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Chessville
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Queenside Just another short story about the thrill of being a chess piece... by Barry Taylor Our black pawn, alone on the file, stands straight ahead. He is bold, courageous even, but he looks meagre. There had better be some protection for him soon because a white knight is closing in for position. And that is our awful predicament. We, the proud pieces, are being compelled to protect an isolated pawn because enemy cavalry is about to pounce. Things are not looking good. But then, they started out that way. White initiated this game with a yawn and we replied in kind. Oh, we should have taken risks then! But Ruy Lopez, that old defence, was so playable. The game opened up and bishops began sniping from our corners and our king took cover in the other castle. Some are saying we castled too early, that we lost some timing, tempo we call it, when it was unnecessary. I say that’s just negative gossip. I say it’s never too early to castle, but then I’m a rook, queenside. I can see now across the board and I’m nervous about the way the enemy’s kingside bishop and this restless knight appear to be lining up for some sort of combination. I’ve seen it before. The way these horseheads can see two different directions at once is enough to make the strongest piece paranoid. They can look straight at you, not moving, and you still feel like you're being deked. If only it was our move we could better our pawn structure and crowd this side a little more. I feel like I’m the only one with an eye on this little guy and once he goes, bam! We’re in for a queenside onslaught. It’s like the whole board is being tipped my way, and everything’s going to slide into me. I need support before it’s too late. Worst thing is to be traded off for some lesser piece, to have to trade me off for some measly animal, say, because we need position. Position. That’s all we’re fighting for now. When the team gets position in its head look out; anybody is the next body to be sacrificed. If I’m right, though, they’re going to need me too much. But not yet. Our guys are still focused on the kingside. Our move. It appears to be our Queen. First time she’s made her appearance. Headed the wrong way, though. Everyone's still blinded by all that pawn and kingside knight action by white. That fianchetto (which is the first little move by a bishop one space toward the board’s edge for those of you who don’t speak our language) is mesmerizing her. The earlier peck at our king, just a silly check really, has everyone skittish. Not me. I’m staying put. I can see across all this space at what’s really shaping up. She’s stopped. I don’t like this. She’s come out too early and has taken a defensive posture, and on the wrong side. Now I’m skittish. White to move. Things just got a whole lot bloodier. That little pawn is no more. It only took a second after our Queen parked her royal butt off in la-la land and- wham! It was all over for the little guy. He didn’t stand a chance, like I said. Suddenly I feel like, like I’m in my underwear up on the school stage and the whole gymnasium has never seen a rook in his underwear before. Well, don’t look now because it appears everything I said is coming true. Here comes our queenside knight from his nap or whatever. It’s about time I got help. Too late for our little pawn island, I suppose, eh? I want that white nag. What he did wasn’t right. It was natural, it was even smooth. But it wasn’t right. So we moved our knight after losing a pawn. Big deal. That’s a pawn down in the material world of things. Not our most threatening move, but now at least we’re behaving a little like we have a plan, and on the right side of the board for once. If someone would kindly wipe the look of sheer panic and surprise off our Queens face maybe we could even rattle up a little morale. Okay, what’s he doing? Whitey slides his bishop up. That’s our move! He wastes an entire turn slipping a nice fianchettoed bishop a little further into the centre. Who cares? This isn’t about the centre anymore, my friend. In case you hadn’t noticed, even our well-plopped queen is looking my way. Here I am, solid, proud, and valuable and all you can do is guard your sloppy centre with a wayward bishop? Ha! The tempo is ours now, my white nemesis, and if our Queen would kindly slam home a little cross-board rush you will see that more than just the board is tipping our way. And look at that, here she comes. Ain’t she a sight? Hello, darlin'. Nice to see you’ve lost your poker face and bear a little gritty determination on ya. I’m here, right beneath you my Queen, and I see what you’ve done. Now the whole board knows that we have us a battery. Battery is my favourite thing. Pile me and my other rook, or Queenie here, onto a single file and we mean business. And oh my, look at that. Whitey has a bare 8th rank. He’s pulled everyone out to a big fat centre that doesn’t matter and here we are with cannons aimed. What will he do, what will he do? I knew it. That gangly excuse for a horse tuck tailed and ran backward. And who wouldn’t? Bloody ground about shook like thunder when majestic Mother lined up behind me. Veritable howitzer going on here. Oh if little pawnie could see us now. My move. I’m in my underwear and I don’t care. We have the pieces, we have the power, and I’m going for it. 8th rank, here I come. No rook ever took his place on the enemy’s 8th rank and didn’t sweat buckets. 