So I’m at the chess club last night, delivering a proper
thrashing to an older opponent I’d never faced before. He’d lost a piece early
in the game but played on, forcing me to prove my worth.
Okay, I says to myself. He wants to get trounced, that’s
what we’ll do.
But I didn’t rush; I took my time, tried to understand the
position. After all, there’s little more embarrassing than losing a won game
OTB, right?
I began to see sacrifices everywhere that netted me gain.
Working through all the variations in my head took some time, but I felt I had
some solid plays. Flashy, even. So flashy, in fact, that I admittedly kept
looking up from the game to see if anyone was watching.
They weren't.
How could nobody be seeing this? How were they so wrapped up
in their own games or conversations that my brilliant plays should go
unnoticed? Like a child, I hesitated much longer between moves than necessary,
hoping that someone would glance over at my game. I’d see their eyebrows go up,
followed by the quick glance at me that would have resulted in raised eyebrows
and a smile in return.
Still, nothing.
The energy (at least to me) was palpable. The endless
continuations and sharp plays available to me were nothing short of
fascinating. And yet, the men of the chess club continued to toil over their
own positions, their own plays.
I couldn't blame them, but why does it seem that I’ve three
to four players gathered round me when I’m doing the losing? Why does it seem
like everyone wanders around, hands behind their backs, nodding and tilting
heads only when the games are stale and boring or I’m receiving a whooping?
While my opponent thought, I began looking at their boards,
at their positions, in hopes of a return glance. But it was no use: They
were entranced in the happenings directly to their fronts, heads cradled in
hands, the occasional sigh escaping lips as they contemplated.
I won the game with a double piece sacrifice for a forced
mate —— a wonderful ending that only I enjoyed, that only I and my opponent
witnessed. And he sure won't be sharing it about.
Alas, such is the torture of live chess.
P.S. Before anyone asks, I’d forgotten my chess notation
books. The game is lost, although I could probably reconstruct the final position
if I tried really hard.
Photo credit: Greeley Tribune
