My View From the cheap seats

I’m a proud subscriber of The New York Times, which I tell people means I support serious journalism, global reporting, and democracy in action.

What I actually mean is I pay good money to guess five-letter words before breakfast.

As much as I admire the reporting of The Times, I have become far more emotionally invested in its games. The journalists inform my mind. The games test my character. The journalism explains what’s happening in the world. The games explain why I should not be trusted with important decisions before coffee.

Take Wordle, for example. I love Wordle. I start every game the same way, with ADIEU, because I like to get the vowels out of the way early, much like clearing guests from your house before a football game. Sometimes this works beautifully. Other times, the game responds by essentially saying, “No. None of that. Try again, genius.”

Still, Wordle is good for you. It encourages logic, patience, and humility — especially when you discover the answer was a word you have used your entire life but somehow could not see until the fifth guess. Wordle reminds us that intelligence is temporary and confidence should be rationed.

Then there’s the Mini Crossword, which is much more my speed. I admire people who complete the full crossword in ink, like my mother does, as if the puzzle itself might someday challenge them to a duel. That is not me. I am a few Across clues and a handful of Down clues kind of man. The Mini is perfect — small commitment, quick payoff, and just enough triumph to justify bragging about it to no one in particular. It’s like doing pushups without having to buy gym clothes.

Strands took some getting used to. It looks like a traditional word search, except the words don’t go in straight lines. They wander. They dip. They zigzag. A word might go down two letters, diagonally up three, then scoot to the right like it remembered it left the stove on. The first time I played, I thought my screen was malfunctioning. The second time, I realized it was my brain being asked to do something new, which it strongly objects to.

And then there’s Connections, a game designed to expose personal weakness. Sixteen words. Four groups of four. Sounds reasonable. Sometimes the categories make perfect sense, like BAD, FLY, RAD, and WICKED being “Retro Terms for Cool.” Other times, the answers are revealed and I stare at them as if I’ve just been pranked by the English language. I accept that I was wrong, but I do not accept that those words have anything in common beyond being printed in the same font.

What all these games have in common is that they are genuinely good for you. They exercise memory, pattern recognition, and problem-solving. They slow you down. They keep your brain from turning into warm oatmeal. They also keep you from doomscrolling before breakfast, which may be their greatest public service.

Instead of panicking about the state of the world at 7:15 a.m., I’m calmly arguing with my phone about whether a clue was unfair. That’s focus. That’s mindfulness. That’s practically meditation.

Yes, I subscribe for the journalism.

But if The Times ever threatens to take away the games, I will be forced to read the news before breakfast — and nobody wants to see that happen.