Not Quite Kasparov

Since I’ve left Stanford Road there has been a gaping void in my life left by the absence of Tom, and specifically, our twice-weekly ritual of playing chess over a pint of beer at the Chimney House. Or, in fact, any pub which both had a chess set and that Tom had not been barred from. Both of these factors severely limited our choice of pubs. Anyway, to keep me occupied on the 24 hour flight over I brought with me my computerised ‘Kasparov Chess’ set which has kept me occupied many a lonely night since. I was delighted to find this provides a more challenging game than Tom did, and certainly provides a more balanced insight into any moral conundrums I happened to be facing at work or in life. It also doesn’t shaft me on the ‘loser buys the drinks’ principle. I have also started playing with Wayne, a guy at work, during lunch. Wayne provides better conversation than the computer, but is annoyingly good and tends to win a little too often. He has lent me his ‘Chess Player’s Bible’ which, whilst not an exhilarating read, is bearable and the thought of thrashing Tom when I return makes it worth pursuing. Unfortunately, despite all this effort I don’t seem to be getting any better. I can tell you when you can use En Passant, comment on the positional considerations of the Dragon Variation of the Sicilian Defence and tell you why you should use a Fianchettoed Bishop. Theoretically, I could give a Grand Master a good game. I can talk a great game, but can’t seem to play one. It seems I’m the chess equivalent of a back-seat-driver.