Chess

A few days ago I purshased a book written by Gary Kasparov, the Russian grand-master chessplayer who is the reigning and undisputed world-champ. Over the years I've read quite a few chess books, including a fascinating thirty-year retrospective on the Fischer-Spasky match back in 1974 entitled, Bobby Fischer Goes to War. The Fischer-Spasky match has had no rivals, but Fischer died last year in Iceland after being, to say the least, quite insane for a number of years.

Kasparov's book is suppossed to be a comparison of Chess to life, but I doubt he had in mind the kind of chess I used to play, where pieces would frequently go flying across the room. Logan and I still play a game now and again, but it's a game that takes dedication and copious amounts of time to master.

I do, however, have my favorites when it comes to chess. I really like the little horsies that move in an "L" shape, and, of course, I love my bishop. I love my queen, too, and call her Becky. I am her pawn. But in life, as in chess, I often feel that I'm getting rooked.

I wonder if this is what Kasparov had in mind?