7th rank is heavy, man, but 8th is heaven. Bull in a china-shop kinda heaven. I can still see her from here and her gaze down this file is reassuring, but it’s still awful lonely. And our knightly crusader has a long way to go. And that bishop of theirs still worries me. Maybe he’s just looking the wrong way. I doubt it. I’m the play now. I’ve pinned this knight to the king just a few squares on the other side. The heat is really on. I can see it’s about to get a lot hotter. The whole board is on edge now as we’ve played out our first surprise. The question for us is, can we hold on? We have no backup plan. None that I know of. And I see something whitey hasn't. Because their eyes are on me, they forget my old friend, that lazy bishop of ours off in my corner. He’s been there silent like a sniper for so long, he’s like a wall sconce, part of the backdrop. But his light's on now, baby, and Queen Mother is winking his way. We’re going. And we have one last bastion to plough through. Whitey races for reinforcement. One right move on his part and it could all be over for our victory rush. He’s decentralizing, but we have tempo. Moves his bishop again, backwards this time, guarding this silly knight with the crosshairs between his eyes. Oh I hope it doesn’t come to a sacrifice, me for him! It can happen so quickly, trading me for tempo, giving up my value for more coordination on the white king. I’m worried, afraid even. It occurs to me that we all are. Suddenly that sullen, quiet little bishop in our corner gets his orders. He marches across the board. The chess clock seems to tick forever; he’s got so far to go. Nobody knows where he’ll stop. But wait! I see it now. He’s the one. He’s the sacrifice. He smacks a white pawn down, down right on the very toes of whites king and puts him in check. Check! Out of nowhere! What bravery, what sacrifice. We hold our breath, sorry to have to see him go, but hoping for a greater game in the next 3 moves. I see it. The delay is deafening in its nothingness. That clock ticks away whites life like a bloodletting. Nobody moves. Everyone wonders if the white king, the only piece who can slay the bishop now at his throat, will take the bait. He could just move away, slide one piece toward me. I put on my most menacing face. He does it. It’s terrible to see such a noble piece fall, but to an enemy king such a bold move means we are incredibly dangerous, or incredibly stupid. Bish was bait. He was valuable, open, and had no backup. But his momma raised no fools and now every white piece is nervously glancing here and there. We have them on edge. We must turn this edge into his full retreat. Our madonna slides back laterally toward her old position, one square short. Yes, I see what she’s doing. It bothers me to give up the support, but not really because she is supporting us all another way. White's in check again and there’s only one piece to protect him; his central bishop. The check ends when the bishop releases his guard on this white night that now grows ever fearful. His fear rushes to panic as I heave my bulk toward him. My turn now, and the white knight is all mine as I make my move, right to the bull’s eye. That's for pawnie. If the victory over the white knight was not victory enough, I own the enemy’s 8th rank, and he's in check again to boot. The cheer from our army on the far side reaches my ears and I beam with pride. But not too much. This enemy is still dangerous and not entirely trapped. His next move silences the crowds. A forward knight, the second in whites army, retreats to protect his king, and attacks our Queen at the same time. They always seem to make those double moves look easy; defending on his right, attacking on his left. I trust she knew that could happen and knows what to do, but it catches me a little by surprise. In fact, I think I gasped. She’ll have to move. I look for new positions, as if to help. But she knows what she’s doing. Her next move is quick yet subtle and looks like simple reaction. It's not. It’s the kill move; white just doesn’t know it yet. It’s a little slip to line up with a 7th rank white pawn a little ahead of me, and yet she pressures the king by threatening the knight, who's desperately calling for backup. A pawn moves up to support him. Now our Queen will make her move and all the planning will come out in the open. White will see all the way up our sleeve. But it will be too late. In the annals of
the games I have fought and won this will go down as one of the greatest.
We were bold and brave, terrified, overjoyed, saddened and finally, elated.
At the victory gathering we marched to the missing man, our brave bishop who
captured by stealth the attention of an enemy king and the hearts of all his
compatriots, especially we on the queenside. © Copyright 2007 Tulipman (UN: tulipman at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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