Caleb Hara

Created November 17, 2021 as a hypothetical narrative for Sports Illustrated within Practicum: Writing in the Arts

Three ice cubes drop into a rocks glass with a clink. The cap is popped off a bottle of McClelland’s single malt scotch. The glass is filled, and through my Discord call, a burly 24-year old carpenter named Nolan settles into his seat with the drink.

“Let’s play a long game. My mind can’t handle both blitz and an interview.” He says.

“It’s your funeral.” I rebuttal, and send him a challenge on his favourite chess website. A board pops up on the screen, and the two of us proceed to bolt through the first ten moves while verbally harassing one another’s opening choices. When he stops for the first time to actually think about his next move, I ask my first question.

“Why do you like chess?”

“What’s not to like? Chess is the best.” He says quickly.

I’m paraphrasing slightly, as his actual response is as emphatic as it is filled with expletives. We play a couple of more moves settling into the slower pace of the middle game, and I take the opportunity to learn more about where his fond connection to chess comes from.

“When, and how did you first get into chess?”

“I first played with my old man when I was around ten. I feel like a lot of people were introduced to the game that way.”

Nolan didn’t truly start playing chess however, until the beginning of the pandemic. After being temporarily laid off from his job he spent his days learning, playing, and watching the game for hours on end. Now, two years later, he is fully immersed in the community and continues improving every night despite working full time again. The young man is now one of the strongest platers at his local club in Sarnia, despite being years behind many of his constituents in years played.

“The cojones, really? A move like that? To me?” He jests, after I thrust one of my pieces up the board in a way that feels indignant. While he thinks of how to punish me for it, I propose to him that chess has become far more entertaining to watch than many modern-day sports. It is also more redeeming to play, given its widespread accessibility.

“Funny you should say that.” He replies. His next move appears on the board, and he takes a long sip of scotch before telling me all about how he used to wrestle at the top level for Western University. Prior to that, he played baseball throughout his youth, and was a starter on the football team of his high school.

“I used to watch them all too.” He says. “It was a barbecue every single weekend for whatever game was on. Now, that’s all grown stale. Now, it’s all chess.”

Unlike many modern games or sports, chess has a worldwide pool of opponents to select from at any time of the day. It has a limited barrier to entry, in that nearly any computer or board will allow for a game. Because you’re left to your own devices as you play, it’s easy to become invested in chess for its beauty rather than camaraderie, or ceremony. There is no encumbrance from teammates, there is no variable of entropy to be accounted for. From the moment the first move is played, it’s just you, your rival, and those 64 squares. This makes victory in chess some of the sweetest there is, and defeat, the most bitter.

“It’s also great for the mind. Keeps you sharp.” Says Nolan, as he throws out a howitzer of a move. He’s sacrificed a whole piece, and I quickly see that I’ve blundered into a checkmate sequence.

I’m left with two options. Let him play out the winning moves, or resign to rob him of the satisfaction.

I opt for the former.