Sometimes In Chess, The Best Move Is To Not Make One
I’m a talker. Never used to be one. When I was a kid, I barely spoke to my family.
When I complained to my sister’s friend Alicia (whom she’d known since college) about how my son Alexander never talks, she laughed.
“Al, do you remember when I was at your house for a weekend? You never said two words to me.”
Nowadays, you never know which version of Al is going to show up.
Last Friday, I went to the Middlemist Honey Mead & Cider Bar in Somerville. I was there to see my friend Joe and his band, Time Travelers, play (the band’s name, not who they are).
The band was very good. I was there with a few other friends. A great time was had by all.
I arrived early and talked to the young man behind the bar. Middlemist is relatively new to the town (April of ’26).
The bartender told me they were drawing crowds because they create events.
Music on Fridays. A local library book exchange on Mondays. Game nights. People brought in their favorite board games.
“We are going to have a chess tournament soon,” he said.
He then added with an obvious sense of pride, “Chess has never been more popular than it is right now.”
I nodded my head in agreement.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that in the summer of ’72, my friends and I played chess almost every day.
Why?
That was when Bobby Fischer played Boris Spassky in Reykjavík, Iceland. And that was when a bunch of pre-high school guys played chess on my friend George’s parents’ patio.
His parents had a covered backyard patio, so we didn’t pass out from the hot summer sun.
The tournament (theirs, not ours) was a worldwide event. Every television station showed the players’ moves on an oversize chessboard from an adjacent studio.
Rook to Queen Seven.
Back in Old Bridge (on George’s parents’ patio), we had four or five chessboards set up on a picnic table.
We’d win or lose, then rotate partners. I don’t remember if we had any rhyme or reason for who played whom. I’m not even sure if we ended up with a champion.
But we were part of a game that was being played in a million backyards throughout the world.
And besides, it was fun.
So why didn’t I tell this bartender all about that?
First of all, I didn’t want to undercut his idea of having a chess tournament. He seemed very happy that he had thought of it.
Also, I wanted to avoid the following questions:
“Who is Bobby Fischer?”
“Who is Boris Spassky?”
“What the hell is a Reykjavik?”
Sometimes it’s better to be silent, Al.
Checkmate.
