Tommy Nguyen Attends a Chess Tournament

“Name?”

“Tommy”

“I need a full name.”

“Uh… Nguyen.”

The clerk lazily penciled his name on her clipboard. She sat below a handmade sign reading “Centennial High Chess Tournament Sign-in.” She had only been there for half an hour, yet she already felt the overwhelming urge to take a smoke break.

“Do you have a rating?”

“No.”

“Did you pre-register?”

“I was only told about this today.”

“I’ll take that as a no.” She was efficiently filling out the sheet in front of her. “Anyone who didn’t pre-register gets admitted on a first-come, first-serve basis.”

Tommy looked around. There were a couple dozen kids already waiting.

“Are all these other guys walk-ins too?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know if I’ll get a spot?”

“If I knew, I would’ve already told you.”

“Um– OK. Thank you.”

She didn’t respond. Tommy stood there for another half minute as she finished his paperwork. He tapped his toe. He wasn't supposed to be here. All of these other kids were probably serious competitors, but Tommy had no clue what he was doing. I mean, why on Earth shou–

“Alright, bring this sheet with you if they call your name.”

“Right. Yeah. OK. Thank you.”

“Good luck,” she said ambivalently. 

He clutched the paper and looked around. He was new to the district. His dad wanted him to get out of his comfort zone. His plan had worked: even though all these kids theoretically went to the same high school as him, Tommy didn’t recognize anyone here. 

He trudged over to one of the walls and leaned against it. He secretly hoped that he didn’t get a spot. Then, he would save himself the embarrassment of failure without disappointing his father. He knew the rules of chess, but none of the strategies these chess club guys spent years developing. He would be eaten alive.

The waiting room began to thin out. Kids were being called into the gym one-by-one by a young man in a red jacket. Each time Red Jacket Guy stepped out, Tommy felt his heart plummet and his breath shorten. But each time, he was spared. He kept staring at his watch, waiting for the minutes to count down until 4 PM and he could be over with this.

But then Red Jacket Guy said it. “Tommy Nguyen, please come in!”

Tommy stood up. It was an instinctive reaction, and one that he immediately regretted. If he stayed seated, or, better yet, slinked away to the bathroom, he could pretend like he wasn’t there. He could avoid entering the tournament. Fuck what his father had to say – he wasn’t doing it.

But he had already stood up, and Red Jacket Guy definitely saw him.

“Great! That’s the last walk-in spot we have available, y’all. Please come back next Thursday for the next weekly tournament. Oh, and please don’t forget to pre-register!”

Tommy trudged forward. Of course he managed to get the last spot. Nothing good ever happened to Tommy Nguyen.

…

The chess board sat neatly arranged before Tommy. He was picking up each piece, evaluating its heft, then putting it back where he found it. No one was with him yet, even though round one started about five minutes ago. Must be one of the pre-registered kids, Tommy thought to himself. 

But then ten minutes passed. And then fifteen. This only made Tommy more nervous. His execution date was simply being pushed back.

After twenty minutes, the moderator came over to Tommy’s table. Tommy had stacked several pieces atop each rook, building little towers. He assumed the moderator – an older English teacher named Mr. Rutger – would tell him off. Instead, he brought some interesting news.

“We’ve reviewed your case, and we’ve decided that you automatically advance to the next round.”

“I didn’t bring a case. What are you…”

Tommy thought about it for a moment.

“Oh. Because my opponent hasn’t shown up yet?”

“Exactly.”

“Is there a rule for tardiness Mr. Rutger?”

“There is now. I’m calling it the Hardy rule.”

“Why?”

“Your opponent is Michael Hardy. He’s often late. It’s a chess club in-joke.”

“Oh, OK. What should I do until then?”

“Just stay here. We’ll send the next opponent to you, since your board is already set up.” Rutger eyed the towers Tommy had constructed. “Mostly.”

Rutger returned to the administrative table. Tommy turned his attention back to the board. He tore his towers down and began rearranging the chess board.

Tommy felt good. It was nice to catch a break once in a while. He could tell his dad that he made it out of the first round, proving that he had put some genuine effort into this little excursion. He would lose in the next round, go home, and forget about the whole thing. This went much better than he could have ever imagined.

But then it happened again. 

