As indicated in Joyce’s use of the word “game,” or some form of the like, the OED presents a variety of definitions and usages for the word. “Game,” which originates (according to etymonline.com) in its multiple forms mainly from Middle or Old English, initially served to reference a type of sport or competition, or describing one ready for that, but as these varying definitions indicate, the term takes many uses today, and in Ulysses. Definitions for “game” as provided by the OED include:

Noun:

• Amusement, sport, fun; pleasure, enjoyment, in later use only with modifying adjective, as  great (good, etc.) game.
• Jest, sport
• Freq. with the. Lovemaking; amorous sport or dalliance; (also) an instance of this. In modern (and some earlier) use often specifically denoting sexual intercourse. Now rare.
• slang. With the. Prostitution. Earliest in  lady (also girl, etc.) of the game. In later use chiefly in on the game
• Originally: a butt or object of ridicule, a laughing stock

Adjective:

• Of a person or animal: full of pluck, spirit, or fight; spirited, plucky; intrepid. Also applied to actions, attributes, etc.

• Having the necessary spirit or will for a specified challenge, adventure, novel experience, etc.; ready and willing

Verb

• intr. To amuse oneself; to play, sport, jest; (occas.) to indulge in amorous or flirtatious play. Formerly also (occas.) trans. (refl.) in same sense.
• trans. colloq. Originally: to make fun of. Later: to deceive, ‘kid’. Now chiefly U.S
• intr. To take part in an indoor game, of a kind on which stakes or wagers may be placed; esp. to play games of chance for such stakes or wagers; to gamble. Now somewhat arch

While many of the examples in Ashplant’s Ulysses lexicon section include words like “flower” or “host” that Joyce uses frequently in his diction, the word I am proposing, “scrimmage,” has so far only one appearance in the text. But similar to my blog post and my in class discussion on the topic of competition, there is an informal competitive nature constantly present in the text, which I think is very much worth exploring.

“Scrimmage,” primarily takes two meanings, both of which we have seen so far in the first six episodes. The first definition, which Joyce has not utilized “scrimmage” in direct mention to this definition to this point, refers to a less formal game or competition, such as the students playing field hockey while Dedalus speaks with Mr. Deasy. In this example, the game was energetic and the students were getting into it, given their loud screams that could be hear in Dedalus’ conversation, but the scene was not quite as formal as an organized match.

The second meaning to “scrimmage,” that Joyce more directly employs in Ulysses, is found when Bloom remarks on his affair with Martha as, “usual love scrimmage” (4.271). Similar to the first definition, Joyce implies a certain informality to the relationship compared to his marriage to Molly. But however, the use of “scrimmage” here indicates a level of back and forth between Martha and Bloom, and Joyce employs the term to suggest that despite Bloom’s slight reluctance in this affair, it still resembles that of a relationship like his marriage. As the text continues, even if “scrimmage” receives little direct use, this notion of informal competition will likely continue to be present.

The other term that piqued my interest was “kidney,” mainly present in Bloom’s excursions in episode four, in his trip to the butcher, his cooking of the kidney, and feeding of the cat. The term also has some interesting connotations that could be delved into further with the medical function of the kidney. But similar to “scrimmage,” I speak without much certainty about its prevalence moving forward in the text.

In the first six episodes of Ulysses, references to Sports and Competition have come in small bursts, with occasional remarks scattered about the text. So far, examples of sports/competition have fallen into two major camps: the first being the explicit mentioning of sports, both watching and participating in sports, and the second camp serving as more minor hints of a competitive spirit between characters. While the two may exist separately, it seems as if the more overt references to sport, such as the “shouts [that] rang shrill from the boys’ playfield” (313) or the multiple comments about cricket and racing make the reader more aware to a subtle competitive nature on a societal level.

This less obvious notion of competition is often most salient in reference on a relational level. For example, when Martha not-so-subtley inquires about Molly’s perfume, Bloom moments later remarks on their affair as a “love scrimmage,” with “scrimmage” being a common word used for an informal sports competition (271).  There is a sense, in this moment and others, of needing to “one up” others and create a notion of hierarchy or ranking, that reiterates this competitive spirit.  Just as Martha seems to need to compete with Bloom’s wife, Bloom feels a similar need to “beat” Blazes Boylan.

While Joyce makes references to sports and competition a consistent part of the text so far, it has always seemed to play a less prominent role, but is nonetheless present at most moments in some form. In thinking about this mixture of clear references to sport/competition alongside the less obvious examples, what might this engrained sense of needing to win or beat others inform us about Irish society or relationships as we continue through the text?

Our in-class discussion on Tuesday covering the first few lines (and even before that) and the very minor, yet important stylistic details in these initial moments was really intriguing to me, as Ulysses requires an attention to detail that I have never experienced in a text before. From the bracketed chapter number to the lack of “Telemachus” on the first page along with the episode number, as well as the somewhat perplexing asterisk  to start the first episode, what I’m interested to see tomorrow with “The Little Review,” is whether or not these were included in early publications, or if they were additions made in later editions. While the presence of these small things in the earliest publication may be somewhat anticlimactic, I’m interested to investigate potential reasons for their absence, in the case that some, or all, of these editorial, yet intentional decisions are made differently between publications.

In his revised analysis of “The Dead,” Pecora presents a much more personal viewpoint, one that, as he highlights towards the end of the piece, provides a potential answer for Joyce’s rather emotional ending to a story that up until that point, focused more on details of the dinner party than the characters’ deep thoughts or feelings.
Pecora comments, “There is, I now recognize, something deeply human and moving about Gretta and her sorry, and about her sense of a lost chance for passion in an otherwise dreary existence. I cannot shake the feeling that, throughout “Dubliners,” it is precisely this preoccupation with the lost of missed passions in the present” (356).
While Pecora focuses here on Gretta’s lost love, he spends a fair amount of time in the article questioning the validity of Gabriel’s “generous” tears. But in reality, Gabriel’s life is equally mundane, as are the lives of many of the other characters at the party, but we aren’t given as clear of a sense for “missed passions,” like with Gretta. Is Pecora rightfully critical of Gabriel’s response to his wife’s emotional confession, or is there something potentially missing from Gabriel’s story that is worth looking into?