps those who are knocked out early in the official rounds occupied.) I take stock and set out to rebound on the underground circuit. This proves to be quite the roller coaster. I win one match, just to lose the next… I’m almost out, then bounce back again…10 bucks, 20… soon I’m up to $50.

The stakes get higher as teams pool their money and self-proclaimed bookies start setting up marquee matches. I bet the farm and it’s all downhill; my inexperience shows and I’m taken for everything. The team hits rock bottom as our initially fearless team captain pulls the last of his emergency stash out of his shoe. Other teams look on in disgust, and refuse to play for one pitiful “sock dollar.”

The matches are going completely rogue now. Once people have no money left, anything goes. I play someone for their hat, then a bike light, a wrist band, drink ticket, a kiss. Now this is getting interesting.
 
I stay on and watch Monica Martinez from Toronto claim the world championship title in an epic battle against Ms. Bennett, in the first ever all-female final. And this year, even the street game-winner is a female. I’m glad to see that both titles will, in fact, reside with women until 2009. Historically the results have been heavily favoured towards the men. Martinez is handed a giant cheque and told that she will be flown to New York in the morning for an interview on the CBS morning show.

I head for the exit and lament, “It could have been me.” Which in many ways, I believe is the point, here: for one night, you’ve got a shot to be a world champion, with zero training. I leave satisfied with my inaugural performance but resolved to come back again next year; wiser, more experienced and maybe… with Team Shocker. Galapagos ’09, here I come!
 

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