His next opponent – a thin, pale fellow – went to the bathroom a few minutes before their round began. Fifteen minutes passed before Mr. Rutger checked on him. 

“Your opponent appears very sick,” Mr. Rutger reported to Tommy. “Food poisoning, perhaps. I sent him home. You advance again.”

“What’s the rule for food poisoning called?”

“I’m afraid that rule doesn’t have a name yet. I’ll call the subject for a vote at the next club meeting.” Rutger gave his own joke a wry smile.

“Well, I hope he’s OK, whoever he is.”

“That’s Nick Havelka. Good kid. I had him in my English composition class. He loves his Vonnegut.” Rutger turned to walk away. “Good luck next round, I suppose. I hope you actually play a match.”

Tommy had never caught this kind of lucky break before. He had just advanced to the quarterfinals of his first ever chess tournament. He didn’t deserve it, of course, but he was feeling confident anyways.

…

The organizers arranged a quick break, since most of the participants had just played two matches of chess in a row. They all shuffled into the foyer where they had signed in. The check-in table was littered with cheese sticks and oranges, provided with funding from the Centennial PTO.

Tommy was grabbing a few snacks when he heard a shriek. He whipped around and saw a girl laying face-down on the ground. She slowly rolled over. Someone reached out their hand to help her up. She graciously reached out to grab it. This was when she realized she had broken her arm. Chaos ensued.

After 20 minutes, Tommy found himself at the same little table. No one sat across from him. As Tommy could have predicted, Rutger strutted over to explain the situation.

“That girl who took the fall is Jenna Stafford. She’s the Chess Club VP. She was supposed to play you.”

“I guess that’s not gonna happen, is it?”

“Don’t gloat about it. The girl’s in the hospital, Tommy.”

“Right. Sorry. I’m just never this lucky, you know?”

“Uh-huh. Stay here. I hope that chair is comfortable.”

Tommy looked at his watch for the first time in a while. It was 7 PM. Three hours ago, he was supposed to have lost his match and gone home. He was glad that hadn’t happened. Even if he lost the next match, he would have a half-decent story to tell his buddies tomorrow.

An hour later, Tommy was beginning his semifinal match. This one was, surprisingly, a real match with an opponent. Tommy was prepared to lose, but he was going to give it his best shot.

Tommy made his first move as white. Pawn to E4. A classic move, Tommy thought. He smacked the timer and looked up at his opponent. His opponent was looking at Tommy. In fact, he wasn’t even looking at the board. He was looking around.

“What’s up?” Tommy asked. “The timer is going.”

“I don’t want to play. You can have this round.”

“Wait, are you serious? You made it this far and you’re not going to at least try?”

“My girlfriend’s parents aren’t home, and she’s texting me to come over. I’m not passing that up, bud. Now where is our damn moderator?”

“Oh. Mr. Rutger is behind you.”

Tommy waved Rutger over. His opponent was apparently David Sanders, one of the best players in the club. Rutger was upset, but ultimately let him forfeit the match. He turned to Tommy after this most recent upset.

“Well, Tommy, you’ve made it to the final. Congratulations are in order, I suppose.” He failed to hide a smirk. “Best of luck.”

…

Tommy sat at a new table. They had collapsed all the tables but one, putting them back into the storage room. The last table lay in the middle of the gym; the final match would take place here. Everyone who bothered to stay and watch crowded around the table, keeping only a few feet of distance. Tommy could not believe how many people were still here.

“I hate elimination tournaments. They make no sense for chess.”

Tommy looked up. His opponent, a girl – perhaps a junior or senior – was looking at him.

“Why do you say that?” Tommy asked.

“It leads to weaker players not getting a shot to evaluate their real skill,” she responded. “If they happen to get knocked out early by the best player in the room, an average player might not know their own worth.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. What would you prefer?”

“Well, I think we should do pools. Everyone gets to play four rounds or so. Then we invite the top 16 or so seeds to the next round. I’ve asked the club to do it lots of times, but they’ve never seriously considered it.”

Tommy had become overtaken with nervousness again. He realized that everyone was watching them converse. He could see them getting antsy – they wanted to see some chess. He knew they would be disappointed.

