Good snowy Saturday morning to you all
On a more light hearted note than yesterday, I was reminiscing the other day about my involvement in the chess world, and the strange creatures that inhabit it.
One guy, that I will tell you about here, could have been the Mr Bean before the Mr Bean character was invented by the magnificent Rowan Atkinson
I joined Bolton Chess club at about the age of 17, at the time six of the seven England players played for the club, so I soon learned I was nowhere near as good as I thought I was. Later, the club attracted a couple of children, Nigel Short and David Norwood, that went on to become Grand Masters. So it is no wonder i drifted towards the admin side of Chess.
In this instance that I am recalling now, I was refereeing a big open tournament at Owen's Park, one of the Halls of Residence for Manchester University.
As I was sorting out all the pairing cards for the first round, I saw one particular name, I had never met the guy, but his reputation went before him! He was a strange one.
As the players started to enter the hall, I recognised most of them. Then I saw him! It must be him I thought!
He was wearing a knitted top at least 3 sizes too big, with a big hole about where his belly button should be. Loose strands of wool dangled, I was sure it would grow as the day went on. His trousers were equally baggy, they looked like they had been made out of black lining material, and just tacked together, never completely finished. And in place of a zip, or fly buttons, he had a single large safety pin.
He had a bag slung over his shoulder, out of which protruded the end of a long baguette.
The games began, silence fell, and the pressing of the chess clock buttons became the dominant sound.
As I wandered between the tables I was mentally preparing myself for when his opponent complained. I determined not to be too far away from his table.
Then it began!
They had played about 10 moves, and his opponent was pouring over the board, head in his hands.My target withdrew the baguette from his bag, as if he was unsheathing a sword. Then he started to tear off equal size pieces and place them in a row on the spare bit of table immediately between him and the board.
His opponent moved, five or six moves were exchanged and again his opponent resumed his thinking position.
This was the time to dive back into the bag, and pull out a brand new pack of foil wrapped butter, which he carefully opened. He then took each piece of torn bread in turn, rubbed one side vigorously up and down the surface of the butter, and carefully placed it back in its original position, buttered side up.
They exchanged another few moves, and his opponents head returned to its home, between his hands above the board.
My target continued to assemble his picnic. The hand went into the bag again, and out came a tub of pate. Then, as carefully and as mechanically as he had carried out his buttering operation, two fingers were plunged into the pate, and the lump that was scooped out was scraped onto the bread which he held in his other hand.
Before his opponents next move, he was able to complete his mission, return the pate container to his bag and start his meal.
Sadly I cannot remember the result.
I have a small collection of such chess anecdotes, this was the longest. I will save the rest for another time.
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