Chess will never be my idea of a team sport.

Can you imagine a trio of "Tinkers to Evers to Chance" tossing "the ole horse head" around "the home squares" on a sunny day in spring?

Neither can I.

Still, there I was, at the annual Mid State Team Chess Tournament, for a three-day weekend of chess. There was no help for it.

Some Club mates and I made up the team, "E4 Effort."

Our first round match came early Saturday morning. We made short work of "Ehlvest Lives!," four guys with slicked back hair, tight pants, and modest talent - at least for playing chess.

When an "Ehlvest" thought he was close to a mate, he rattled off a chorus of "Love Me Tender."

As each was forced to resign, he snarled out a rendition of "You Ain't Nothin' But A Hound Dog."

Quite understandably, the Tournament Director had several fits throughout the weekend.

That afternoon, we faced some retirees, "On Golden Pawn," who -- fortunately -- took their chess a bit more seriously. Their top player, a Latvian émigré, even managed to hold onto a half point in spirited counterplay - but the outcome of the match was never in doubt.

After two rounds, "E4 Effort" basked in our success: seven wins and a draw. That was good enough to lead the pack.

Our team strategy looked unbeatable.

Let me explain.

Each year, the Mid State Team Chess Tourney welcomes players of all strengths, from Novice to Grandmaster. To level out the competition, each team is limited to an average skill rating of 2200. The strongest member plays on First Board, the second strongest on Second Board, and so on.

Some teams -- like the one we met in the first round -- don't care about such things. They just show up and play.

For the fun of it.

Others teams, rising to the competition, have players rated as close to the upper limit as possible. They show equal strength across all boards.

This was, in fact, how we had set up "E4 Effort." Each round we rotated who played what board.

Once in a while, in a bit of bravado, a Mid State team will choose to stack three very strong players in the top positions, and plug in a patzer on Board Four to draw down the average.

This can cause problems.

"Three GrandMasters & A Disaster," one such entry in this year's tourney, was made up of three live players -- and a teddy bear.

The GMs insisted that the bear had a paid-up membership in the United States Chess Federation, and should be allowed to play. It had an ID card to prove their point.

The tournament posting in Chess Life, they argued, said "no smoking" and "no computers," but nothing about "no bears."

Despite this, a Players' Committee had quickly ruled that the team needed to add a living, breathing member, or leave the competition.

In a pinch, the 3 GMs had agreed to go with Perry, the infamous Club pawnpusher.

I'm not sure what the bear had been rated going into the event, but I think after this rash and foolish move, the team's average was even further below the 2200 limit.

In Sunday's first round, "E4 Effort" clashed with a gang of punkish looking teens sporting pink and green Mohawk haircuts. They were aptly named "The d-Filers."

Our current Board Three claimed to have never seen so many earrings, in so many places. He soon lost his focus, then a pawn, and later, almost the game.

At last he chose to play "blindfold," looking anywhere except across the board. The draw was thus secured.

The "Effort" cleaned up, 3 1/2 - 1/2.

Next round came four of the "64 Squares." They were a non-descript crew, identifiable only by their intensity, which seemed to flow out of their fingers and into the chess pieces in front of them.

"64" provided surprisingly difficult resistance, and as a result, "E4 Effort" had to settle for two draws. Fortunately, I had by then risen in the rotation to Board One, and my win (plus Board Four's) pushed us ahead overall, 3 - 1.

We remained on top in the standings, with one more round to go.

In the quirky final round, Monday morning, "E4" met up with the troublesome "3 GMs."

Our opponents, as expected, had won 3 (the work of the GrandMasters) and lost 1 (the work of the Disaster) in each of their previous four matches.

We had 14 points. They had only 12.

They had three GrandMasters, and every hope of going 3 - 1 against us.

Even so, if we tied at 15, "E4 Effort" would be awarded the first place trophy based on tie-break points. (I had done the math the night before.)

As luck would have it, I sat down at Board Four.

Perry's board.

He opened with 1.e3, a rueful smile, and a cough.

I felt obligated to reply, immediately, with 1...d5. After his 2.e4, I had "fallen" for Perry's patented "Terrible Two-Step" -- the Club joke opening.

"Oh my gosh," I moaned, grabbing my head in mock agony and fear. Why should all the other teams have all the fun?

"Not the 'Terrible Two-Step'! I am terrified!"

A crowd gathered to enjoy the drama. I noticed the Tournament Director among them. The weekend had been a good show for all, and I was willing to give them a little bit more.

"What am I to do?" I wailed.

"There is not but to do," I paused, building dramatic irony, "but to resign this wretched position!"

At this, Perry leaped to his feet, snared the Tournament Director by the collar, and spit out, "You heard him! He resigned! I demand the full point!"

I stopped, and stared, gaping wordlessly.

Unbelievably, he got it.

An hour later, their top three boards finished crushing ours, and the "Three GrandMasters and a Disaster" walked off with first place.