Georgians love chess. It has been a part of their national identity for over a century. Stalin was a passionate pawn pusher as is the current president. And they’ve been good at it. Georgia has produced a world champion, Tigran Petrosian, in the 1960s, two women’s world champions (in the 1980s and 1990s), two US champions (in the early 1980s), and two world junior champions (1970s and 1980s). Not bad for a country of less than a couple of million players.
The Chess Palace is an unappealing two story building of typical Soviet architecture. It severely cries out for maintenance and a new coat of paint. In the lobby sits a small table of chess books, pocket chess sets, membership applications, and large TV screens mounted on two walls. It was a bit of shock – this decrepit building, with its bare bulbs swinging from single wires in the ceiling, chipped and cracking concrete staircases, and two state of the art flat screen TVs mounted on peeling, cracked plaster walls. The TV was showing a large room, filled with children doing what children do – running around the room, yelling, playing, etc. The room is also filled with 46 chess boards. I walked around the lobby of this building but quickly became irritated. A group of chess enthusiasts were standing in the lobby discussing their recent tournament victories. I had to leave because if there one thing I can't stand, it’s chess-nuts boasting in an open foyer. Sorry, that was a bad pawn, I mean pun.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. With just a few questions to the woman manning the table in the lobby, I was escorted up to the board room (yeah, I know; they’re getting worse) even though all the other adults had to be satisfied with standing in the lobby and watching the TV sets. It turned out that yesterday was the qualifying tournament for the city’s upcoming Junior Chess Tournament.
A quick sidebar here – how, you may ask, did I get to go up to the room where the kids were playing even though I didn’t even had a kid in the tournament, when the parents couldn’t? That’s an interesting anomaly of Georgia. Georgians are much attuned to the English language. They like the British and western Europeans as a species, but they love Americans. Americans are treated special here, often being given perks that are unavailable to all others; for example, it’s not uncommon for bars to “forget” to add a round to your tab once they hear you speaking English. Restaurant hostesses sweep the “reserved” sign off the best table to give it to Americans. I’m not sure if it’s because they think all Americans are rich, or if they’re laying the groundwork for the day when Georgia asks the US for a favor. Anyway, it does come in handy once in a while, like when you want to watch kids play chess.
So I was escorted into the tournament room. Every table was filled with two kids waiting to start play. They’re matched up by age and experience, I’m told. Gender is not considered; in fact, at most tables it seems boys were competing against girls. The ages range from eight to 12. At precisely 11am, the arbiter (head official) calls out and play begins. I’m immediately taken by the different styles of the kids. Some are aggressive, slamming pieces down onto their new positions. Others move the pieces almost shyly, embarrassed, it seems, to be making such a move. Some favor attacking, pushing their pieces rapidly into enemy territory, while others build strong defenses and wait for the attack. All are deeply in concentration. No one’s looking around, leaning back in their chairs, or talking. All are focused on the board. Occasionally, you hear a chair squeak as a game ends and the participants report the results at the arbiter’s table. Other than that, it’s just the sounds of wheels turning, and electrons sparking.
When the game ends, the personalities come out: some kids grin maniacally and high five other winners. Some losers shrug as if it doesn’t matter, while others burst into tears. Others take a more business-like approach and look for their next opponents. Some, freed from the burden of acting as an adult, sprint outside to play on the neighboring park’s swing set. The personalities of the parents’ also come out when the games are over. Some beam with pride as they escort their future world champion out the door. Others immediately whip out pocket chess sets to analyze their prodigy’s game. A few merely fold the newspaper they were reading, pull out their “to do” list, and move on to the next item. A few, sadly, berate their child for losing. It’s a lot like Little League parents in the US, actually, but no one yells at the referee. All the parents, it seems, are happy to be the Fischer of men (OK, that’s a REAL chess pun; just google Bobby Fischer, if you didn’t get it. If you don’t want to take the trouble, trust me – that was funny.).
Sorry.
After the tournament had ended, several children approached me, some out of curiosity, some out of a desire to practice English, and some to challenge me to a game. I ended up playing three games: one against an 8-year old boy (Win in about 20 moves! Yes!), another against a 10-11 year old boy (Another win! Woohoo!), and a final game against a 12-year old girl (wearing a red sweater in the picture below, and yes, she is, too, 12; I asked her twice) who proceeded to wipe the board with me in about 30 moves (OK, you can’t win ‘em all). At that point, discretion being the better part of humiliation, I left the Chess Palace.
But not until being invited back to the adult qualifying tournament in April. Time to get my game on.
And as for the puns, I had hoped that if I worked in ten puns, a couple might actually draw some laughs. Alas, no pun in ten did. Thanks for reading.
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