A Back-rank Mate

CHECKMATE! Read the screen in big, bold, inconsiderate letters.

“GG”, I wrote in the chat, going for a gracious loss.

“EZ” was texted back by my condescending rival, followed by three crying-laugh emojis.

A rush of blood to my head slowly tempered as I repeated to myself, stay calm, it's not worth it.

It was a terrible day altogether. A couple of nurses who took my blood that morning had left filth in my room. A syringe cap, and a bloody gauze bundle, were callously left on my bedside table, forcing me to hobble my way to the nurses' station and throw them out myself.

“It’ll be nice if you guys can throw out this stuff when you’re done”, I mumbled to the nurse on duty.

“We’re doing our best, son. We’re completely understaffed. You shouldn’t worry about things like that anyway. Best thing for you to do right now is to relax.”

Ah, relax. The worst thing to say to someone who’s not-relaxed. She wasn’t wrong though. After this somewhat unpleasant interaction, and that damn chess game later that day, I did decide to try and wind down. After all, my health may have depended on it.

Stress has always been accused of causing physical harm, and in my case, it may have threatened to turn my entire life into a literal shit-show back in those days.

You see, I was hospitalized with an undiagnosed intestinal problem that prevented me from digesting anything, and tethered me to the toilet like a dog who keeps going back to its abusive owner. I would go at least fifteen times a day. Each included an excruciating pain in my abdomen, resulting in liquid fecal matter or vomit. Or sometimes both at the same time.

After a period of submitting stool samples which yielded no results, I ended up so malnourished and dehydrated that I blacked out and found myself in the hospital. It was during a time when the swine flu was going around so they had to keep me in isolation as a suspected patient of the virus. I had no one to talk to and nothing to do, so I just played a whole lot of online chess on my phone. At some point I started to get good at it too. My Rapid ratings went up, and, as I got quicker, so did my Blitz ratings. I promised myself that if I get through this health crisis I would try a real-life match. Once I get really good, that is.

My doctors and nurses weren’t very fond of the idea of me playing though. They’d see me biting my nails while doing so and tell me to relax. Ugh, that infuriating word. I wouldn’t listen to them. Chess was my only solace. They tried to convince me that my condition stemmed from stress as I was a college student at the time, going through my second period of exams. It didn’t quite make sense to me because my grades were okay, and I didn’t feel anxious or anything like that. At least not until I got hospitalized and created an unnecessary gap in my studies. Chess helped me forget about having to make up for my absence.

But, when it was time for my first colonoscopy, I made it a point to myself to stay calm, even if it meant denying myself the potential dopamine rush of a win. I waited for the doctor to call me in, and passed the time by reading some articles on my phone. An intriguing headline caught my eye. It was the infamous case of Magnus Carlsen, the chess world champion, who resigned a match before it had even begun. It was in the sixth round of the Julius Baer Generation Cup, where Carlsen sat in front of his opponent, Hans Niemann, and as the game began he immediately tipped over his king as a gesture of surrendering the game.

The audience was completely bewildered, and the scene remained a mystery for a full week until Carlsen finally provided an explanation, in which he accused Niemann of cheating by using a vibrating device that would signal the best moves for him to make. The mechanics of such a device were vaguely explained, and included the player pressing a couple of buttons to transmit their opponent’s move, while the device, connected to a processing algorithm, would, in turn, signal back a few series of vibrations to indicate the best square for the player to move their piece to. 

As to how a device like this would be concealed in such a high profile match, many theories had spread in the world-wide chess community. Some suggested obvious hiding spots, such as the inside of the player’s shoe, while others alluded to more sensational nooks, readily available in the human body.

You can imagine the irony of me reading this particular article right after pumping my rear with enema fluids in preparation for an even more intrusive procedure.

Another week went by until I got my results. During which time I was already ruled out of having swine flu and was allowed to have some visitors. A few of my friends came by every now and then. My mom, who had developed sympathy pains on account of how worried she was for me. And Cory Hughes, a classmate of mine from college, who dropped in on my last day, presumably to check up on me. 

“So, turns out you’re not a pig then, ah?” He announced smugly as he entered the room.

“No, turns out it’s a chronic intestinal disease I'll have to live with from now on.”

“Holly crap!” He exclaimed “No pun intended”, he lied.

