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Chessville
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The Great Raccoon Hunt by P.D. Fawcett (aka The Hawk) The Hawk on The Hawk: "My stories are based 'loosely' on my own experiences & have a ring of truth to the events I wrote about. The characters are in fact real people but their names have been changed to protect the innocent. The real people are quite aware they are in my stories & they find it most entertaining that they have been chosen...I am 58, married ( Marty), a blue collar worker, ( lift truck operator). I live in Economy, Indiana. USA! A small Midwestern village of about 150 people. Economy, the known center of the universe, is a great place to live. Hawk, ( my pen name & chess handle) came about in my chess games with Mr. Sugden & Mr. Canter. Hawk, the very name strikes fear into the hearts of chess players the world over with my swooping, attacking style!!!"
The Great Raccoon Hunt One brisk Fall evening I was sitting over my chessboard pondering over my next move in a obscure opening I had sprung on my unsuspecting chess friend, “Manny the Mangler.” I gave Manny that name as he thrashes me on a regular basis. After looking in all my old chess opening books, I stumbled on the “Grob.” HAH! I got him now! Manny and I have been playing chess every Monday night for.......well, I can’t remember for how long. I guess I tolerate Manny because he always brings the snacks. Tonight he'd brung potato chips, kosher pickles, canned sardines, and a large bowl of beanie wienie. To the uninformed, beanie wienie is a truly American concoction of pork-and-beans with wienies cut up and thrown in. No wienies? Then any type of meat that’s been in the fridge fermenting for two to three weeks will do. Just as Manny snatches my c4-pawn with a resounding “THUMP” on my chess table, the phone rings. “Hey! Wanna go coon hunting?” Even though my brain has not yet worked out the implications of Manny taking my c4 pawn, the word “hunting” has me wide-eyed and bushy tailed. Being an avid hunter/fisherman/outdoorsman, I’m always ready for a trek into the wilderness! “Hey, ya awake?” says Lenny. Lenny, long time comrade of many years. Lenny and I have had many memorable days afield (and some I’d rather forget). Lenny is as buggy as I am about hunting, fishing and other various outdoor sports. “Ya, I’m awake. Gimme details. Who, what, where and when?” Short pause. “Me, you and Gilbert. Tomorrow. Call ya later. Mavis got loose again,” says Lenny. Click! Lenny gone. He knows I still have reservations going anywhere with Gilbert, also known as “Gilbert the Gimp”. Our last little foray with Gilbert resulted in the sinking of a $7000 bass boat, catching Big Eddie’s Bait Shop on fire and a night in the Hoosegow, sharing a cell with some large hairy guy, named “Arnie the Arm”. But, that is another story. Waking my wife at 3 a.m., for bail money, isn’t something I relished. Even though that was years ago, I’m reminded from time to time about hanging about with Gilbert the Gimp. (He got the name “Gimp” from trying to escape the burning bait shop and tripping over a stuffed kangaroo.) Back to Mavis. Could either be Lenny’s ever tolerant wife or his prized Blue Tick hound. After spending $1100 on Mavis (Blue Tick), he thought he could appease Mavis (ever-tolerant wife), by naming the thing after her. After three nights of sleeping with Mavis (Blue Tick), Lenny was let back in the house, but on probation. Even though I fancy myself as an accomplished woodsman who could be dropped buck-naked in the forest, in January, no food or water and still survive quite handily living off roots, berries, grubs, tree bark and other such ilk, I still get a twitch thinking about being in a forest with Gilbert the gimp, at night. While this has been going on we’re still playing. Manny is still a pawn up - thinks he’s doing well. Little does he know I’m playing a gambit, channeling all my woodsman’s cunning into my game