AN ORANGE KANGEROO FROM DENMARK

Call him Andy. He and some other senior golfers were sitting around the clubhouse after their weekly embarrassment on the golf course. Somehow the blather developed to a point where Andy asked how good someone was at math.

Now Andy is a persuasive sort of guy. A political operative in Washington, he runs a small consulting­-lobbying firm. His background is legislator from a tough-politics New England state, hired hand and volunteer in presidential campaigns in flyover states, and a sometime sub-cabinet appointee. He knows his way around the corridors of the federal government. He is no shrinking violet.

One or two guys bite on the math query. Turns out it is more about arithmetic, but that’s a pol for you. It all goes something like this:

Take a number. Don’t tell me. Divide that by two. Add the first number. Got it? Multiply by two. Divide by four. Now multiply by ten. Okay? You now have fifty. Right?

Only one guy by now had played along. But fifty was the number in his head. His reaction was astonishment.

Andy, of course, was gloating.

“Magic?” he asks, seemingly wanting that reaction, and ready to pounce on it. “There is no magic.” Or words to that effect, for there was no stenographer there, and no cell phones recording.

“Good trick,” allowed the astonished one. “Great trick. How ‘ja do it?”

No answer, of course, but rather another trick. It started the same way, with a series of taking a number and performing a series of arithmetical calculations. Then, a switcheroo.

Now convert that number to the corresponding letter in the alphabet; one for A, and so on. Okay? Now take that letter and think of a country in Europe that begins with that letter. Now take the last letter and make that the first letter of an animal.

There was another question with the answer supplying the animal with a color.

Got it?

“Yeah.”

Orange kangaroo from Denmark.

“Damn! How ‘ja do that? That’s absolutely great. Can’t believe it. Come on, how do you do that?”

An octogenarian flabbergasted by a fast-talking politician is not a pretty sight to behold. Except to the pol.

But how did he do it? For someone gullible enough to fall for such nonsense, the answer would have to be intriguing. For someone who likes crossword puzzles, Sudoku, word games and mind-benders, the answer may not come immediately yet it would be completely understandable.

Answers must derive from some math formula that always comes up with the same number. The trickster asking the trickee to multiply by 10 will always add up to fifty, five being the constant answer. Using the multiplier will disguise the trick if the victim asks for another go-round. Or, the trickster can use the added feature of asking the trickee to convert to letters. After that, mental suggestion takes over.

Ah, eureka moment!

Consult the internet and its encyclopedic sources. Sure ‘nough, there are tricks called alphametric, cryptarithm and similar names. High school algebra, says one source, can provide formulas to account for such tricks as befell the clubhouse victims. Those tricks do depend upon the same number as an answer, every time.

Our Web searcher gave up before finding proof of the suggestive nature of the trick he fell for. One does have to admit that “orange kangaroo from Denmark” is one hellava punch line.