Mated

He lost. To a six year old at the Swiss games.

The elevators at the Sheraton were almost always crammed. Stuck next to two young men, (perhaps in their early 20's) I couldn't but help overhear this dialogue. While I wanted to know more about the six year old, I couldn't ask for enlightenment anymore than I could have asked that older guy about that cool move with a rook.

Like I could make a cool move with a rook! Or a pawn. Or even a bishop -- we've tried to move our bishop, but he won't leave.


Women in saris. Young men in baggy shorts. Plump middle-aged women. Boys, and a few girls, of multiple ethnic origins -- the clientele at the Chess tour tournament was a wonderful stew of skill and shade and geographical diversity. I mention this because chess, for some reason, bridges both class and racial boundaries in a way that few other sports seem to -- an outsider, I confess mystification.

Here's what I learned: that it's really tough tracking five eleven year old boys after a baseball game. That my son's chess coach doesn't mind getting in the hotel pool and playing ball with the guys. That it's hard to see a whole exhibit of compasses and armillaries in an hour. That Mr. C has found his posse, at least for now. And, just to show you how much I care, here's one joke.

Question: What are you before, during and after you go to the bathroom.

Before: You are Russian.

After: You are Finnish.

During: Eur-a-pean, of course.

Try to forget who told you.