What happened that time I went on Countdown

There's something quite enjoyable about being able to tick the boxes that you draw for yourself when you set out your dreams and ambitions. In my 30 years, I've been lucky enough/worked hard enough to put a mark next to a good few of the things I've set out to achieve.

Obviously there's the landmark goals you set yourself. Go to University. Tick. Graduate from University. Tick. Learn to drive. Tick. Get married. Tick. Put a baby in my wife. Tick. And so on.

But then there are the things you push yourself to do, the things that lurk slightly off the track that those other achievements are on. The unnecessaries, the off the cuff bits, the ones that make you that little bit more interesting as a person.

This is not a blog just to brag from by the way, but sometimes I think to myself, bloody hell, I've done some cool stuff. I've formed a band and released a single; I've appeared in numerous TV shows and films and adverts; I've interviewed multi-millionaire NHL players and bog-standard SPL players; I've been to some cool places across the globe, and most recently, I appeared on Channel 4's Countdown.

Now, I've been a fan of the show ever since I was a young lad, watching it at my Gran and Grandad's after school instead of Wizadora and whatnot. My penchant for words, which has served me fairly well in recent times, stems from my formative years around my folks who had me reading

from a young age and by and large, I'm quite good at them, I've used 279 of them in this piece already.

Having spent two days on the Countdown set in Manchester's Media City though, I've learned that just being good at words is not enough to make you an Octochamp, or in my case, win even just one game.

I never lulled myself in to thinking that I'd make it to eight games unbeaten on the show. Having watched it for so long, and with the greatest respect in the world to the guys who earn their quarter final seedings on this series, I know I am not "one of those" Countdown players.

I did encounter two of them though.

Without giving too much away from my episode, I pretty much crumbled like a Ryvita as I chased the game from the off. My opponent, a bumbag-sporting maths tutor from Wales via Yorkshire, was constantly a letter ahead of me and mathematically superior for obvious reasons.

Even though Rachel Riley had eased my nerves on facing him, having told her that his fanny-pack was quite intimidating (which she marvellously responded to by telling me not to worry as my "holdall is much bigger than his"...), it was clear from the off that I was in for a tanking.

As his lead increased, my safe sixes became risky sevens as I tried to claw back a decent score, only to be left clutching at invalid words and mis-spelled entries, with Susie Dent's soft tones making the disappointment that little more comfortable. Regardless of my illegal verbs and nouns, I was still being outgunned by my foe at every turn, so it mattered not a jot.

I was victim number three of his, as he laid down his claim to become Octochamp. Standing in his way though, was a 16-year-old A Level student from Essex. He wasn't your normal 16-year-old though. From the moment he stepped in to the green room, gushing parents in tow, it was clear that he was some kind of prodigy, a gifted type.

His chat mainly consisted of all the previous Octochamps and seeds he'd played and beaten online, amidst the internet fans of the show who take it so seriously. He'd been tipped off that my victor had racked up two 100+ scores previous to him hitting another ton against me, thanks to online pals of his who had gone to watch the Monday tapings.

The champ and the challenger had an awkward air between them before filming, cagey in their interactions as if they knew what each other was coming up against. The young lad rhymed off all the previous series winners, the semi-finalists and so on, as if to prove his commitment to the Countdown cause, while the maths tutor, bumbag and all, stayed quiet, as if he was sizing his opponent up.

Their game was incredible.

Eight after eight, ridiculous sums after ridiculous sums, words that neither of them learned in the bible but definitely had from the dictionary being conjured from the mixture of consonants and vowels that Rachel Riley flung up on the board. No nines, but a small slip on the letters from the current champ meant that a crucial conundrum would decide if he would continue.

And then controversy struck.

As the conundrum board rolled over, before the iconic clock had even lit up, one of them buzzed. The small audience gasped as one, as none of us had even registered a single letter of the anagram, let alone seen the letters long enough to make a new word out of them.

He who buzzed got it right and won the game. Now, at this juncture, due to the fact that these episodes won't air until October, I am not at liberty to reveal which chap prevailed. What I will say though is that the quick buzz caused an almighty shitstorm between the two contestants.

The loser claimed his monitor went blank when the conundrum was revealed, denying him of his shot at glory. An inquest was demanded from the floor manager, the director, the producer, anyone who could shed some light on what had happened.

The loser was livid.

It soon emerged that the winner had indeed buzzed too quickly, even for himself, and that he got the break of the ball in the time between buzzing and Nick Hewer throwing to him to get the answer.

The loser was livider. (Probably not a word.)

No reviews were made, no decisions were reversed, it was deemed that the winner had been quicker off the mark (whether he was too quick is another thing...) and it was just tough luck on the loser. This did not go down well.

The loser watched the next game through gritted teeth as his now-nemesis sat in the winner's chair, fairly easily dispatching of the next opponent in a similar way as to how I was ripped asunder, such is the wont of players of that calibre.

It made for a more than frosty green room, but once the felled wordsmith had departed, an air calmness prevailed. Those up next knew they'd be in for a tough time of it, but all had the hope that they could go toe-to-toe with a clearly-gifted, (if socially stunted) gamesman.

My efforts will be aired on October 7th, with the brilliant-yet-controversial match-up on the following day. it's worth a watch for the gameplay alone, but knowing the aftermath should make it far more intriguing a viewing.

I'm writing this waiting on a delayed flight back to Belfast, with a hold all fit to burst and probably overweight due to being filled with my losers goody-bag: a massive dictionary, a mug, a pen, Susie Dent's book, a tote bag, a bedside clock, and my name plate, as well as a rather optimistic four shirts and two t-shirts for the shows I didn't make it on to.