Brainiac: Adventures in the Curious, Competitive, Compulsive World of Trivia Buffs

by Ken Jennings

I’ve always felt it was a shame that the “trivia” moniker stuck to trivia so firmly. Referring to your hobby with a word that quite literally means “petty” or “insignificant” doesn’t strike me as the best way to popularize it. Would football ever have caught on if gridiron fans had insisted on calling it “that stupid sport with the weird-shaped ball”? Do philatelists call postage stamps “little gummed squares that we pointlessly collect and pore over when we really should be out meeting girls”? And yet trivia fans happily adopt the language of the oppressor, tacitly but cheerfully agreeing that, yes, their tendency toward learning and knowing lots of weird stuff is completely valueless. Completely “trivial.”

Starting school was traumatic for me—not because I missed my mommy or couldn’t remember which coat hook was mine, but because I knew I’d miss my beloved morning game shows.

From the safety of our couches, we feel smarter with every answer we know, but go stealthily unpenalized for those we muff. The little ego-boost from a correct answer explains the whole human love for trivia. We love the endorphin rush, the I’m-smart feeling we get from unexpectedly producing an answer we had no idea we knew.

This 109-word Bataan Death March of a question is obviously not the kind of thing that a moderator can get through on one breath.

Gentle, witty self-deprecation is about as rare at these tournaments as a steady girlfriend,

Jeopardy! aside, does America even want to watch people be smart anymore?