“Yeah it’s okay. I’ve actually been using this time to improve my chess game. I find that it helps me cope in some ways.”

“You don’t say? My dad is actually a chess master. I never really liked the game though. Too boring if you ask me.” Cory blurted out casually as he was browsing through his phone, texting and smiling at it from time to time.

“I don’t know. I feel like there’s a lot you can learn from chess about real life. Like, how sometimes, it might seem like you’re down on your game, but you’re actually sacrificing some pieces in order to win, and your opponent is too…self content to even notice” I made a subtle jab at him while trying to sound sophisticated. It didn't seem to register though.

“Oh wow, look at you! Yeah I know a lot of people like to think that being good at chess means you’re smart and shit, but you know? I think it’s like my dad always says - when you’re good at chess, it just means you’re good at chess. That’s it.” He said in a lacturing tone while still looking at his phone. Knowing my focus was on him, he then rolled up his left arm sleeve, and turned to check out his own bicep.

“Yep, I think you’ve just been cooped up in this place for too long. Why don’t you come work out with me once you’re out, if you’re um…able and all, you know. Do some real sport, ah?” 

“Yeah, maybe. Anyway, thank you for stopping by”, I hinted at my desire to end the visit.

“No problem dude. Take care of yourself, and I guess I’ll see you back in college. You are coming back, right?”

“Of course”, I answered over-confidently to make up for my self doubt.

The truth is that I did try to go back. When they let me out of the hospital, I made a special request to take all of my semester exams after the span period was over. All of them were condensed into one hectic month. It didn’t quite work out though. My condition, while mitigated by drugs and better nutrition, was still in the way of my success in life. I would have it under control to a degree, becoming an expert enema user and skillful at relaxing my muscles. I was especially talented at recognizing the early symptoms of a flare up.

Whenever my bowels were in distress, the first sign was an acute pain in my upper jaw. The connecting joints next to my ears would send a shooting pain on particular occasions, such as whenever I ate chocolate, or had a drink of red wine, but mostly when I was feeling stressed. Having to vigorously study for several exams at once was definitely stress inducing. More so were my attempts of using cheat-sheets or trying to copy the answers off someone else’s test. 

I eventually learned how to alleviate the pain by gargling on a single ice-cube at the back of my mouth. It would do the trick immediately, but I knew it was only a matter of time before the pain would transition into heartburn and then eventually, into an inflamed intestine. I would go to restaurants, and whenever my jaw flashed the signal, I would ask for an ice-cube, and the check. A request that was much harder to make at a college classroom. And so, I ended up dropping out. Spent the better part of a year feeling sorry for myself while simultaneously controlling my emotions so as to not get too upset.

I did enhance my chess game by playing much more often, though. Chess was my escape from thinking about everything I’ve lost and having to make new plans for the future. I perfected the Ruy-Lopez opening, and learned how to best defend against most others. I managed to quickly and regularly gain control over the center of the board. My blunders, reduced to a statistically insignificant amount. My trades would often result in material advantage, and my endgame was sharp and to the point. Even on the more challenging matches, my pawns would get promoted, my rival’s king would be left bare, and I would win either by mate, or by timeout, or by the resignation of my competitor. 

One day, as I was playing online, an ad popped up, calling out for players to sign up for a local chess tournament. It was designed for adult amateur players. Only 7 rounds altogether. A manageable endeavor to be taken on by a novice such as myself, so I decided to check it out. 

I got to the venue, which was a local community center, and received all of the nitty gritty. The prize was a small cup and a gift certificate to a neighborhood restaurant - Johnny's bar & grill. There was also a small entrance fee to be paid, which was used to cover the expenses of the competition, as well as partially support the reconstruction of the children’s library, and the matches were to be held on a basketball court that reeked of sweat and testosterone. It was all fine by me. Exciting even, compared to the rest of my life at the time. So I signed up.

On the first day of the tournament it all became even more exhilarating as I started to win matches! I was knocking them down left and right, conquering every game with swift yet methodical decisions. Granted, the competition had much to be desired. Plenty of queen wayward attacks were initiated and refuted with the greatest of ease. But I was loving every minute of it. Gaining some prestige and respect by people who shared my hobby. Even if they were mostly seniors or unemployed men who were just trying to get a free meal. I didn’t care. I needed the win. Any win would have sufficed.