strategy. AHA!! After a careless move by Manny I see the chance for a promising exchange sacrifice and go for it. Phone rings. Lenny. “OK, me and the Gimp will pick ya up at 10 p.m., tomorrow. Be ready this time.” "OK, I’ll be ready and don’t let the Gimp have anything that can hurt us.” We go on with the game and before long I hit Manny with another exchange sacrifice. Eventually I come out a solid piece up. With some disgust Manny finally resigns in a completely lost position, threatening to dismantle my “Grub”, as he calls it, next time he has Black. We finish off the snacks and Manny leaves, still uttering dire threats about what he is going to do to my Grub. Sneaking into my hunting stuff, I hear a “Huuumph! Where you off to?” I mumble, “Coon hunting.” “And with who?” Martha says, with one eyebrow on a slant. "Lenny,” I said. “And?” “OK, Gilbert.” “Good Lord, don’t call me at 3 am, call Mavis!” (ever-tolerant wife?) Martha says. Having never been coon hunting, what to wear? Maybe my brand new $300 LL Bean brushed cotton pants and shirt, which are guaranteed to stay as soft as a young girl’s bottom, even after a hundred washings. Of course, my layered cotton bobber hat with fast release chin strap has to go!! OK, all ready to set off into the wilds in search of the evasive coon or any other beastie that happens to cross my path!! Hooooooo-Raaaaaaah! Male Testosterone is a wondrous thing! Next day after work, I rush home, don me gear, and wolf down some raw meat. To fill in the time I get the chess set out and play over last night’s triumph against Manny. Boy, did I whomp him! That Grob opening sure looks good to me! Definitely part of my repertoire now. I hear the horn blow. Out the door and into Lenny’s ‘52 Ford pick-up. I squeeze the Gimp in the middle so as to control anything he might do. I hear Mavis (Blue Tick), and Buzzard (Redbone) in the back. Off we go at a break-neck speed of 30 mph (all it can do). Forty-five minutes later Lenny pulls off into a little clearing at the front of the woods, Mavis and Buzzard straining at the leash to get on a hot track. Lenny says I should be honored to be allowed to partake in a coon hunt, as he and the Gimp rarely take a rookie along! (Group hug.) “Did you bring a flashlight?” asks Lenny. “Well, no,” I said, with head hung down. “No matter, Gimp has an extra.” Lenny and the Gimp pull out a helmet looking thing with a large light attached to the front. I ask, “What’s those?” Gimp responds with a grin, “Wheat lights, 10,000,000,000 candle power!” The Gimp reaches behind the seat and after extracting a month old ham-and-swiss on rye, drags out a flashlight (?) Thing is four feet long, twenty pounds, with twelve double-D batteries. Lenny says, “Are we all ready?” Gimp unleashes Mavis and Buzzard, who promptly hikes his leg and pees on Lenny’s pant leg. “Buzzard, you stupid dog, it’s camouflage, not a tree,” yells Lenny. I swear I saw Mavis grin. Getting all our “possibles” ready, Lenny sets loose Mavis and Buzzard. “What now?” I ask, as I keep an eye on the Gimp. “We start a little fire till we hear the dogs strike a track,” Lenny says. I’m thinking to myself, this coon hunting is OK! “Got any matches, anybody?”, asks the Gimp. “Nope,” me neither. “No matter, I’ll get ‘er lit,” mumbled the Gimp. Before me and Lenny can jump back, the Gimp has dragged out a can of gasoline, pours some on the logs, and with an old Zippo lighter he found in Lenny’s glove box, lights a piece of paper and throws it on the gas-soaked logs. In a blinding flash of light and a thunderous “WHOOSH”, which knocked Lenny to the ground, we have fire!! “Ugh, fire good, fire friend” laments the Gimp. “Jeeze, Gimp,” whimpers Lenny. I notice (after my eyes get accustomed to the dark again), Lenny is looking off into the darkness. “What’s out there, Lenny?” I ask. “Nothing yet”, Lenny whispers. “Ya yet,” replies the Gimp. “Think we oughta tell him?” “Ya, better tell him,” Lenny whispers. “Hawk” (my wilderness name) “keep on the lookout for