Kyler Murlas
Period 4 Wilson-Scott
Chess: The Continuum
It was the same as always. Why should I act differently? The same room, the same plastic chairs, which made your ass hurt after sitting in them for too long, the same white and green board, the same black and white pieces. It was the same.
Yet everyone thought it was different. “You're going to do great,” they would say, or, “Good luck.” Maybe even a, “It's only a game, have fun.” Why wasn't everyone like this when I played my other matches? They were each of the same importance. If I hadn't won the others, I wouldn't be playing this one. It made perfect sense to me. The sky wasn't turning into a black fiery hole of doom inhaling objects left and right. There weren't soldiers outside ready to fire their guns, throw their grenades, or send their cars, flaming, into the building. Life wasn't going to end. It was a gray, rainy day, like always. We were inside a cold, stone building warming up with glasses of hot chocolate made from airtight packets of Nesquick and hot water from a thermus. The air was damp, yes, but not damp enough for a hurricane. So why was anything different?
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“Kyler, get ready, we have to leave in ten minutes” my mom said.
It was like every Saturday. I had to go through the same mind numbing process of getting ready to go to Dan's. It was 3:06, only nine minutes left. I didn't need anything really. Just my book of moves I had made at the last tournament.
Today we were going over strategies and learning from my mistakes. I was supposed to read through chapter five and six of my book. I hadn't. Other things had interested me.
Three minutes had gone by.
I started wandering around my house. There were so many things I could be doing. I found myself in front of the T.V. The blank screen glared back at me as I questioned whether to turn it on. Bad idea, I thought to myself, I have to get ready. But I don't want to go today. Any other day would be fine. Maybe I'm sick. “I don't feel good,” I mumbled to myself as I worked my way towards the stairs.
Each step was especially difficult to climb. Maybe I was sick. It was 3:12.
I passed my sister in the hallway. Why couldn't I just mozey around the house today? That is what I want. Not to have to go to chess tutoring.
I made it to my room. I had two minutes to get ready. I moved towards the dresser. With all of my remaining strength I opened a drawer and pulled on a matching shirt and sweat pant combo.
I was ready.
“Kyler, let's go!” My mom yelled from the back door. It was time to leave, we had to leave, I didn't want to leave.
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We were at Dan's house. I walked up the icy steps to his front door and rang the doorbell. Inside I heard the clink of dishes then someone moving towards the door. With a gust of air, the door swung open revealing Dan. He was in his late thirties, a little on the big side, just starting to lose his hair, with a three day old beard, and the distinct smell of someone who hasn't been out of their house in awhile.
I was staring at the bookshelf. There were so many books on it,. All different colors, heights, weights, and bindings.
“Are you ready to start your lesson... Kyler?” Dan's voice echoed in the background.
With a slight hesitation I mumbled, “Yeah.”
Dan sat down at the table and opened his book. I was examining the clock above the doorway to the kitchen. How long would it be until I could get out of this chair? My butt was already starting to hurt. I turned towards the clock as Dan moved around to memorize the placements the minute and hour hand would have to be in for the lesson to be over. That way he wouldn't catch me glancing at the clock.
“Alright Kyler, did you read the chapters?” Dan asked. I hadn't really gotten around to reading them, the time never really arose. The TV was menacing, the Ninja Turtle action figures were always an option, and my neighbors were usually outside playing baseball or football. There were other things to do.
“Yeah... most of them.” I replied convincing myself I had.
Dan laid out the chessboard and placed the pieces on it. They were arranged in a sort of pattern. I tilted my head, they were in the shape of a squiggly “M”.
“Okay,” Dan said, “Knight c4 to e5. Why do you think he did this?”
I hesitated. I hadn't done this problem. “Ummm,” I finally responded. I stared at the board, not really trying to figure the problem out, but just trying to make Dan think I was.
Finally breaking the silence Dan said, “Lets start with an easier one,” moving the knight back and the bishop from f2 to g3. “Why is this a bad move?”
It was obvious why it was a bad move, the bishop would have been sacrificed for a knight making the game a tie instead of a win. But what did I care? The game wasn't affecting me. The pieces weren't mine. They were some other guy's, in a game that was already finished. What were the chances my board was going to be like this? Why did doing this help?
“Because the bishop gets sacked for the knight making it so you can't checkmate.” I replied.
