I Am Just a Chessplayer's Widow
Chess is too boring for me. It’s too complicated. I have to shut up when I am playing chess and
can’t gossip like I can when I am playing cards and other board games. That clock with the tick, tick, tick
gets on my nerves.
My husband’s chess friends are just too nerdy and smart for me. They may be geniuses at the chess table, but they all seem weird. They have no social graces. If I invite then over for lunch or dinner, they start playing chess with the salt and pepper shakers and bits of food on my checkerboard table cloth. I think I am clever and have Pepperidge chess cookies for snacks. But they all just chow down on them and never notice. In fact, they never notice anything I cook or that I spent all day preparing a good meal. I once put out dog biscuits in a snack bowl, and they ate that while playing blitz chess! And there are never any women chess players to socialize with. If a chess player is lucky enough to have a girl friend or wife, they are usually not invited to tournaments or chess clubs or chess socials. At least I don’t have to worry about my husband flirting at a chess tournament. There are no women there to flirt with. Occasionally, there might be oneor two, but they are too smart to engage on conversation with a male chess player.
My husband can remember every chess game, every chess opponent, every chess tournament, every chess trivia, but he can’t remember to take out the trash on Tuesdays and Fridays. I have to do that. He forgot. He can remember a chess conversation, but he can’t remember me taking to him just a few minutes ago asking if he wants to go to the movies. And I don’t want to see Searching For Bobby Fischer or Knight Moves again.I want to go see Sleepless in Seattle and not some stupid movie about a crazy chess player. He only likes movies with chess scenes in it and tries to find mistakes with the chess scenes, like an illegal position or the board set up wrong (“White to the Right”). I want to be romantic. He wants to mate in other ways. I want flowers. He want chess books.
My house is full of chess things. I hate dusting chess trophies and sets, picking up chess magazines from the floor, dropping a magnetic set and unable to find a lost piece, or putting chess books away on the book shelves where they belong. I put the chess books up anywhere, but my husband has to have all the books in order, by alphabetical order according to author. Who cares? I have nice guest rooms, and my husband has to use the space to store more chess books or chess sets. I like the Civil War chess set, but my husband thinks it is impractical and wants to display some nice Staunton set, or whatever it is called. And those chess trophies just have to be displayed. They are cheap. The fall apart. The plaque falls off and I have to glue it back on. And they are so hard to move around. And, of course, my husband wants to have a display case to display them. I would rather use my display case to show off my Gone With The Wind plate collection. I want $35 worth of flowers to display around the house. My husband wants a $35 new chess book from Amazon.
And most of the famous chess players are boring or can’t speak English. The only exciting chess player was Bobby Fischer, and he no longer alive. And why did they arrest the guy for playing chess in the first place. They should have left him alone. Fischer was exciting and the women loved him. Now he is gone and we have to watch a boring Anand-Gelfand world championship match.
Chess takes too long to play. Sure, you can speed it up with a chess clock, but that rushes me and makes me nervous. And I still can’t gossip, share recipes, talk about my favorite movies or TV shows, or take a break for a snack. If I talk, some rude person has to say “BE QUIET!” I want to slug him. It’s not like we are at the movies. I want to vacation to some exotic place like Hawaii or Rome, or a cruise in the Caribbean. My husband wants his vacation at the same time as the U.S. Chess Open or go visit the Chess Hall of Fame (boring!).
I don’t want to be writing all those moves down. Who cares? That’s just another distraction. Let me move my horsey the way I want to move it. And what’s all these extra rules like en passant or castling but not if you moved your king or rook first, or moving into check, but not in check when you finished castling. Too many rules. And then if I lose, I have to be told where I went wrong and what defense I should have used. Who wants to hear that and be told every move was wrong?
And if my husband does well in a chess tournament, he wants to show me the game and all the brilliant moves, or if he lost, what he could have done different to win the game. Who cares? Do you think I really am listening to all those variations and paying attention. I just smile and say, “Yes, dear.” My husband has too many chess books and magazines anyway. Sometimes I try to give them away to friends and relatives. I hope he doesn’t notice. When he is at a chess tournament and wants me to sell some chess books he has written, but can’t sell them himself because he is playing, it’s up to me to try and sell them. I usually give them away instead. If someone wants one of his chess books and are that desperate, I usually give them the book. I’ll even autograph it with his name to make it look important. Chess players never have any money anyway.
Look at their clothes they wear. Chess tournaments are just too expensive to play in anyway. With hotel/motel costs and high entry fees, a chess player spends several hundred dollars to tie for 3rd-7th place and get $33.33. If I go to a chess tournament at a hotel, there better be a swimming pool, shopping, and lots of site-seeing to do before I tag along. The tournaments are so boring. It’s not like there is a Bobby Knight in basketball getting everyone excited. For once, I would like to see a chess player lose and throw his chair like in a basketball game. And you should be allowed to talk and root for the chess player of your choice. We should see cheerleaders yelling, “Push that Pawn. Push that Pawn.” Instead, I am told to shut up, be quiet, don’t make any noises, don’t disturb the players, don’t pose and take flash pictures with the players when a game is going on. Boring.
My husband says if he dies first, he wants a headstone in the shape of a rook and some witty chess saying. Like that’s going to happen. He gets a plot (no chessboard) and an obituary that does not mention chess. He’s done other things. Physicist with a major in astrophysics. Electrical Engineer. Air Force officer for 25 years. Four years combat duty flying in Vietnam. Served in the Gulf War. Assigned to NASA. Worked on the Space Shuttle. Intelligence officer who has briefed the President and Secretary of Defense. Big shot computer security guy at a big company doing DoD, NASA, and NOAA security projects. Travels around the world for his company. Interviewed by all these technical magazines. Very good at tennis and tennis instructor to dozens of players. And all he wants to be remembered is for his chess. And he is not that good at it. No grandmaster or international master title. Not even a master any more. Not even an expert any more. As he gets older, he gets slower and slower.
He should be spending more time with me and romancing me and checking me out, his mate. He wants me to play chess with him. I just don’t want to. Besides, if I started taking up chess, I might get good at it, and start beating him. Then he would have to give it up. His ego wouldn’t be able to take it. He would probably then turn to something even worse. Golf! I am just a poor, depressed chess widow. And my husband isn’t even dead yet!
I am just a pawn forever, not even the Queen.
– Lois Wall
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