Rook Who's Talking

Until late last April, my life had no meaning. In the blink of an eye, that all changed when I won a small sum of cash at a chess tournament in St. Louis. Here is the story through my eyes.

It was a rainy friday afternoon in late April, and I was driving home. Much to the dismay of my mother and brother, I talked almost incessantly about the tournament that was to take place the following day.

"Mom, we mailed in my entry fee, right?"I asked, in a worried state.

"Matt, for the thosandth time, yes."my mother stated, in a state of being semi-annoyed.

"It's going to be so great this year. I talked to the tournament director, and he said there are going to be at least one hundred people playing this year! That's twice as much as last year, and much bigger than any tournament I've ever played in," I rambled on and on. Suddenly, though, I was jolted back into reality.

"Oh crap, I'm driving!" I slammed on the brakes, just in time to avoid the deer that had stopped in front of our car. Silence prevailed for the remainder of the drive.

That night, I had trouble sleeping. A million thoughts raced through my mind as I tried to drift off into Dreamland. Did I put a stamp on the envelope that held my entry fee? Had I written down my name? What if I get lost on the way there? What if I slept in? Some of this had a basis in reality, I told myself as I set my alarm clock for 3:00 AM. Somehow, setting my alarm put me at ease, and I felt into a deep sleep.

The alarm clocked blared promptly at 3:00 AM, just as I had instructed it to. I shot up from the couch on which I was sleeping, and began my rituals of competition. Now, I will briefly digress. Most chess players are extremely superstitious. What I mean by my "rituals of competition" is that every morning before a big chess event, I follow certain superstitions, however ridiculous they may be, in hopes that doing so will bring me luck. Some of them, admittedly, are ridiculous. On several occasions, I wore a fake mustache during play because I had gotten lucky during a match while wearing it the week prior. Unfortunately for me that morning, I could not find my lucky mustache anywhere. After an hour of futile searching, I told myself that I must go on with my preparation. At 4:00 AM, I promptly showered, and afterward put on the same dress shirt, pants, and tie that I had worn on so many occasions. As 5:00 AM rolls around, I always force myself to watch the uplifting movie of "Searching for Bobby Fischer." I think by now, I have memorized the entire script. That took up most of the morning. I was relieved when my father finally told me,

"Matt, if you want to get there when registration starts, we better leave now. Do you want to drive, or should I?"

"It'd be best if you drive. If I'm behind the wheel, I'm liable to kill the both of us," I stated matter-of-factly.

The drive there seemed like an eternity. To my father, the words "are we there yet?" quickly turned into backround noise. After approximately thirty minutes, there it was, the Days Inn in all its glory. I knew this was the place, because out front in large black lettering, a sign said "St. Louis Open today!" I walked in, and my father left me as I joined the long line for registration.

Eventually, the line snaked its way to the rather large conference room, where the tournament was to be held. Registration took all morning long. By the time I had finished, it was nearly 9:30. I was somewhat relieved though, because the first round was to start at 10:00 AM. I had some time to relax, and I did precisely that. I took time to get myself comfortable, to get a table, and scout out the competition. It pleased me to know that I actually knew some of the people here from prior competition. One thing did worry me though. Over 3/4 of the people registered were adults. I had never played a tournament game against an adult before. Before I knew it, the first round pairings had been posted.

The crowd gathered around the west wall as the tournament director taped three sheets of paper to the wall, detailing who would be playing whom. As I finally inched my way in, I nervously read the writing on the wall. (Board 43: Matthew Rapp '749' vs. Matthew Conway '1681'.) I sulked over my table, dejected, after reading the information.

The numbers following the players names are ratings that indicate playing strength. As you win, they go up, but if you lose, they go down. You can't go to a tournament without hearing these numbers as people socialize, as it enforces a sort of social status in chess. Within minutes, a portly man with thinning, gray hair, and twice the rating points, sat down at my table. He was confirmed as being my opponent, Matthew Conway. I was visibly nervous, at this point, shaking and sweating. Finally, someone spoke.

The tournament director turned on a microphone, walked to the middle of the room and said, "All right, it is time for the first round to begin. Set your clocks for a total of four hours, with two hours allotted for each player. Shake hands and begin." Eager to begin, I did precisely that, and the David vs. Goliath battle was under way.