the Fire Demon” says the Gimp. “Fire Demon?” I ask. The Gimp explains, “He seems to only come when we bring a new guy on a coon hunt.” “Nine feet tall, all covered in fire and runs like the wind,” says the Gimp, now shaking. “Seen it twice, myself,” Lenny remarks. “Humph, old wives’ tale,” says Hawk. “You’ll see! You’ll see!” says the Gimp. Crunch, crunch. “He’s here, he’s here!!” screams Lenny. “Hello, the fire!” It’s old Suggers and his son, Ronnie. Farmers that live down the road. “Seen a ball-o-fire a bit ago, come to investigate. Lookee here, Ronnie, it’s Lenny, the Gimp and Hawk,” grins Suggers. “Coon hunting again, boys?” “Yup,” replies Lenny. “I take it the ball-o-fire was the Gimp?” inquires Suggers. Red-faced, the Gimp confesses, “Well, kinda.” “Come on, Ronnie, we gotta git before the Gimp does something else,” says Suggers, while backing away and keeping a sharp eye on the Gimp. “Ok, guys, I wanna do some coon huntin’, what are we waiting for?” asks Hawk. “We waiting for the dogs to strike a trail. Ya kin tell by their bark,” Lenny informs me rather dryly. While we wait I tell Lenny and the Gimp about how I thrashed Manny at chess the night before. They are not impressed - they think chess is a game for sissies. Never mind that chess, like hunting, needs guile, cunning, stealth, ambushes, forward planning, deceit and even King hunts. They just don’t want to know. Their loss I guess. About half an hour later, we hear one of the dogs let loose with a long drawn howl. “Jeese, what was that?” asks a wild-eyed Hawk!! “That’s Mavis!! She got a hot trail!!!” “Put the fire out and let’s git on it!!!” screeches Lenny. In a leap and a bound Lenny and the Gimp disappear into the darkness, leaving me to stomp out the fire. After nearly melting the soles off my also new LL Bean waterproof, blizzard proof, snakebite proof camo boots, I get it out. By this time I’m engulfed in total darkness!!! Searching for my four foot, twenty pound flashlight, I find it next to the gas can. “Nope, not a chance, I’ll go without it!!” I take off in the direction I saw Lenny go. I can faintly hear the dogs and Lenny hollering at the Gimp to keep up. Trying to make up some time and yet picking my way thru the brush, I run as fast as I dare. Getting tangled in bushes, tree branches slapping me severely about the head and ears, my face covered in spider webs, I think, “Why am I here?” Gad, I hate spiders. Out of the corner of my eye, I see “things”. Dark shapes, watching me. Movement on the left, faster I go. Beasties that only come out at night looking for hapless ‘coon hunters. I pull my chinstrap tighter on my layered cotton bobber hat. Not minding the slapping branches or the spider webs, I run even faster to catch up to the guys before those horrid shadows with the long white fangs snatch me up and drag me back to their nest to feed me to their young. “I LOVE YOU, MOM!!” (just in case I don’t make it!) Tears and blood streaming down my face and sweating like a sixteen year old boy on his first date, I run faster!!! Now I’m beginning to hack and wheeze. Damn them ciggies. Ciggie, that’s what I need!!! Not wanting to stop for fear of the beasties with long white fangs and big red eyes catching up, I deftly unzip one of the thirty-two pockets that LL Bean so wisely attached to my $300 brushed cotton shirt. Not in that one. With my second choice, I can feel my pack of ciggies and free disposable lighter. (You get one with a carton of ciggies.) I manage to fish one out, and with a cupped hand, manage to fire that baby up!!!!! Sucking the wonderful smoke deep into my screaming lungs, I am at peace, one with nature. I hear Lenny and the dogs closer now and not moving away from me. I can see two 10,000,000,000 candlepower lights dancing thru the trees, just up ahead and down in a gully. “Hah, bring it on, you beasties!! Hawk not afraid of man nor beast!” Hah!! I can now just make out Lenny and the Gimp up ahead and Mavis and Buzzard looking up in a tree and howling