Report from Stockport quick play January 31st 2016 by Tudor
I pause from striking my head against the dashboard.
It is 5.30 pm.
Three hundred yards down the sodden A6, chess players are pouring out of the Davenport Arms. Pouring is an apt word to describe conditions here. 'Plentiful convenient parking' is more of a euphemism.
Making this report prevents me from further self harm.
Why the lack of a stiff upper lip? Read on and maybe you will understand.
I played in the modest reaches of the Intermediate tournament populated by many friends from the third division of the Stockport league, some even from the lofty reaches of the second division.
Half away through I was pleasantly surprised to be leading the field with 3 out of 3. Although a bit of a blur, the results are helped by opponents playing more recklessly than myself, getting their recklessness in first.
So to lunch. I battle though a typhoon to reach the car and extract a nutritious banana. I return dripping into the arena. My opponent awaits. I try an opening suggestion for White from my new guru Mahatma Brindle. It seems to be working. I get a slight plus and long castling. An attack in on the way.
PAUSE WHILE I STRIKE THE DASHBOARD A FEW MORE TIMES.
But crassness is not far away. He tries to block my attack with a temporary foray by a knight. I ignore it. Only to hear my opponent say I had ignored a check and what should he do?
I helpfully say he can chose the piece I must move to play a legal move.
THIS IS STUPIDLY WRONG.
It takes him a microsecond to suggest I sacrifice my queen, rather than the King move that leaves him in some difficulties.
Later I learn that the correct penalty was a bonus two minutes on his clock, which would still have left him behind in time and weaker on the board.
I deservedly lost the next game only to rally and outperform the other over 60s to earn a consolation prize. Some consolation.
Not asking for sympathy. Is raw steak still considered good for bruised face and ego?