Humor by John Christmann
A Beautiful Mind
Chess is a game of psychology and intellect where the objective is to destroy the mind of your opponent.
This is the kind of stuff my fourteen-year-old son says to me after he beats me in chess.
In my defense, I really don’t know much about the game. I know the basic rules and the rest is just a brain-wracking exercise in two-dimensional planning. On a good day I hold my own and walk away with a minor headache. On a bad day, well, I might just as well be playing golf.
But unfortunately for me, my son knows just as much about chess as I do; we learned to play at the same time, when he was in the second grade. So whenever we play it is his reasoning skills against mine, pure and simple, black and white.
And now I lose. A lot.
It wasn’t always this way. There was a time not so long ago when I won handily and wisely threw a match now and then to build up his confidence. No one likes to be defeated all the time. I know this from personal experience.But when I started losing with embarrassing frequency, my son grew a little suspicious. “You don’t have to throw matches,” he said once after taking my queen and placing me in check. “I want to beat you fair and square.”
“OK.” I said, suffering defeat two moves later, “I will keep that in mind the next time we play.”
If chess is a game of psychology and intellect, I reasoned it was better psychologically to let him think I was still giving matches away. Better for me, anyhow.
Nowadays, to avoid disgrace I make up lame excuses when he wants to play. Excuses like raking the leaves or cleaning the attic. But sometimes I run out of excuses. And sometimes I want to try again, to steel myself up to match wits with a fourteen-year-old.
“Chess is just a battle among little people,” he says, looking at the small pieces on the board with great perspective as we start our game. Or maybe he is referring to his opponent.
He lets me move first.
It’s bad enough that I have to concede my powers of reasoning to him over a chessboard, but he makes my humiliation worse by listening to his iPod or watching TV while he is playing. As I methodically assess my position on the board and painstakingly work through sequences of moves and their consequences, he focuses his attention elsewhere.
I have to remind him when it is his turn and he asks me where I have moved. I show him, he stands back to look at the board a few minutes, shifts his position and looks from the side, then slides one of his pieces to a new square before returning to the myriad things that are more entertaining than waiting for my next move.
The game doesn’t go well for me, but before looming defeat locks up my mind I spy an opportunity. He is fourteen and impetuous and I lay my bishop out for him like a tasty treat.
After years of giving him second chances, he replays my own words to me: “Are you sure you want to do that?” he says, offering me a chance to rethink my move.
I offer up mock horror at what appears to be obvious stupidity, but decline his offer on grounds that we are playing fair and square. It is all part of my trap. This is where the psychology comes in.
Two moves later, as I have anticipated, his queen is exposed and I mercilessly take it with my own. I try to hide my glee but I can feel it leaking out the corners of my mouth where I am desperately trying to restrain a smile. In a battle of little people, I am about to emerge triumphant.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” he says again.
This time I laugh out loud at his grace and good humor. “Yes, I am sure.”
He quickly moves his knight, which is suddenly revealed from behind the queen I have just captured. “Checkmate,” he says.
I look at the board in horror. My king is now trapped in the cross fire of two pieces from which there is no possible means of escape.
“I saw it when you moved your bishop,” he says. Then he adds: “Sometimes you see things more clearly when you look at the board from a different angle.”
He respectfully offers me his outstretched hand. “Good game, Dad.”
I take his hand firmly in my own and then pull him close to give him a proud hug instead. He doesn’t resist. I can still probably beat him at arm wrestling.
But he is right. The board is different now, and I have to start looking at him from a different angle.
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