Chess

I picked up chess in the 2nd grade – I don’t quite remember what initially enamored me to the game, but somehow or another I ended up joining my elementary school’s chess club. We would meet after school once a week in the cafeteria and just play chess for a couple of hours. Some of the kids didn’t really care about chess – their parents probably signed them up against their will – so I would “four-move checkmate” them and move on. But a few of the kids were actually rather competitive (at least, for 8-year olds). I soon found myself among this latter group.

Best of all, we received awesome blue membership t-shirts with chess pieces on them. Thirteen years later, I still have it in my closet. I nearly killed myself trying to squeeze into it recently.

My first chess tournament was a success. I won a trophy – the first trophy I had ever “earned”. Sure, the little league sports teams I would play on handed out trophies, but those were for participation and not at all indicative of my contributions to the team*. But this was mine because I was actually good at something. Man … what a feeling. As we get older, life gets harder and more confusing and we eventually resort to just getting by more than anything. We forget what it feels like to win a trophy. Or at least, I have. Can’t remember the last time I felt legitimately proud of something I accomplished.

And it continued on. I kept entering into local chess tournaments; every time, I would win something. Honestly, I haven’t looked back at those trophies in a while, but I think I must own at least nine or ten of them. Did you know the chess leagues rank you? With an actual number? It’s not like college sports where the best player gets #1 and everyone else falls in line. You get a quantified score based on your past history; the better you perform, the higher your ranking in subsequent tournaments. I think I got to around 1200 before I called it quits. It’s hard to remember if that was a good ranking or not, but at the time, I was quite proud of it.

A few games in particular have been branded into my memory banks – thirteen years later, I still recollect them quite vividly.
Once, I was matched up against a girl (who was ranked far lower than I was). I remember taking an early lead and methodically defeating her; honestly, that’s pretty much how chess works. For those of you who haven’t played chess in a while, recall – losing in chess is pretty demoralizing. Or maybe it’s not even a chess-specific concept I’m describing here. Just losing at something you really care about is probably pretty damaging. I would imagine the emotion is fairly universal.

So anyways, I was caught off guard when she started crying. What do you do in a situation like that? I made a girl cry by beating her at chess. How many people have that on their resume?
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My life peaked far too early. In the 3rd grade, to be exact. The official state-wide chess tournament was in Corpus Christi that year, so my family drove down there so I could compete. This was a far bigger tournament than I had ever participated in before; hundreds of kids were there, all competing to be the best in the state. Out of the seven games I played, I went on to win five and a half (one ended in a draw), good for sixth place – the trophy I received was almost as tall as I was. Today, it only reaches up to about my chest (I grew taller, thank goodness), but I’m still darn proud of that thing. Afterwards, my family ate beignets to celebrate. It’s surprising how I still remember that detail. I guess I was just really happy that day. You tend to remember those sorts of things.

And when I got home? A framed picture of me receiving that trophy immediately went up at my grandma’s house. Everyone would see it when they came in through the living room. She was so proud of me. Ten years later, she would still brag to her friends about me – her grandson, the “chess champion”. I miss her. In life, you only have so many people who genuinely love you just for being you. You can probably count them on one hand. Maybe two if you’re lucky. I lost one of those people a couple of years ago. I guess a part of growing up means learning to transition from having those people to being that person. If that’s the case, I have big shoes to fill.

Oh right, chess. My worst game. I’m not sure if I can tell this one properly. It requires a lot of setup.
So I was beating this guy. Not by a lot; I was maybe up a piece or two. But by the time you reach the endgame, being up a piece or two puts you at a massive advantage. You should win. However, I’ve always had one weakness in my chess game: I take forever. Ages pass before I make a move. Even if I’m winning, I simply have to consider every possible alternative before moving a piece. It’s just my personality. I guess he figured it out.

Because that’s when it happened. He came up with a strategy to beat me. He stalled. Like, completely and utterly, he refused to make a move. We sat there in silence for what must have been eight minutes before the judge came over to us with a clock and said we had five minutes each from that point on. The game would end when either one of us won, or one of us ran out of time.
Suddenly, the kid across the table from me remembered how to make moves again. Me? My brain couldn’t process the game quickly enough. I tried to still think every move through, but my clock was running out (it only runs when it’s your turn; after you move, you hit it and it starts running for your opponent). With about 30 seconds left, I had to start making moves at random and I lost.

Not sure if that story made any sense to you. You might have to be a chess player to really visualize it.
But I was so angry. I should have won – I would have won – but that kid pulled that little stunt and beat me. I remember walking out of the room to my dad, who was always the one accompanying me to these tournaments, and just bawling. I’m not sure how to describe the feeling … maybe helplessness? I was robbed, but I wasn’t. What happened to me was wrong, but it was fair. I didn’t know what to do but cry. To this day, I still remember how that 9-year old felt crying on my dad’s shoulder. I can recall the feeling exactly. But I can’t explain it. It’s just one of those things. I’m sure we all have them.

I quit chess a year later. Just lost interest I suppose. What’s weird is, revisiting all these stories, I’m not sure if chess had more of an impact on my childhood or my adulthood. But maybe those things go more hand in hand than I think. It’s just that the lens you see the stories through changes. Maybe I’ll rewrite this when I’m 40 and see how it differs.

The underlying theme of my childhood has been my consistent, unequivocal lack of success. Failing at baseball. Failing at basketball. Just wait till I get to football.

So while it feels wrong to put this here, I’m going to do it anyways. If these stories aren’t siblings to my disastrous sporty endeavors, maybe they’re spiritual cousins.

And hey, would you look at that. Failure, shame, disillusionment of youth – maybe this one fits here after all.          

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