LeGrande's Lectern

It’s great to be in the saddle again after a not-unexpected-but-certainly-unanticipated hiatus that stretched on forever like the Gobi Desert or, if you insist on a second and superfluous example, kind of like this sentence which now that I’ve had some time to think about it. I should in the future be more hesitant to supply. If only for the sake of brevity. Like that last sentence. Er, fragment. If you were thinking just then during that grammatical debacle that writing one article followed by a three-month span of silence is probably not the best way to attract readers to a new column, you’re right! The emails have dried up. As they say, the proof is in the pudding and this pudding has an old crusty skin on top. Yum yum bleh. This is not a referendum on my readers, mind you. I love my readers and (am I pathetic?) I miss them. It was my bad (surely) but (to be honest), out of my control (if you believe me and, you should…at least this time). And thanks to my incredible family, friends, some truly fantastic doctors and, an amazing nutritionist, I now have the upper hand on my Crohn’s disease. As Marv Albert used to say, “Yessssshhh!!!” Clearly, I’m happy to be healthy again. And this time with a plan that will help me stay that way. How important I’m finding plans to be! So obviously I’ve been itching to get back on track with LeGrande’s Lectern and hear from all of you again.

Public Service Announcement: For those unfamiliar with Crohn’s disease and it’s debilitating effect on the digestive system, please read about it. At the very least, it’s kind of interesting. And it may help you or someone you know who doesn’t even know they or someone they know are suffering from it. (That last sentence seems awkward, yeah? I think it’s missing commas. But who has time for commas? Honestly. That’s a PSA for a different day. And I’m a poet who didn’t even know it.)

Ironically, it was Crohn’s disease that reunited me with chess after nearly twenty years away from this greatest of all “games.” (Why do I feel the word game does a grave disservice to the game of chess? And why do we refer to it as “the game of” chess? I digress with rhetorical questions, because soon I rediscovered why this “game” (aren’t quotes fun?) – aren’t parentheses fun? – had so captivated me as a child. It was precisely because it was way more than just a game.

Cont'd....

No victory was ever as gratifying as a chess brilliancy. Not that I ever had one as a child, or as an adult, but I saw brilliancies in every move I made anyway. Nothing was a greater boost to my ego. And nothing stopped me from boosting it. You don’t have to take my word for it. Take Bobby Fischer’s. Chess has the power to make you feel as smart as the smartest men alive. Einstein, Newton, Galileo. Wait, all those guys are dead. But you get my point, right?

On the other hand, losses were usually devastating and often infuriating. My ego, having just received a hockey-style reality check, would have to decide if it was willing to suck it up and get back in the game. But it always seemed easier to recover from an elbow to the face than from a defeat over the chessboard.

Maybe it was an accumulation of elbows to the head as a child but chess defeats always seemed to hurt more than a Little League loss or, God forbid, an oh-for-Festivus. And it was because chess, for some strange reason, was different from “athletic” games in that it had the power to make me feel stupid, as in as a human being. Not uncoordinated. Not awkward. Stupid.

Nothing is worse for a kid than to be considered stupid. Every smart kid knows it. And as a kid, my smarts were the only thing I had left after giving up a game-losing homerun to Michael Hedeira off my meaty fastball in the 9th inning of the Sandy Kofax League championships. My father would later reassure me, “At least you can get an academic scholarship to college, son. And try walking on to the baseball team.”

“You’re right, Dad,” I’d reply duly comforted, “I did just get that A- on my Chemistry exam.” Then he would ground me for getting a minus. Hey, tough love works. Look at me now.

When it came to chess, however, there was no such consolation from academic achievements. While today I can sleep comfortably knowing that even while losing at chess I’m probably still getting “smarter,” as a kid it felt like I was dropping IQ points faster than pick-up-sticks. And during my worst chess defeats I felt I’d never be able to pick all those sticks up again. I felt I was getting irreversibly stupider (why is my spellcheck flagging “spellcheck” and not “stupider?”) and so reached the reasonably stupid conclusion that chess must also be stupid.

I had lobotomized myself in the pursuit of perfection. Absolutely perfect. For sure I’d be in a stupor until it was time to ask my mom what she was making for dinner. Hopefully it would be porkchops and applesauce. Yum.

Cont'd....

So yes, chess is certainly different from other games. But not unlike fantasy football in that it is also a wholly uncompromising mirror that reveals your (here read “my”) most basic and painful flaws for all to see. But how wonderful to finally confront one’s (here, again, read “my”) flaws!

To prove my point, I will now tell my own chess story.

Wait. Don’t get up and leave now like you have something important to do. That’s rude. And the story starts tomorrow, anyway. So no need to rush your way out of here. In fact, we’re almost done. And the slide show is optional, to boot! See, I have manners too.

The story (that’s right, I was talking about my chess story before…oh forget about it. I mean, don’t forget about the story. It) spans some thirty-some odd or even years (oddly enough I also am some thirty-some years old) and it will bring you current to today. Hmm. To today. I fear that is grammatically uncorrect. Send me an email if it is. But don’t send me an email about my use of “uncorrect.” I’m starting a trend. A trend that will awaken grammar teachers from their graves.

But back to my chess story.

My story, like most other chess stories, starts with a child’s desire to earn his father’s respect. But my story, unlike most other chess stories, is FASCINATING, as you must already suspect if you’ve read this far. And it’s also grammatically correct. Mostly correct I’m sure. And perhaps not even really about chess at all. Which would be fascinating in it’s own right if I play it right, which makes two uses of the word “right” in this sentence, right? And this demonstrates why editing is a necessary companion to writing. Time always changes expectations and understanding. Heavy, huh? (Remember, there’s MORE tomorrow! I know what you’re thinking, and yes, you’ve hit the jackpot.)

Back to the story for the last time until tomorrow. It’s a story that surprisingly unfolds in two easily digestible parts (Don’t forget to read about Crohn’s disease!). So tomorrow, part one. Next week, part two.

And thanks for all of your feedback, everyone. It’s great to be back and hearing from you again!

Sincerely,
Danen “Le Grande” Downs