Dan moved the pieces back to the original problem and asked the same question. I still didn't care. I stared out the window, squinting my eyes, periodically bringing my eyes back to the board and then out the window pretending to think. “I don't know.”
“Kyler, did you read the chapter? The first part just discusses the effect of the bishop in the endgame and how it is used best in certain situations. This problem is just a variation on example 5.14.”
Crap, I knew I should have read that part.
“Oh... yeah.” I replied pretending that I knew what he was talking about. I wonder if he knew I was lying?
The lesson droned on.
Finally it was 5:30, time to go. I got up, my butt was sore. The seats had a wimpy excuse for a cushion. I rushed out the door to meet my mom waiting in the van.
“How'd the lesson go Ky?” She asked.
“Fine.” I said, ending that conversation.
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To me it was just a chess match. To everyone else it was my highest rated chess match which would mean amazing things if I came out on top. They were nervous. I wasn't.
I wasn't greatly passionate about chess. Nor did I really care if I won. Nor did I necessarily want to be there, at the particular moment. Instead of the upcoming battle to the death, I was more interested in when the next time I would get to play Capture the Flag (or as we referred to it, CTF).
Chess was just a game. I wasn't sure whether I still liked it. Everyone put so much pressure on it that it wasn't fun anymore. It just wasn't fun anymore. Yeah, it was always fun getting the adrenaline rush going into the game. The games were enjoyable, but now the point wasn't to have fun and win... it was to prepare, and prepare, and prepare, then win. If you didn't win it meant something. There is some fun in the pressure itself, the fun of competition. But everything else wasn't. I was tired of the chessboard, the pieces, the people. It used to be fun for me, but not anymore.
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Elliot, Todd, and Patrick stood motionless in the group representing Dewey. We were all silent, we were waiting for the results to be relayed to the mass of people smashed into the main room. The final games were just being finished.
The last competitor walked out, everyone clapped with a sigh of relief. The tournament was over.
The data had been calculated. They were announcing the top three teams, “Third, St. Clare's, Bloomington,” the crowed erupted in a cheer.
Did we even end up in the top three? We couldn't have lost, could we?
“Second,” the voice boomed. The crowd fell silent. I squeezed my hands. “Lincolnwood, Evanston.”
My heart jumped. Maybe we weren't even getting an award.
“First.” Silence. “DEWEY, Evanston.” The room erupted, everything was a blur. We were running towards the podium. We had won, we were the state chess champions. Elliot grabbed the trophy which easily measured four feet in height. Just a few inches short of him.
There were flashes everywhere. We were standing at the front of the room. It was a thrill to win. My face felt like someone tied strings to my cheeks and was yanking them in opposite directions.
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As I walked into the same medieval common hall, voices were scrambled. Cold air blew across my face as I moved towards my table. I sat down in the same plastic chair which squeaked under my weight. I reached out towards my opponent with my right hand grasping his. As clammy hands met, voices fell silent and the game began with a click.
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“Checkmate,” he said nervously.
Damn, he had won. Oh well. “Good game,” I said.
“Yeah,” he replied trembling as he shook my hand. Why was he so stirred up? He had just won.
I walked out of the room and was greeted by silence. They were all staring at me, wondering if I had won.
“No,” I said stopping for a second then continuing on past everyone.
Dan came up to me to see what happened in the game.
I had played it almost perfectly. I just hadn't seen one move which would have given me the game. I could have won. Thats why he was so nerve racked. Dan wasn't mad at me. He said, “Good job,” and moved along. I still felt like I had disappointed everyone.
My mom spotted me and started to walk over. I knew what she would say, “Kyler, you can't be mad for more than an hour.” I knew I couldn't stay mad, it just sucked to lose.
“How'd the game go?” She asked reaching me.
“I lost... I have to go to the bathroom” I said quickly looking for a excuse to get away.
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The game wasn't fun to play anymore. I liked playing chess at times, but I wasn't having fun doing anything else. Some of my friends were moving onto the next level, some were quitting. I was going to be by myself. I wouldn't have the group environment anymore. Hanging out and playing with my friends is what I enjoyed, take that away and chess wasn't enjoyable. Studying with Dan was boring, going to chess practice in the mornings sucked, and the tournaments weren't exactly amusement parks. So I quit chess.