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ON A DICEY CRUISE
Edwin Shrake
September 16, 1974
The voyage promised to be rough, with high-rolling in the richest backgammon tournament ever, but a first-class gambol was assured
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September 16, 1974

On A Dicey Cruise

The voyage promised to be rough, with high-rolling in the richest backgammon tournament ever, but a first-class gambol was assured

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When he was asked why he had chosen to put his clothes back on so suddenly after all the terrific trotting and loping, the Baron said, "It was really quite thrilling to be buffers in the casino, and it was a kick to arrive in the disco. But standing there nude on the dance floor without my glasses—couldn't see a bloody thing in that violet light—I began to feel a small touch of paranoia."

Mondo bizzarro, all right. By the second night out, when the captain's cocktail party was held in the First-Class nightclub, the ship was already steaming half a day behind schedule with its impaired boilers. "Right now, at this moment, I can hopefully say that I think we'll come out on top," the captain assured his cocktail guests. His leeriness was as sensible as the sign posted in First-Class cabin bathrooms that said: DO NOT STEP INTO SHOWER BEFORE TESTING WATER TEMPERATURE.

There already had been open snarling about the food. Not that it was in short supply during the limited hours it was available, but a piece of fish, a filet of beef, a slice of veal, a Caesar salad, all seemed to taste pretty much like a piece of newspaper.

After having returned a few meals to the kitchen for further study, Clement Freud, who appears to examine everything placed before him as if it might be made of spiders, decided to investigate the source of this paper food. He went into the kitchen, lined up the staff and marched up and down peering around with his look of surprised disgruntlement. "These are the boilers back there, are they?" Freud asked the chef.

"No sir, those are the cookers."

"Ah. I have been under the impression that you did the cooking in the boilers."

Adding to the general feeling of oddness aboard the ship, it was soon discovered that one stateroom key would open many other staterooms; exactly how many is not known, but experimentation proved it true in dozens of cases, and a steward cheerfully admitted, "Saves us the trouble of different passkeys, and only old ladies lock their doors, anyway." Patrick, the Earl of Lichfield, is not an old lady in any sense; he even has a tattoo on his arm. But he rushed to the captain to demand protection for his photographic equipment. There is a story in Dunhill publicity releases that the Earl of Lichfield, "coordinator" of the tournament, is forbidden by his family to play backgammon because an ancestor had lost a fortune at the game. True or not, the earl certainly had no desire to lose his cameras. "Outrageous," is what he called the matter of the door keys. Mondo bizzarro is the way Esmond put it.

Charles Benson, the auctioneer, kept advancing in the backgammon tournament in the maroon and gold room, while better rated players like Tim Holland, Ted Bassett, Walter Cooke, Claude Beer, Philip Martyn, Joe Dwek, Gino Scalamandre. Porter Ijams, Lewis DeYoung, Michael Stoop and others fell out. In one match Benson needed to throw double sixes on the last roll to win, and he did it. Benson's puckery smile grew steadily. A friend described Benson as "the sort of fellow who owns two coats, three shirts, a necktie and a Ford, but when the rest of us are betting �2 on a race at the dog track, Benson will be betting �200." Lewis DeYoung said, "Benson has tremendous courage. He's been whipped by every bookmaker in London, and he keeps coming back."

"Going to the track with Benson is a thrilling experience," said Takis Theodorocopulos. "If people find out he's the famous Bendex whose tips they've bet their life savings on, they'll try to kill him."

At last it was the final, and Benson was still in. His opponent was Barclay Cooke, who could hardly be more unlike Benson. Cooke, 61, an American, is from Yale, a gentleman gambler, coauthor of a backgammon book, winner of the Clermont Club British Championship in 1972 and co-holder, with his son Walter, of the World Cup Duplicate Backgammon Championship. "Barclay Cooke was the best player in the game until about 10 years ago," says his friend Porter Ijams. "Then a number of people went past him, but in the last two or three years Barclay has become the most improved player in the game."

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