After shaking hands, he tapped his button on our chess clock, which signalled the starting of my time. I made my move, and did likewise. After I got over my nerves, the game seemed to go fine. I told him that the rating was just a number. The battle dragged on and on, with both sides maintaining equality. Soon, the queens were traded off, and then the rooks and the bishops. It was late in the third hour, still without a breakthrough from either side! He had fifteen minutes left on his clock, and I had twenty. Around move fifty, I offered him a draw, which he spitefully rejected. Time dwindled down, and down. Soon, both sides became very acutely aware that I had five more minutes than he did. We were, in fact, the last two playing in the room. Soon, our game attracted spectators. They had apparently read the chart on the wall, and could not believe that I had clung to life for so long. Soon, sweat accumulated on the face of my opponent, who was being pressured on the clock. The tables had turned. Now it was his turn to be nervous. The clocks ticked down. He was down to two minutes, while I was sitting comfortably with seven. Then it happened. Mr. Conway played a move which was at first, seemingly solid. I thought I had been beat. Upon further examination, however, I determined, that I could force checkmate, and a win, in three moves. Playing what I believed to be the winning move, I nervously pushed a pawn forward one square. I couldn't believe my own mind. Could it really be this easy? After the next move, I quickly made my reply to force a win, and stood up defiantly. Mr. Conway hadn't lost yet, but he knew it was an inevitability. As I pumped my fists into the air, the crowd gathered around our table began clapping. Looking back, that was probably an extremely rude gesture on the part of the crowd, cheering before a game was over. It didn't matter though, in this moment, I was a star. My opponent tipped his king over, and resigned the game to me.

"Good game, Mr. Conway," I said, with a gleam in my eye as I shook his hand. He walked away in a state of shock. As I signed the scoresheet saying that I had won, I knew that Goliath had been slain. The next round would start in less than thirty minutes, so, in a frantic state, I called all my friends and relatives, informing them of my against all odds victory.

The pairings for the second round were posted promptly at 2:30 PM. Again, I took the familiar walk to the wall chart to see who I'd be playing in round two.

As if it weren't bad last time, I nearly fainted when I read the posting for round two. (Board 1: Bob Holliwell '2120' vs. Matthew Rapp '749'.) Not only was his rating three times higher than mine, but I also knew I recognized his name from somewhere. Then, it came to me. I remember reading a chess magazine a week prior that was talking about the recent Missouri State Championship. His name was the one at the top of the page, in large, bold lettering. He was the 2007 Missouri State Champion. Again, I sat down at my board, visibly nervous. The second round, however, had a bit of an unorthodox beginning. Minutes passed without the champion showing up. Finally, the tournament director announced that it was time to shake hands, and start clocks.

There was no hand to shake, so I started the clock. The minutes still ticked by, still without a sign of the man who was supposed to be playing against me. I couldn't help but thinking that maybe he saw my last game and was scared. This fantasy was short lived, however, when he showed up thirty minutes late. What happened next went by at what seemed like light speed. Then, on the eigth move, I was seemingly up a pawn. I soon noticed the grin on my opponent's face, and realized I had just fallen into his trap. I would lose my queen no matter what on the next move. I still wasn't sure of this, so I thought before thirty minutes. It didn't change the outcome one bit. It was crystal clear that my position was lost. There would be no feel good, David vs. Goliath victory this time. I tipped over my king, and resigned. The champion got up from his chair, signed the scoresheet, and nonchalantly walked away. No words were said. I tried to ease the pain by telling myself that I just lost to a champion. There really wasn't any shame in it. I was expected to lose, and played accordingly.

I hurried back to the lobby, where I had to wait for three and a half more hours while the rest of the games finished up. The wait seemed eternal. There was no way to pass the time. I must have gone through 10 bags of motel vending machine potato chips. When my money ran out, I just sort of stared at the wall for awhile. After an hour of staring though, I received a tap on the shoulder.

"Hey, man. I saw your game in the first round. It was most triumphant." The words squeaked from the mouth of a boy, around my age. He was one of those familiar faces. I recognized him.

"Thanks, do I know you from somewhere? I think I played against you at a tournament at East," I said sarcastically, because I had won our previous encounter. With equal humor, he said to me,

"Yes, I think I won," he said with a devilish grin. "My name's Yi Zhao. You're Matthew Rapp, correct?"

I sarcastically queried back, "Yeah, do you want an autograph? It'll only cost you a few dollars." Having declined the autograph offer, we talked for an hour or two about miscellanious chess topics. We spoke of our favorite openings, favorite players, and eventually the history of the game. I was glad to have made a new friend through chess, and relieved that I had finally found a way to pass time between the rounds. The sky grew dark as evening set in, and round three drew nearer.

The pairings for round three appeared on the wall at 7 PM. By this time, though, everyone was slower to arrive, perhaps weary from the long hours of mental combat that had already passed. I too, grew tired. This state of semi-sedation calmed me for the beginning of the round. I no longer worried of my opponent's rating. The chart read (Board 23: Matthew Rapp '749' vs. Gary R. Howe '1300'.) Everyone again followed the familiar routine. We sat down at our tables, shook hands, and started the clocks.

My third and last game of the day played out quickly, and rather peacefully. Because of sheer exhaustion, neither side really went for a win. Either one of us could have broken through at any point. The tragedy was, though, that we no longer had the mental capability to calculate out variations past one or two moves. The game maintained equality well into the second hour. Normally, I would be in bed, sleeping at this hour of the night. There were more urgent matters to attend to, though. I was locked in mental battle. Much to my delight, Mr Howe offered me a draw around move forty. Realizing that neither of us were likely to win at this point, I gladly accepted his draw offer. We both quickly left the playing area after signing the scoresheet. Luckily, my father had already arrived to pick me up. I jumped into the backseat. Before my father could start questioning me about my day, I drifted off to sleep. I slept well that night- like a baby, in fact. I don't even remember making it to my bed, but somehow, I woke up there.

