|
||||||
|
|
||||||
|
Chessville
From the
|
Dear Mr. Chess Editor, I heard that the champion Alekhiney used to bring his cat, Chess, to matches with him, and I began to wonder if this was the secret to his success. So the first thing I did was re-name my cat Chess. Actually, there was some problem about this, as he would not come when I called him by his new name (the potzer!), and so I had to re-re-name him Buster-Chess. This little bagatelle settled, I sat down with Buster-Chess and jumped on-line. In the name of progress, I felt justified in starting a new account at chess.net (although I have three already, Hope does spring eternal, and, what the heck, they are free). I opened LoseBoard and logged on: Alekhiney2-and-Busterchess. I really thought I was in the cat bird’s seat! Sad to relate, however, my rating was still in the litter box. It then occurred to me that Alekhiney was a German speaker, and that perhaps this was the missing element! I strolled over to a local bookstore, sans BC however, and smoothly pocketed an English-German pocket dictionary (again, in the name of Progress, and, what the heck, those potzers won’t miss one lousy book). Back at the Ponderosa I scooped up Buster-Chess, reconnected, and took some loser’s seek. “Guten Tag”, I slyly typed before I pushed e4. I think I lost this first game because I couldn’t manage the mouse, Buster-Chess, and looking up words in that damn dictionary all at once (can you believe that those idiot editors didn’t even have “jerk” in the their so-called “practical” dictionary?). I then took the trouble to scribble down a few key phrases to use ad hoc. For example, “Aus dem Buch!” I would cry on the 10th move (whether it was or not, who knew?), and if the idiot (to quote Nimzo) was to slow in moving, “Raus!” I would say. To keep Buster-Chess involved in things I would purr to him, “Jah, jah, mein gut kinder!” After 10 games, however, I was 1-9! (our one win was a “lost connection”, but I think we had that punk, even though we were down a piece or three).Obviously, something was still wrong. Then, like a discovered check (that didn’t bounce!), it hit me: Alekhiney played back in the ancient days! (before the internet, that is). It was that mano-a-mano, mucho macho, hard stare thing that was the trick! That was the ticket. If some idiot had to sit directly across from Alekhinney2 and Buster-Chess, we’d crush him! That Saturday Buster-Chess and I showed up at some local-yokel weekly weakies tourney. “Guten Morgen, Fraulein”, I suavely said as I handed her my entrance fee and registration form: signed A. Edgar Alekhiney (I threw in the Edgar just for the heck of it). The impudent wench, who certainly had not a trace of Aryan blood in her tainted veins, then had the unmitigated gall to inform me, “Sorry, sir, no animals allowed!” “Was!” I cried, “verboten?!” “Ich bin Alekhiney –“ A most vociferous argy-bargy thereon ensued, the result of which was them stuffing my entrance fee back into my hip pocket (I was still holding the ever-implacable Buster-Chess), and rudely informing me that if we (we!) did not leave they would call the police. “Kaput!” I yelled at them, and stormed out. I now firmly believe that it was fear, raw and naked, that motivated their outrageous behavior: you see, they knew I had the secret. I have every confidence that if we (!) were allowed to sit down, OTB, with Kasboreoff, Kamsnoor, or that new Top-cat, we (!) would trounce them in wunderbar style! Consequently, I have given up chess. Auf wiedersehen, you idiots, Herr Welt Schach-Meister, A. Edgar Alekhiney, and Buster-Chess.
|
Place Your Ad Advertise to Single insert:
The
|
||||
|
||||||
