CHESS STORY OF THE WEEK (anonymous)

received from www.chess-live.com 3 Sep 04

The Global Shirts team in the Arkwright & District league has seen a good number of players come and go over the years, but none quite as unusual as the player who appeared for us last week. This is the story of Bob's chess career.

Last Thursday's match against Gimmington Pawnshovers would normally pass without incident, but the problems began when I found that by Tuesday I was struggling to raise a team. Of the regulars, Jed was away on business and Vic was going to see his kids in a school play - probably quite a relief for him to go an entire Thursday night without defeat. My pool of stand-by players has dwindled over the years, and on this occasion only one was willing to turn out. Some were either suffering from prior commitments (kids at the same school as Vic's), while others simply laughed when I suggested that after three years away from the game, perhaps they would like to make a comeback.

I even extended the search to other local players who I knew were not currently attached to a team, but they all made their excuses, probably (and correctly) in the belief that having played this one match for us, they would not be required again all season. Once registered for us, they would be faced with the choice of only playing in a lower division, or growing a beard and reappearing as a complete stranger who has just moved to the area. Only one person has ever got away with that in our league, and even he was eventually found out when, having appeared for two teams, he turned up one night and found that he was playing himself.

By the morning of the game I was resigned to turning up with only five players. Then came the phone call which made me have one more try. The Gimmington captain rang, full of profuse apologies - he had been unable to contact his bottom board player, and he was pretty sure that he did not know about the game. He would keep trying, but there was a good chance that they might be a man short. Awfully inconvenient and all that, but he hoped our player would understand.

"Of course," I lied, "I will make sure he is aware of the situation..."

So, all I had to do was find somebody, anybody, and there was every prospect of an easy point. I spent half an hour scraping even deeper into the barrel, but there were no takers. It was bad enough trying to get people to play, but trying to get them to turn up and waste their time was even more of a challenge. It was only when I bumped into Arnold at the drinks machine that things looked up.

"Have we got a full team tonight, Henry?" He asked. "No, and it looks as if we are a man short. But so are they." "Well, if you want someone just to turn up, I'll bring Bob," said Arnold. "Who? Bob? Has he played before?" I asked, wondering how Arnold knew a chess player I hadn't already tried. "Let's just say he's a bit of an unknown quantity. But I know he'll come, and he won't mind if he doesn't get a game." "Sounds ideal, bring him along," said I, the search finally over. When I returned to my desk I added Bob to my list of possibles for future crises.

I arrived early at the Gimmington club to welcome Bob to the team, but there was no sign of Arnold's car anywhere. The Gimmington five were all there and their captain was explaining to them that he still had not got through to Eric, the missing board six. No reply to the numerous messages left on his answerphone, nor to the note pushed through his door. It looked as if Eric had gone on holiday and not told his captain. Good news for us, as long as Arnold and Bob showed up.

Right on cue, just as the clocks were about to be started, in walked Arnold carrying a large cardboard box. He put the box down on a table and opened the lid. Inside, safely surrounded by polystyrene chips, was a goldfish bowl. And in there was a goldfish.

"Meet Bob," said Arnold, proudly. "You're kidding," I said, trying to come to terms with the fact that my new player was small and scaly. "Tell me you're kidding." "Course not," said Arnold, "he watches me play all the time, he must know how the bits move by now."

Arnold seemed completely serious. The Gimmington team seemed bemused. The Gimmington captain seemed furious, perhaps because he thought it was illegal, or perhaps because he hadn't thought of it himself. But after a few seconds of reflection I came round to Arnold's way of thinking. The league rules were fairly tight on players not appearing for more than one team, but I could not recall any restriction on which species were eligible to play. And since nobody had a copy of the FIDE rulebook to hand, the players present could not put their finger on anything which might exclude Bob, as long as he wasn't a computer. Which, clearly, he wasn't.

The name Bob Fish was duly entered on the score sheet, and his bowl was placed by his board. He had the black pieces.

After the initial rumpus we settled down to play, and for twenty minutes, as his opponent's clock ticked away, it looked as if Bob would be heading for a glorious victory, our first on board six for many, many months. A best of five series against Vic looked on the cards, to decide who should play there for the rest of the season.

Then it all went wrong. In walked the elusive Eric, sporting a fresh suntan.

"Sorry I'm late - only got back a couple of hours ago. Which board ...?" He stopped dead when he saw his opponent.

His captain went across and had a quiet word. Eric walked up to the board, played 1 b3, and went back home again.

At the end of the evening Bob was still swimming around his flag having long since fallen. We had lost by 3½-2½.

I turned to Arnold and shook his hand.

"Nice try - but don't do it again." "Aye," said Arnold, "he's never seen that opening before - must have confused him."

The letter from the league secretary arrived this morning. Item 3 on the agenda for the AGM: Revision of player eligibility rules.

Poor Bob. He can't even grow a beard and try somewhere else.