The next morning, I awoke promptly at three, and repeated all my morning rituals for competition. I again looked for the mustache, showered, and watched the greatest movie in existance. On that morning though, I had much more time because we didn't have to leave early to register. With a few hours to spare, I did what I always do when I'm bored. I stared. I stared and counted all the dots on all the panels of the ceiling of my room. 8:00 PM grew around when I finalized the tally at 4,275. I still had another hour! Deciding that a recount was in order, I again stared at the ceiling. Sadness came over me as this time the dots numbered 4,278. Had I miscounted? I just hoped that it wasn't a bad omen of things to come. I would play my last game of the St. Louis Open in little over an hour.

Once again, we drove to the Days Inn. My timing couldn't be better. I walked in just as they had taped up the pairings for this round, along with a new chart. It was the tournament standings. Intrigued by this new chart, I strolled up to it. Out of 102 people, I was in fifteenth place. There was no way I could win the tournament overall, but the realization quickly came to me that I could win the prize for the under-1000 rating class. I was guaranteed at least a tie for first in my class. If I even drew the last round game, I was guaranteed clear first, and forty dollars. Quickly, I glanced over at the pairings, and let go a sigh of relief. (Board 15: Blaine Russel '900' vs. Matthew Rapp '749'.) Finally, I would play someone who was close to me in rating! After battling with guys two or three times my age, and around the same rating differential, I was to battle a boy of the same age and nearly same rating as myself. I felt as though the win was assured. My teenage opponent sat down at the table. We shook hands, and started the clocks.

The opening of this game was a somewhat pleasant affair for me. Blaine played very poorly. In fact, he played my favorite opening, and quickly fell into a trap. At move ten, he was down a knight, and by move fifteen, he had hemorraged several more pawns. After an hour or so, I was feeling very comfortable. I decided that a break was in order. So, I proceeded to leave the playing hall to pace around outside, and let my opponent sweat. Once outside, I found my friend from the previous day.

"Hey," Zhao said, as he caught a glimpse of me. "I looked at the tournament standings. I just won my game. If you lose yours, we'll share first in our rating category and split the forty dollars right down the middle."

I smiled at him, and said jokingly, "Well, I am going to win, but I'll lose just so you can get your money." At first, he didn't catch my sarcasm, and became elated, thinking he would go home with money. I had to inform him, though, that it was merely a joke.

"Don't worry," I said, "there's always next year." After about fifteen minutes or so of friendly conversation, I thought that my opponent had had enough of my stalling. I jogged back into the playing hall, determined to do my duty, and beat Blaine Russel.

I was slightly surprised then, when upon returning, I saw that no longer was my opponent at the board. He was playing the same mind games with me that I was playing with him. I shook it off. I told myself, it didn't matter. This guy is a patzer, and he will lose. My attention quickly turned down to the board, and I looked at the move my opponent had made prior to his departure. Apparently my mind games had worked. The move he made caused him the further loss of a bishop. I quickly snatched it off the board. Like a well oiled mechanism, my hand hit the chess clock just as my opponent reappeared in the playing hall. I could see the horrified look on his face from across the room. He too had noticed that his bishop was missing, apparently to a mistake on his part. He didn't even bother returning to our board. Just as soon as he entered, he left again. He didn't even make a move. He just left. Perhaps he was just annoying me, but he was determined not to give me a quick win. I sat, waiting, for about an hour or so more, until he appeared again. This time he kindly strolled up, shook my hand, and said,

"Congratulations on winning the forty dollars. You played well." Thus, he resigned the game to me.

I again went outside to tell Yi Zhao of the news, but he was nowhere to be found. Apparently, he had heard the news of my victory, and decided to beat the traffic. Somehow, though, I understood. I wouldn't want to stick around either if I wasn't going to get anything for it.

After all the fourth round games had ended, the tournament director called all players back into the playing hall. It was time for the awarding of the prizes. My father even showed up a bit early so he could see me receive my prize. I patiently waited as the director called off the names of all the third place winners, and the second. It seemed like it would drag on indefinitely. Finally, though, my name was called.

"In the under 1000 section, winner of clear first place and a cool forty dollars goes to Matthew Rapp. Come up and claim your prize," he said, with a monotony in his voice completely unbefitting of the occasion. My arms were high in the air. This was the first time I had ever in my life won something in a game of skill. For many long hours, of both school and summertime, had I practiced this game, this sport, in hopes that I would some day be good enough to compete and win. All those long hours of chess training had paid off, had been vindicated. As I took the money in my hands, the world seemed perfect. "We Are the Champions" might as well have been playing in the backround, because that is how I felt. On the way home, after I had phoned all my friends and relatives, telling them of my accolades, my father joked,

"Well, that ought to pay for the gas it took to get you there."