Chess Lesson
When I realized this evening that Megan had never heard of Bobby Fischer’s impetuous grandstanding, his John McEnroe style of chess, I decided to read her the introduction from Svetozar Gilgoric’s book about the Fischer-vs-Spassky championship tournament in Reykjavik in 1972. One thing led to another, and soon we had the chess set out and were re-enacting famous games from the careers of Alekhine, Tal, Capablanca and others. I explained the moves and the thinking behind them, showing her various possibilities and paths not taken.
Then we played a game. Megan has barely played chess, but she has a combination of studious intensity and reckless abandon that works well against my smug over-confidence. She was ahead on pieces before long.
I attacked with a high-risk gambit, sacrificing both of my rooks in quick succession to enable a mate by my queen. Unfortunately, I didn’t notice that she had another option for taking the second rook, which didn’t lead to mate. Or anything. As I write this, I’m scrambling for my chess life. I have a queen, four pawns and a knight in trouble; she has her queen, both rooks, five pawns, a knight and a bishop, spread all over the board and wreaking havoc.
What a teacher I am.
This entry was posted on Sunday, May 28th, 2006 at 12:28 am. You can subscribe to comments on this post through its RSS feed.
on May 28, 2006 at 2:14 pm Tom wrote:
You know, I’m envious - I’ve never really gotten into chess, and Lizzie doesn’t seem particularly interested now. I’ve been told I’d love it if I got into it (kind of like, “tastes good, if you like that kind of thing), but my only real chess-playin’ friends are you and Dave (who is out in Philadelphia now). Maybe I’ll go find a tutorial, though. I’ll learn my way around, warm up on you, and then someday I might be set to beat Megan!
on May 28, 2006 at 2:58 pm Doug wrote:
Tell me about it. Forty minutes after I posted those pictures, it stood Megan 1, Doug 0. I want a rematch.
Yes, you’d love it! There are lots of good books … I learned from Bobby Fischer’s book, which is actually quite good. He knew the game, even if he did become a shallow bigoted dickhead later in life.