shave, his hair resembled the top of a string mop that had been dyed black and, like his clothes, looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks. As he sat there, his eyes moved fervently as they scanned the board.
Standing nearby kibitzing on the game was what looked like another college student. A tall blond Germanic-looking kid with red cheeks, a smart-assed smile and a cheap stogie dangling from his lips polluting the air around him. “Idiot,” he exclaimed as the other kid reached for his bishop. “Don’t you see you can win a pawn?”
The younger player turned to him and pointed a finger. “Are you playing this game?” he asked. “No? Then shut the fuck up.” Under his breath, he added, “Moron.”
The color dropped from the tall blond kid’s face. Still smiling his smart-assed smile but with no humor left in his eyes, he tossed his cigar at the player.
“Sonofabitch,” the kid jumped up, knocking the cigar out of his lap. “You’re going to throw a lit cigar at me?” He was a good six inches shorter and sixty pounds lighter than the blond kid.
“You could’ve been more polite about my suggestion…” the blond kid started, but before he could say anything else he was hit hard with an uppercut that sent him on his ass.
“The sonofabitch threw a lit cigar at me,” the other kid repeated, his arms moving in wild gestures as he stormed away. The blond kid looked stunned as he sat on the ground. Then, rubbing his jaw, he flashed an embarrassed grin before getting back to his feet and walking gingerly in the opposite direction.
“I never knew chess was a contact sport,” Shannon said.
The Paul Bunyan look-alike had watched the event with an amused sparkle in his eyes. He slipped his upper plate back in place. “You live in Boulder long enough you’ll see everything.”
“I wonder if your opponent knew you had mate in four no matter what he did?”
The older man leaned back on the bench and appraised Shannon slowly. “Show me,” he said.
Shannon played out the moves, demonstrating how mate in four could be forced.
“You know your chess. The name’s Eddie, by the way. Why don’t you take a seat. Let’s see what you can do.”
Shannon sat down in the folding chair and introduced himself.
“Out to kill a few hours?” Eddie asked.
“More to clear my head.”
Eddie nodded. “You have the look of someone with a purpose. About my last opponent, he didn’t have a clue. I had him hook, line and sinker. Nothing but a fish waiting to be reeled in and gutted. A shame I didn’t get my chance to fillet him.”
The first dozen moves went quickly, then Eddie started taking more time to study the board before making his moves. When it was his turn he’d be locked in deep concentration, his face rigid except for his upper plate sliding in and out of his mouth. When it was Shannon’s turn, Eddie would engage him in conversation.
“How’d you lose those fingers?”
“They were broken off.”
“How was that done?”
“With a nutcracker.”
“That must’ve hurt.”
Shannon looked up, saw no sarcasm in Eddie’s heavily lined face. Other than trying to get an edge by distracting his opponent, he was doing nothing more than talking straightforwardly.
Shannon made his move, then dead silence for several more minutes until Eddie decided on his next course of action. Then:
“You been in Boulder long?”
“About five years.”
“Me, off and on since ’74. I left in ’97 after the student rioting. Ashamed after that to admit I was from Boulder. I only came back a few months ago. And I keep wondering why I did.”
“Students rioted here in ’97?”
“Yep, did their share of damage up on the Hill. And guess what their reason was? To protest racism? Inequality? Poverty? An unjust war? Nope. Nothing more than they wanted underage drinking. When I think back to the sixties and seventies and then what these students did it makes me sick.”
“A different world, different
Standing nearby kibitzing on the game was what looked like another college student. A tall blond Germanic-looking kid with red cheeks, a smart-assed smile and a cheap stogie dangling from his lips polluting the air around him. “Idiot,” he exclaimed as the other kid reached for his bishop. “Don’t you see you can win a pawn?”
The younger player turned to him and pointed a finger. “Are you playing this game?” he asked. “No? Then shut the fuck up.” Under his breath, he added, “Moron.”
The color dropped from the tall blond kid’s face. Still smiling his smart-assed smile but with no humor left in his eyes, he tossed his cigar at the player.
“Sonofabitch,” the kid jumped up, knocking the cigar out of his lap. “You’re going to throw a lit cigar at me?” He was a good six inches shorter and sixty pounds lighter than the blond kid.
“You could’ve been more polite about my suggestion…” the blond kid started, but before he could say anything else he was hit hard with an uppercut that sent him on his ass.
“The sonofabitch threw a lit cigar at me,” the other kid repeated, his arms moving in wild gestures as he stormed away. The blond kid looked stunned as he sat on the ground. Then, rubbing his jaw, he flashed an embarrassed grin before getting back to his feet and walking gingerly in the opposite direction.
“I never knew chess was a contact sport,” Shannon said.
The Paul Bunyan look-alike had watched the event with an amused sparkle in his eyes. He slipped his upper plate back in place. “You live in Boulder long enough you’ll see everything.”
“I wonder if your opponent knew you had mate in four no matter what he did?”
The older man leaned back on the bench and appraised Shannon slowly. “Show me,” he said.
Shannon played out the moves, demonstrating how mate in four could be forced.
“You know your chess. The name’s Eddie, by the way. Why don’t you take a seat. Let’s see what you can do.”
Shannon sat down in the folding chair and introduced himself.
“Out to kill a few hours?” Eddie asked.
“More to clear my head.”
Eddie nodded. “You have the look of someone with a purpose. About my last opponent, he didn’t have a clue. I had him hook, line and sinker. Nothing but a fish waiting to be reeled in and gutted. A shame I didn’t get my chance to fillet him.”
The first dozen moves went quickly, then Eddie started taking more time to study the board before making his moves. When it was his turn he’d be locked in deep concentration, his face rigid except for his upper plate sliding in and out of his mouth. When it was Shannon’s turn, Eddie would engage him in conversation.
“How’d you lose those fingers?”
“They were broken off.”
“How was that done?”
“With a nutcracker.”
“That must’ve hurt.”
Shannon looked up, saw no sarcasm in Eddie’s heavily lined face. Other than trying to get an edge by distracting his opponent, he was doing nothing more than talking straightforwardly.
Shannon made his move, then dead silence for several more minutes until Eddie decided on his next course of action. Then:
“You been in Boulder long?”
“About five years.”
“Me, off and on since ’74. I left in ’97 after the student rioting. Ashamed after that to admit I was from Boulder. I only came back a few months ago. And I keep wondering why I did.”
“Students rioted here in ’97?”
“Yep, did their share of damage up on the Hill. And guess what their reason was? To protest racism? Inequality? Poverty? An unjust war? Nope. Nothing more than they wanted underage drinking. When I think back to the sixties and seventies and then what these students did it makes me sick.”
“A different world, different
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