bobby fischer

bobby fischer

When I was maybe nine or ten my grandfather asked me if I wanted to learn how to play chess. We brought his board and pieces down from the upstairs (a board he made as a child out of tile, the one he had his whole life that is mine now), set them up and he went over the rules and what all the pieces did. He didn’t dumb anything down for me- he didn’t call the knight horses or go easy on me, and I appreciated that. I lost my first game, and my second, and he told me about how when he was a kid growing up with just my great-grandmother in bobby fischer his friend taught him how to play. They would play for hours at each others house, and my grandfather began getting better, but still never won. The last time they played was when he had gotten close to beating his teacher, after that his friend didn’t want to play anymore. My goal was clear- to succeed where he had failed and beat my teacher.

I fell in love with the game. The idea that two people bobby fischer off on an equal field, that there is no chance involved, its just your mind verses your opponents thrilled me. It’s like how life should be. The only person I played with was my grandfather- we’d sit in his living room silently, looking at the whole board and seeing what pieces threatened what while my grandmother cooked dinner. In between visits to Pennsylvania to see them I’d go to the Adriance library in Poughkeepsie and check out books written by Larry Evans and Bobby Fischer, the great masters. I read and read and began seeing past what was on the table, learning strategy and philosophy. Finally I got good enough to beat my grandfather and I was so pleased with myself- I had beaten the best player I knew- and got to do what he never had.

My family’s always embraced whatever I’ve been interested in, and my grandparents offered to take me to a chess tournament near where they lived. We arrived at the tournament, which was held in a church activity hall or some where, paid the twelve dollars and I was assigned a match. I sat down across from a stranger probably three times my age, with the flat dinner mat like chess board in between us. We began, and three moves in I realized this was a different kind of game. His clock had a few seconds detracted from it, mine was ticking away and I was stumped. We weren’t both sitting and pondering the board with our chins in our hands. I felt a huge lump build in my throat as I realized how awful I truly was. The clock ticked away, forcing me to take moves I didn’t want to, entering traps I saw but didn’t know how to avoid. I would punch my clock and he would return with his move in a second or two. His speed just mocked my ignorance. I was no Bobby Fischer, I had left the safety of my grandfather’s living room and this wasn’t fun. Within eighteen moves he had beaten me.

I may have begun crying while sitting at the table. Certainly the tears were gathering in my eyes. My grandparents guessed what had happened when I walked past them, when their cheery questions about how the game went were answered with me walking past them silently. bobby fischer just made my throat tighten harder. I walked into the bathroom there, and began sobbing. I knew I couldn’t win a single match here, and I had tried so hard to be good. They came around the door and asked if I was all right, and I thought of all the players in the club standing around the door laughing at me. Laughing at me, or feeling sorry for me- either thought was unbearable, and made me cry a little more. After that I stopped playing chess outside of my grandparents house, where the feat of beating my grandfather became less and less glorious.

The worst feeling in the world is finding out you’re not as special as you bobby fischer you are. This was my first experience of that, and not my last. It’s the only thing that can get me close to crying anymore.

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Post je objavljen 18.01.2008. u 15:40 sati.