Newsgroups: talk.bizarre,alt.butt.harp,alt.prose,rec.arts.prose,rec.games.chess From: richh@netcom.com (richh) Subject: RICHH: SEATTLE--CHESS! Message-ID: Followup-To: alt.prose.d Organization: NETCOM On-line Communication Services (408 261-4700 guest) Date: Sat, 11 Jun 1994 21:11:23 GMT Part 5 The Last Exit was mobbed for a weeknight. The unbelievable blonde was the waitress du nuit. It was open mike night so all the tables in the non-smoking room were crowded with Teen-Feed backwash. Luckily, Uncle Jim had saved us a choice slate in the smoking section. "Rich, *that's* Uncle Jim." "Can I beat him?" "How's your game?" "Still rated 2150 but I haven't played a tourney since grade school." "You'll probably lose. He's a seven time state champion. Besides, look at him and have some heart." We walked over to the table where Uncle Jim sat, his only companion his rancor. He was mid-fiftyish, smoked generics, offered a kind word to no one. Somehow he and Paul had formed an instant kinship. "Ahhhh, Pablito" said Uncle Jim as we joined him, "Another South Philly boy?" He looked me over and added, "Capo, perhaps?" "Concigliere," I said. "Need a favor?" "No, just two bits for a garden salad." "Done." "Thanks," said Uncle Jim, "it's been all downhill since the triple-bypass." We ordered a pot of coffee, two mugs, cream, no sugar, one spoon. We were set for hours. I looked over the position Uncle Jim had been studying. "Lombardy-Keres '57 out of the Nimzo-Indian. Bad sac, right?" Paul said, "Musta been the interzonal tournament at Mar del Plata. Lombardy's big shot." Snickers everywhere. Uncle Jim emitted this otherworldly noxious grunt, "Mmmmmmmrrrhhhh" and said, "Played that bad boy Keres in Lone Pine. Shoulda had him." Paul and Uncle Jim settled down to their bi-weekly all-nighter and I watched. A few chessplayers straggled over to kibitz on their game. The tallest said to the others, "I see a tactic." Uncle Jim immediately responded in a tirade, "Mmmmmmmrrrhhhh, I understand that freedom of speech is a Constitutional right, but YOU BOY, *ABUSE* THAT PRIVILEGE!" We were soon alone. From the open mike room, we heard the opening notes of "Linger". Only it didn't sound like a cover tune. I ran over to the non-smoking room and returned. "Paul, do the Cranberries ever play here? They're here now." "...such a fool for you. You got me wrapped around your finger (ahha) do you have to, do you have to..." Paul said, "They were in town last week touring with Depeche Mode and I guess they, um, well, lingered." I said, "What'll you give me if I get Delores back to the van?" "She knows the way." "Why you big ole pimp, you!" Paul saw that I was looking for prey and offered, "Rich, why don't you use my pieces and clock and get a game for yourself." "Can I make any money here?" "Rich, no one *has* any money--that's why they *are* here. But go for it." I set up a board and soon had a challenge from the Bax. The Bax, Paul explained, would gladly lose a few bucks if it meant someone would talk to him. I immediately understood why. He had tiny sharkrows of hellacious choppers that begged for a flossing. And he stank. "Play for a dollar? 5-2?" "All right," the Bax whined, much like Walt, the guy who works the front desk in my apartment building. I had white and essayed forth with my King's pawn. 1 e4 c6 2 d4 d5 3 nc3 de 4 ne4 nd7 5 qe2 nf6 6 nd6 mate "That was something, happened so fast." "That was fun," I said. "Had me a blast." Uncle Jim had been observing the game while Paul struggled over a problematic line in the Neo-Sveshnikov. "Mmmmmmmrrrhhhh, reminiscent of Grierson's Raid. Thank Dee Brown for that one." I said, "You know he hated horses." Uncle Jim said, "Had been thrown as a youth, I think." Paul said, "But he was a little guy, suited for the cavalry." "...my life is changing every day, in every possible way. Oh my dreams, it's never quite as it seems ...dream to me dream to me..." Paul had managed to draw the game against Uncle Jim, who was now relating for the umpteenth time the many splendors of Thailand. "...the ultimate hippie dream, and all for 12 baht!" Paul explained to me that Uncle Jim had been to Thailand a half dozen times. Sometimes I guess you really do have to travel overseas to get laid. "Mmmmmmmrrrhhhh, step into my office, Pablito." Uncle Jim motioned Paul outside to extrapolate tush. Weary from the fracas, I stepped down to the Knaar for some gin and juice. a RICHH/Paul joint