their heads off. With my ciggie clenched in my teeth, I rush headlong down the hill into the gully. SMACK!!! A branch hits me in the face and in a shower of sparks, knocks my beloved ciggie out of my yap. Now I realize the sparks have caught my cotton bobber hat on fire! Wanting to save what little hair I have left and to keep one step ahead of the beasties, I keep running and try to undo my chinstrap and shed the hat. Running with your head aflame is asinine. Wind whipping the burning hat into a big ball of fire, I come into sight of the Gimp. “Fire Demon, Fire Demon, run for ya life!!” screams the Gimp. Not able to yell, I keep running at them. Buzzard spies the spectacle running down the hill and promptly pees on Lenny’s leg. “Stupid dog,” as Lenny kicks at Buzzard. “Grab the dogs, Gimp,” bellows Lenny. “Hell with the dogs, it’s every man for himself,” says the Gimp, while picking up a large stick to try to beat the awesome fire demon to a pulp with. As I get closer, the Gimp has a change of heart and chucks the log at Mavis. “ATTACK MAVIS!!!” Mavis (being the smarter of the bunch, including the mighty hunters) back-steps and disappears into the brush. Lenny has taken the “every man for himself” to heart and crashes thru the brush, leaving the Gimp, Mavis and Buzzard to their own devices. Lenny figures he will gain time while the demon is mangling the Gimp. I can hear Lenny faintly saying, “Be the wind, be the wind.” Buzzard is hot on Lenny’s heels. The Gimp is crying now and saying something to the effect of, “Never again, never again.” With me twenty yards away, the Gimp turns and follows Lenny’s trail of broken branches. For a man with a bum leg, the Gimp is cat-quick. I finally get the stupid chin strap loose and chuck the thing in the Gimp’s direction. At that very moment, he looks back and sees the “burning head” flying at him, through the air. “Lord, help me, please!” stutters the Gimp. “Lenny, Lenny, watch out for his head!!” With the burning hat now gone, I stop, fall to the ground. I can’t run any more. Hearing a rustling in the bushes, I think, “I’m done for, come get me beasties!!” Slowly turning my head, I spot Mavis coming out of the brush. Wagging her tail, she comes up, looks at me and sniffs twice. With a friendly lick on my beat up face, she turns, heads for Lenny and the Gimp’s trail. With one last look at me, as if to say, “Come on, fire demon, I’ll take you home!” I get up and stumble after her. I swear I saw Mavis grin. In about an hour, Mavis leads me back to the truck, where Lenny is leaning over the truck, trying to catch his breath. The Gimp is in the truck with the windows rolled up and the doors locked. “Hawk!! You made it!!” cries Lenny. “Did ya see it, did ya see it?" Should I or shouldn’t I? Long live the “Great Fire Demon". Tired and worn to a frazzle, we get in the truck and head for home. The Gimp refuses to let us roll down the windows. “That head is still out there, floatin’ around,” he says. None of us say much on the way home, but, as I looked out the window of the truck, I swear I saw red eyes. Dropping me off at my house, Martha greets me at the door. “Huumph, told you so!” Coon hunting! Think I’ll stick to chess. At least Manny brings snacks.
Footnote: To this day, Buzzard has never turned up. The following week Manny came back with a prepared line against the Grob and got his revenge. Here are the games:
Game 1 1.g4 d5 2.h3 c6 3.Bg2 e5 4.d4 Nd7 5.c4 dxc4 6.dxe5 Nxe5 7.Qxd8+ Kxd8 8.Nc3 Nf6 9.Be3 Bd6 10.O-O-O Ke7 11.Nf3 Re8 12.Rxd6 Kxd6 13.Rd1+ Kc7 14.Nxe5 Rxe5 15.Bf4 Nd7 16.Rxd7+ Kxd7 17.Bxe5 f6 18.Bd4 Kc7 19.f4 Be6 20.e4 a5 21.f5 Rd8 22.Ne2 Bg8 23.e5 Rxd4 24.Nxd4 fxe5 25.Ne6+ 1-0
Game 2 1.g4 e5 2.Bg2 h5 3.gxh5 Nc6 4.c4 Qh4 5.d3 Bc5 6.e3 Rxh5 7.Nf3 Qg4 8.Rg1 Bb4+ 9.Bd2 Qg6 10.e4 Bxd2+ 11.Nbxd2 d6 12.Qc2 Nf6 13.Bh1 Qh6 14.Nf1 Bg4 15.Ng3 Bxf3 16.Bxf3 Rxh2 17.Nf5 Qf4 18.Nxg7+ Kd7 19.Rg3 Nd4 20.Qd1 Rah8 21.Qa4+ c6 22.Qxa7 Kc7 23.Qa5+ Kd7 24.Qb6 Rh1+ 0-1
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