“That sounds like it might take a while. Then again, this is my first time at this particular club, so I hadn’t even considered alternatives really.”

“I suspected you were new,” she said, almost derisively. “I haven’t heard anything about you from the other kids here, either. I don’t know what to expect.”

And suddenly, Tommy had an idea.

“Oh, you haven’t talked to the guys who I took out?” Tommy asked.

“No, I haven’t. Who have you faced so far?”

“Again, I’m new, so I might not get their names exactly right. But I know I beat this fellow named Michael Hardy. He was decent – do you know him?”

“Yeah. He’s decent.” She waited for him to respond – she was curious to see who this newbie beat. “Well, go on, who else?”

“Um… this girl… I don’t remember her name, but she took that pretty big fall earlier.”

“You beat Jenna Stafford? That’s pretty… pretty good.” 

Whatever she had in chess ability, she lacked in acting skills. Her surprise was shining through. She wasn’t alone, either. The crowd around them had erupted in noise.

“Yeah, that was her. Jenna. She’s the Chess Club VP, right?”

“Mm-hmm. Who else?” She was speaking curtly.

“There’s this other guy – some sickly fellow – he wasn’t all that impressive. I don’t even remember his name. But then last round, I had a good round with David Sanders – now that’s a chess player I can respect.”

“Yeah, David is very, very good.” She was clearly shocked. “I’m surprised they let a new guy like you even play him. He’s not nice to newbies.”

“I never said I was a newbie. Is that what you think of me?”

“I– well I’ve never met you before. I’m just making smalltalk!”

The crowd was getting excited. Chess players don’t typically engage in smacktalk – this new guy was making a strong impression. The energy level for this 9 PM Thursday night chess match was incredible.

Tommy was trying to cultivate an impressive façade. He realized no one actually knew who he was, or how good he was at chess. It was time to make his move.

“Look, I can tell you’re nervous. Here you are, in front of all your friends, about to face off against this guy you’ve never met – my name is Tommy, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. I’m Vanessa.” She did not look happy.

“Anyways, there is a good chance I will win this match here. There’s a prize pool, right? Something like $50?”

“Um. Yeah. That’s for the winner.”

“Right. I don’t really wanna play this match. I will if I have to, but I kinda wanna get home and watch some TV. So, why don’t we agree to a tie and split the money?”

“Are you fucking insane? That– I would be stupid to take that offer.” Vanessa looked around at her clubmates, who were getting very excited. Most of them were shaking their heads. They wanted to see Tommy play.

But why do they want to see him play? Vanessa began doubting herself. What if they know something I don't? What if he’s some sort of visiting champion from another school? What if they want to see him wipe the floor with me? What if h–

“Vanessa, what do you say?” She snapped out of her swirling haze of self-loathing and fear. “I’m sure there isn’t a rule against it. We tie for first and go our separate ways. Easy as that.”

“I– fuck you. You’re just talking a big game.”

“That’s what your friend David Sanders thought.”

Vanessa stared at Tommy for ten seconds, motionless and contemplative. Ten turned to twenty turned to thirty. Tommy twiddled his thumbs and leaned back in his chair. 

Mr. Rutger watched and smiled from his admin table. He had helped run these tournaments for a couple years now. This was the most interesting final round he’d ever seen. During the period of silence, he picked up a pen and began drafting a new document: “The Tommy rule.”

Tommy was getting a little impatient. He was nervous, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the act. 

“Look, either we agree to this tie, or I win this game. If you’re not going to cooperate, I can make this game quick.” 

He reached out for a handshake.

“So, what do you say?”

…

Tommy made a racket as he came into the house. His parents were in the living room watching TV.

“Hey big guy,” his dad yelled from the living room. “You were out late! What’s up with that?”

“Oh, I was at the chess tournament!”

“Yeah? Why so late?”

“I got out early, but I made a couple friends and decided to stay for the whole thing.”

“Oh, good for you! Let us know when you’re home late next time though, ok?”

“Yeah. I can do that,” Tommy said meekly. “And uh… thanks for making me go to the tournament, dad. I had fun.”

There was silence. His father probably hadn’t heard him.

Tommy climbed up the stairs into his room. He pulled out a lockbox from under his dresser. He deposited $25 before crawling under the covers, preparing himself for a restful night.