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chess,
misadventure,
prank,
stupid
"Misadventures" Episode 6: Black Can't Win This Position
In 6th grade, I developed a love for chess. It was a game of combat, politics, war, death, and carnage -- what was not to like? I played it a lot then, and even went to two tournaments that year. Winning a trophy at the U from one.
But somehow I lost interest in the game going into Jr. High, and though I played it off and on - I wasn't "the best" anymore. In high school I went for years without playing, I didn't even think about it. But senior year my friend Matt, who was still interested in chess, wanted to go to a high school chess tournament and he invited me along.
"Sure," I said. "Why not." I did it for old time's sake, thinking it might even be fun. After all, I've always enjoed matching wits with people.
The tournament was 6 rounds (I think) which meant everyone got to play 6 games no matter how well (or poorly) they did. (swiss system?).
When we arrived, it didn't take me long to realize I was out-nerded. The abundance of magic cards and weird al music was like an omen ... and sure enough, these guys owned me.
I was 0 and 4 before long, and with each loss I was bumped down to play against crappier and crappier people. So losing wasn't doing much for my ego. (But I consoled myself by thinking I was one of the few people in the building who'd actually dated some girls.)
But anyway, being thrashed and trashed was getting old - so I suggested we skip out on the rest of the matches and go somewhere more fun.
Matt almost agreed, but he wanted to give it one more round, deciding--as I recall--to leave if he lost.
"Fine by me, I guess." Was my response. Thinking to myself, if I have to take another beating, it would be on my terms.
The pairings were posted and I took my seat. I was black, my opponent white. We shook hands and all that, and then he played his first move. It doesn't really matter what it was (but for anyone who cares it was e4). But, regardless of what he chose to play, I had already decided on what my move was going to be.
None.
I did my best to look frustrated and analytical. Taking out a piece of paper, I started scribbling furiously, occasionally pointing my pen at the playing board - as if planning several moves out in advance. Of course, I didn't actually know any chess notation. So my notes were a chaotic mess of scribbles, random letters and numbers, punctuated by an occasional ampersand or pound sign.
When I didn't move, my opponent asked for a clock. And so it ticked, and together we watched my time slowly drain away. As the minutes rolled on, I just folded my arms and stared at the bored. Trying to get a glimpse of his reaction, while still pretending that I was somehow engaged/interested in the game.
We ended up being one of the last pairs still playing. As others finished their games they would walk past and stare dumbfounded at our board ... which was only half a move deep.
My time slipped away and just as it was about to expire completely, I cranked out a few more "notes" and shook my head.
"Black can't win this position."
And I tipped my King, announcing my resignation. Then I showed him my incoherent notes. "See! With perfect play black can't win. Congratulations, good game."
"Yeah ... good game...?" Was his response.
Matt and I left the tournament after that round, since he'd also lost, and I've never played in one since.
In 6th grade, I developed a love for chess. It was a game of combat, politics, war, death, and carnage -- what was not to like? I played it a lot then, and even went to two tournaments that year. Winning a trophy at the U from one.
But somehow I lost interest in the game going into Jr. High, and though I played it off and on - I wasn't "the best" anymore. In high school I went for years without playing, I didn't even think about it. But senior year my friend Matt, who was still interested in chess, wanted to go to a high school chess tournament and he invited me along.
"Sure," I said. "Why not." I did it for old time's sake, thinking it might even be fun. After all, I've always enjoed matching wits with people.
The tournament was 6 rounds (I think) which meant everyone got to play 6 games no matter how well (or poorly) they did. (swiss system?).
When we arrived, it didn't take me long to realize I was out-nerded. The abundance of magic cards and weird al music was like an omen ... and sure enough, these guys owned me.
I was 0 and 4 before long, and with each loss I was bumped down to play against crappier and crappier people. So losing wasn't doing much for my ego. (But I consoled myself by thinking I was one of the few people in the building who'd actually dated some girls.)
But anyway, being thrashed and trashed was getting old - so I suggested we skip out on the rest of the matches and go somewhere more fun.
Matt almost agreed, but he wanted to give it one more round, deciding--as I recall--to leave if he lost.
"Fine by me, I guess." Was my response. Thinking to myself, if I have to take another beating, it would be on my terms.
The pairings were posted and I took my seat. I was black, my opponent white. We shook hands and all that, and then he played his first move. It doesn't really matter what it was (but for anyone who cares it was e4). But, regardless of what he chose to play, I had already decided on what my move was going to be.
None.
I did my best to look frustrated and analytical. Taking out a piece of paper, I started scribbling furiously, occasionally pointing my pen at the playing board - as if planning several moves out in advance. Of course, I didn't actually know any chess notation. So my notes were a chaotic mess of scribbles, random letters and numbers, punctuated by an occasional ampersand or pound sign.
When I didn't move, my opponent asked for a clock. And so it ticked, and together we watched my time slowly drain away. As the minutes rolled on, I just folded my arms and stared at the bored. Trying to get a glimpse of his reaction, while still pretending that I was somehow engaged/interested in the game.
We ended up being one of the last pairs still playing. As others finished their games they would walk past and stare dumbfounded at our board ... which was only half a move deep.
My time slipped away and just as it was about to expire completely, I cranked out a few more "notes" and shook my head.
"Black can't win this position."
And I tipped my King, announcing my resignation. Then I showed him my incoherent notes. "See! With perfect play black can't win. Congratulations, good game."
"Yeah ... good game...?" Was his response.
Matt and I left the tournament after that round, since he'd also lost, and I've never played in one since.
