EPTThere are two sections in a tournament: Open and Reserved. You'd think by the wording, 'Reserved' would be reserved for the amazing talents. Nope. 'Reserved' means reserved for the people who are shit: AKA thirty seven year old food cashiers who have a pet hobby named chess. 'Open' means everyone can play in it, but most shitty people don't - they'd rather have a chance, so they choose the Reserved.
If your rating is over 1800, you're not allowed to play in the reserved. This is too avoid trash being crushed irreparably. First prize in each section gets 100$. I, obviously then, chose to abuse my lack of tournament experience, and signed up for play in the reserve. I wanted the 100$. I was pretty strong as a kid, won a shit ton of trophies and was rated about 1800, but kind of stopped after middle school started. I dunno why. One thing, I discovered Starcraft (Lol), another – I always felt it was a bit shameful to play chess. In hindsight, I can’t remember clearly why I felt like that. Maybe I was just an insecure little boy. Actually, this is a bit egotistical but I remember feeling superior to everyone around me who played chess because nobody where I lived played chess, and so I just kind of drifted away from it.
Anyways, fast forward. I scanned my potential opponents. In the Reserve section, a ragged group of adults and I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach: man these are going to be some long uninspiring games. The thing about playing shitty people at chess is they don’t try to attack and hence, it becomes a bit difficult to attack them. the best starcraft analogy is if your opponent doesn’t try to expand, and just holes up in his small base with a bunch of missile turrents and tanks, but instead of quickly dispatching them as you might be able to in Starcraft, you have to wait for their fucking clock to expire.
A chess game, much like sex, has three parts. Your opening (foreplay), the middle game (which you must handle like a magician), and the end game, which has no sexual equivalent since most guys love climaxing and most chess players hate the end game.
Much of your midgame’s enjoyability depends on how well you excute the opening. Get the pieces nice and soft, and when the deep thrusting commences, it will be nice and fluid. For this reason, once you achieve about grandmaster level or so, most practice then begins to revolve around opening preperation, trying to catch their opponents in deep theoretical traps. (As a small side note, when beginners set traps for each other, it’s usually for the next upcoming move or the next next upcoming move. When grandmasters set traps for each other, it doesn’t get sprung until like ten moves later. There’s something beautiful about this.)
To prepare for this tournament, I had studied up on the openings I played before, mostly Caro-Kann Bronstein variation for any e4 shenanigans and semi-Slav/King’s Indians as white or black for d4. Signing my name on to the reserve, I felt a sinking feeling that I wouldn't be able to get to use my opening preparation. Imagine preparing a great beautiful sonnet for a prostitute only to realize she’s got no idea who Shakespeare is. That’s about how I felt. But man, I ignored the nebulous feeling. I wanted the one hundred dollars and if I had to sit through some mind-numbing games, fuck it, it’d be worth it in the end. I had my eyes on the prize, not the bulls eye. And as always, when you mix pride with a little arrogance with a pinch of impatience, you end up self-destructing. It loomed near, that 100$ check saying I destroyed everyone.
I didn't get the prize.
My first game was vs. some black dude rated 1500, age around 54, with the most beautiful name that ever rolled off my tongue: August Fucking Piper. He looked just like this black pornstar who stars in monstercocks.com and as I was playing him, I started wondering about his penis size. I also like to write shit down. I like to take notes on my mental state, as I play. Someone, once said, "Chess is a drama for the people playing it" and it's entirely true. It's probably the only form of intensely exhilarating slow excitement. Keyword: Slow. The time control is 120 minutes for 40 moves, and if you play 40 moves, and the game is still going on, you get a bonus 60 minutes. What this means is, there's a potential for a 120+60 = 3 hours x2 players = 6 hour long fucking battle. Exhilarating, slow, excitement.
Anyways, so it was about move 3, I was wondering about the prize money (I told myself not to do this because it would distract me), wondering about why I was playing some one so low rated, wondering how long it would take to crush him, and writing little mental notes to myself, as well as possible strategies, when the administrator comes over and says, "Sir, you can't be taking notes."
"Why not?"
"Because it's considered a tool to improve play."
Man, this put me on tilt. I need to write down my thoughts, how I'm doing, what mental mistakes I'm making, I need to write this down compulsively and this lady says, "No you may not."
On move 7, I end up hanging a piece, which in chess jargon mean: giving up a piece for free - hence the 'hanging.'
How did this happen? Me vs. some lowly 1500. Honestly, I have no fucking idea. Part of it is, I have no friends who play chess, so I can only prepare on the computer. I don't even own a chess board. Visualizing moves in 2D and 3D is immensely different - maybe like playing on asphalt all your life, and then suddenly switching to hardwood in basketball. The moves are the same, but the feel, is just foreign, a little surreal.
When I hung that piece, and he decisively gobbled it up, with a emphatic piece snatch, jesus christ, my face began to boil. I had to take off my jacket from the disgusting sweat of revulsion and I told myself: Alright. You just fucking gave away a piece. Time to play like a grandmaster giving an opponent a handicap, and destroy this nigger.
Instead, I end up hanging my queen a few moves later, the queen being the strongest piece you possess.
Words cannot begin to express the sickening stench of how I lost. I do not mind losing a well played game, but I played jesus christ, like I had no idea what was going on. Driving home, I didn't even think I'd want to come back the next day,
The next day:
Saturday morning rolls around and it's 1230pm, and it's game time. On the drive home, I told myself, alright, you've probably lost your chance of winning the prize money, (there was no second or third place) now - just play chess to play well. So I asked the administrator if I could switch from the reserved to the open, and he (a different administrator) obliged.
My first opponent was a sweet chinese boy named Samuel He. Age 14 years old. TO BE CONTINUED.
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