The second day was more challenging. Less popular openings were carried out, forcing me to reach outside of my comfort zone. A Budapest Gambit, followed by an Owen's Defense, each forcing me to run with my knights and assume a defensive position, which is never a good way to go. I made it through those rounds by the skin of my teeth. But it just made the whole experience that much more rewarding. I was on cloud nine. That is, until they announced the winners who would advance to the finals.

You see, there were actually two basketball courts. Each hosted a different group of players who would, at the end, be matched against each other. And it was in that other group, as its members entered our court, where I laid eyes on the person who I least wanted to see. It was him, Cory Hughes, stepping inside with his peepers still buried in his phone. As if he couldn’t care less about any of this.

Don’t notice me, don’t notice me, I prayed, moments before he did notice me and started to walk my way. Beaming with the nastiest grin on his face. 

“Well look who it is! How’s it going buddy? How’s your um…health…thing?”

“It’s fine. All good. What about you? I’m surprised to see you here. Thought you didn’t like chess”, my aversiveness was evident.

“Well you know, I don’t really. But I thought it’ll be a nice little gift for my dad. Send him a picture or something of me holding the trophy up. I think he’ll get a kick out of that, you know?” Cory replied ever so lightheartedly. His phone kept distracting him as I was starting to feel my jaw becoming gradually irritated.

“You’d have to win first, you know. There are some very talented players…”

“Sorry to cut you off there dude but I have to go. See you at the finals, ah?” He left. 

I was absolutely raging. All the way home I kept thinking of how unfair it would be if this conceited, self-centered, ego-maniac would end up winning the tournament. Taking a dump, with his perfectly healthy ass, all over my shitty, pitiful existence. I couldn’t have it. I wouldn’t have it! Offense is the best defense, I reminded myself that entire week, as I was preparing myself to win at all costs. Hoping that it wouldn’t even have to come to us playing together. That he would be eliminated earlier on, and I wouldn’t have to sit across his smug, stupid looking, phone-buried face.

It was the last day of the tournament. I came prepared. I had practiced all week long and was certain of my victory. I won match after match. Attacking with fury and absolute convection. I became a beast. My mannerisms had changed as well. All of the friendly faces I’ve met during this period have become fretful of me. Not caring to engage in any small talk in between matches as they noticed my grave expression. I did not come here to play.

The final match was announced. The outcome I had feared became a reality. I took a deep breath and exhaled thoroughly. I watched Cory standing on the other side of the court, staring at his phone and sipping from his last cup of coffee before the big finale.

I went to the toilet for the seventh time that day. On returning, I was seated at the match table. I was playing black. We shook hands, and the match began.

He opened with the Spanish attack, to which I answered with a Schliemann defense. 

He then pulled out another knight, as did I in turn. 

He captured my pawn and I attacked his knight. 

He pulled out his queen, and I did the same.

The game went on at intensifying speed. I could feel the pressure rising through my jaw and my posterior at the same time, but I couldn't be bothered by it. I was winning, and that’s all that mattered.

A knight trade, followed by a threat to his dark-squared bishop, made Cory go on the defense, which allowed me to go for the final kill - the Alekhine's Gun. 

“Check” I called, and Cory captured my rook.

“Check” I called again, forcing Cory to capture my second rook.

“CHECKMATE!” I finally declared, as my queen reached D8, trapping Cory’s king and winning the game.

A rush of intoxicating euphoria filled my entire body as the crowd was cheering and the announcer called out the end of the tournament, and my name as the winner. It was such a satisfying moment. I did it! My mind was racing as I delighted in seeing Cory looking somewhat distraught for the first time ever.

“Good game”, he congratulated, trying to keep his composure.

“Good game”, I replied, forcing myself from smiling too widely.

“I guess your practice paid off, ah? Tell you what, if you have some time, why don’t we go out and have a drink? Loser’s buying” He smiled, genuinely this time.

“I..um” I wanted to say no. I needed to say no. My entire body was fighting me.

“Sure, why not.”

“Great, let’s go.”

“Just give me a minute, okay?”

I carefully stepped up to the announcer. 

“Great job kid! Congratulations!” The announcer praised.

“Thanks” I muttered, and for a split second, his face was puzzled by the abrupt buzzing sound that came out of my behind. I deflected. Asking politely, 

“Do you know where I can get an ice-cube by any chance?”