Chess is Finite.

I have played so much chess, so many hours upon hours hunched over a board and pushing plastic. A while ago I couldn't figure out why, so I stopped. I'm so rusty at this point, I recently got whomped by this little punk bastard online. I know nothing about the guy, except that, after he had me, he typed "ohh." Little shit. On a blunder too. He's probably 14 and awkward and pimply. But I will use my anger at this chode for something constructive, as I now feel sufficiently motivated for writing down what I've been thinking for some time.

Chess. Nerdy but respected, it's cool at first. Then you get good, and it becomes a nervous ego-filled adventure. You win and rub it in. You lose and run to a book or screen to find out why. You ignore real life. Your habits become irregular. You forget to eat sometimes. You develop little nervous movements. I can't tell you the percentages, but so many chess players I've met are smokers and/or heavy coffee addicts. You meet weird people. Smart people sometimes, but mostly just weird. Sometimes you have something in common, sometimes you have nothing but 64 squares and a silly stack of memorizations.

I played regularly in a bar when I was a teenager. There, I met guys who only played for money. I won some and lost some, and it certainly kept me focused on something and not on drugs (which a stutteringly large portion of my friends were). And I never played for more than two dollars a game. I must have played a thousand different people in coffee shops, parks, and college campuses. Most of the ones who could play were interesting.

I used to play a guy who dealt drugs under the table while we played. I didn't know at first, and, by the time I figured it out, I had grown to rather like him. When I found out he was on parole, I wanted to know more. I asked what his aspirations were, and he said he wanted to expand his business. I haven't seen him in 8 years. I have some faith in (and hope for) him still, but I could only trust him so far. He was a good friend, but I can't say I miss him.

I became friendly with a former Tae Kwon Do champion of California, who'd learned to play after he'd discovered that he had Diabetes and that he couldn't compete physically anymore. We had excellent conversations. He'd put little lines I'd utter into his school papers. It didn't bother me as long as he admitted it was mine when I read it. He is/was brilliant, and it's a shame he'll probably go to work giving people mind-numbing and brain-disabling drugs. He never thought much of the average person anyway, but I hope he does something less evil instead.

I met an old Indian man who flirted with fifty girls a day. He repeatedly invited me to play in the corner of a strip club and couldn't understand why I declined 100 percent of the time. First I claimed that I didn't want to pay a two-drink minimum (true), so he assured me he could get that waived. I think he thought that would impress me, but I found the offer thoroughly creepy. I tried to communicate that I couldn't imagine not being distracted by nudity all around me. He assured me he'd be on top of his game and that I wouldn't want to lose (at least half true). When I explained I don't care for places like that, he asked me if I'd ever been in one and I had to admit (it was true) that I hadn't. To quell his persistence, I had to finally tell him the main reason was that he was old and it would be strange and sleazy. That worked.

I played a number of masters and one popular writer. They beat me (except in a couple games with massive blunders or clock trouble). In a game of blitz (5 min. each), anything can happen over the course of enough playing. Forget the book, cuz it's not usually going to matter that much after the first few moves. Every great grandmaster played "speed chess" as well as "slow" chess. It's that essential. If your game isn't tight, it will show quickly and painfully. I can proudly say I often put up a good fight against players out of my league.

It's a colorful lot of faces. Please listen to me carefully if you want to become one of them. On the whole, it is a sad and unhappy crowd. Most of my opponents were either nervous people or poor competitors. The good ones had trouble living life, and the bad ones, well, had trouble playing chess. It's not all a waste, by any means. That is not where I am heading with this. In fact, the above insight was made to me by someone who is proof that it can lead to more important things: an employer who I beat and then asked for a job. "Good at chess...Bad at life," he'd say. "Bad at chess. Good at life."

I have found this to be remarkably true. There is something about it that draws in the kind of mind that can process big ideas, and sometimes too many big ideas. There has been a fair amount written about the connections between insanity and chess, but plenty of people play without losing themselves. Chess is undeniably bold, but there is something strange and unholy about it as well. So much egotistical mental energy focused on so small a space causes nerves to run high. I've concluded that the board just isn't meant to be a war zone. If you're a player, you need to make peace with it somehow.

Chess players can be broken down into two varieties (with a fair amount of overlapping). The first is the type you've seen exemplified above: the coffee shop player, AKA the park player. In coffee shops, most people play 5-minutes each and anything goes. You can sing or throw out know-it-all remarks to distract your opponent. It's standard fare to act like a weirdo if it helps you win. Most players do it at least from time to time. If you talk too much, you get called a kibitzer. If you suck, you get called patzer or a fish.

The second type of player is the tournament player. Tournament players have to play by a much more strict set of rules for conduct at the table. Most tournaments are slow games which may take up to 6 hours, and you have to remain relatively silent. Tournament players tend to read a lot more about chess. They study for hours a day, and often become just as weird as coffee shop players. (Of course, I don't think many intelligent people place much stock in being "normal" nowadays anyway.) Tournament players, in general, take the game more seriously and that is good for the game.

Most players think of chess the way most people do at first: as an intellectual pursuit. Yet the more they play, the more time they are not spending on truly relevant sophisticated study. If it is high-brow, it's only because most people can't play that well. It is a sophisticated waste of time unless you remember that it is...a game.

Furthermore, it is an unmistakably finite game. There are a set number of possibilities and there will never be any more unless a rule is changed. That means that it could potentially become a glorified version of Tic Tac Toe. Chess engines are already pretty damn good (what with the ability to beat Kasparov and all), but I predict that is just the beginning. A good enough program could and probably will eventually map out the entire game. Then it would simply respond by picking moves from a tree diagram that will lead only to win or draw.

I'd say we have 50 years to go. Now most chess players who have heard me say this immediately respond that it will never happen. The numbers, they say, are too big. Liberal arts types I posit this idea to, on the other hand, usually respond by saying: "That long?"

Indeed, it is probably several hundred trillion or more possibilities to map. But to think it won't happen comes from a kind of vain pride. The only reason it wouldn't happen is if our society doesn't last long enough! Technology grows at an ever-growing rate, but chess just stays the same. Face the facts, Chessy McChessersons, it is only a matter of time.

All this being said, it is a fine game if you can keep an even head. There are few games in which chance and emotion play less of a role. It will teach a lot about logic and strategy that can be applied to other mental constructs. The average chess player I've met can, if he stops bullshitting for long enough, philosophize out his/her ass a lot better than the average person on the street can from his/her mouth. And, to me, that means something.

thelittlehorsiemovesinanl@fussypucker.com

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