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By
Roger Lacroix
QUIET!!! SHHHH! DIRECTOR!
People from all around the room were yelling at us. Actually, they were yelling at Mike.
It was late Sunday morning in the early spring of 1971and I was at a chess tournament. There were probably 50 people in the room. They were playing chess and were 3 hours into their games. Some of the players were already in time trouble. Some players were half crazed from exhaustion and pressure. This was the fourth round of a 5 round tournament. With an average game lasting 4 hours, the players had averaged 15 hours of chess in the last 26 hours. On my right, a player's legs were shaking uncontrollably. Across the room, a friend of mine wanted to make a move but his arm was shaking and seemed unresponsive. He didn't want to make his move because he was afraid that he might accidentally touch the wrong piece (if you touch a piece you must move it). You could feel the tension in the air. Mike started again . . . .
QUIET!!!! SHUT UP!!! GO IN THE OTHER ROOM!!!
Mike was trying to do a "Post Mortem" of the game. This is a common happening after a game is over but is usually conducted in a different room to spare the other players from the noise. In a "Post Mortem" usually the players replay some of the key parts of the game and exchange comments and offer possible alternatives. Some of the losing players won't do "Post Mortems" because sometimes the "Post Mortem" turns into an "ego trip" by the winning player. I didn't hear much of what Mike had said, but the gist of it was that I had played poorly and that he had played brilliantly. The problem in my mind was that I had won the game and he had lost.
I told Mike that I was going to lunch. The next round would start in an hour and I wanted to make sure I ate. Mike declared that he was coming with me. I groaned.
Don't get me wrong, I like Mike Tripp. Mike was a "high school kid" probably a junior. I was a "college man", a sophomore. Mike was rapidly improving as a player. In chess there is a rating system that allows the players to know how good they are relative to other players. My rating was 150 points higher than Mike's and I was improving also. Mike was the kind of player that the stronger players loved to play. Mike would play a pretty good game. He would play a very exciting game. Then something would happen, he would make a blunder or a series of weak moves and he would lose. But best of all, Mike played fast. Experienced tournament players know that playing 20 hours of chess in a weekend is physically and mentally exhausting. Any short game is welcomed as a chance to save energy and to rest for the next round.
Did I mention that Mike was arrogant? Mike was very arrogant. Now some people in chess who are arrogant are awful and you don't want to have anything to do with them. However, Mike was arrogant in a different way. Mike was arrogant in a comical way. People often had the feeling that Mike was going to come to them and say that he had just been acting all this time. But of course he didn't.
Strange as it might seem, I feel that Mike was good for chess. Mike was the kind of guy that no one wanted to lose to. Other players would come by when they were taking a break to see what was happening in Mike's game. The players would note what opening Mike was playing. If other players knew that they might be playing Mike at a tournament, they would prepare for the game by studying his openings and reviewing any past games with him. No one wanted to lose to Mike and that is why he was good for chess because one of the best ways to improve is to have some friendly rivalries with other players.
In order to get to the deli for a sandwich, we had to cross through the block. I ordered a small Italian sandwich. Mike ordered a large Italian sandwich. I got a small Pepsi. Mike got a half-gallon glass jug of orange juice. Mike wanted to rush back to the tournament but I refused. We sat down on a bench outside the deli and began to eat.
Like I said before I liked Mike and decided to enlighten him on my theories of tournament play. I would help him out as a "college man" to a "high school kid". I began. I think it is important to get some fresh air and rest between rounds. I also recommend a brisk walk if time allows. Also, definitely eat your meals but keep them light so you can concentrate and not get sleepy. Mike didn't agree with any of this.
I also offered to Mike that the players at the tournament that were shaking probably had not done any physical activity recently and this had contributed to their weak play. I usually played a pickup basketball game Friday to take care of my physical self so that my energy could go to my mind. Mike said that he was a tremendous basketball player and was definitely better than me. I continued, saying that this particular week I wasn't able to get into a basketball game so I had run on the indoor track at school. Mike said that he was a much better runner than I was in a sprint or at distance.
Now don't get me wrong, I like Mike but he was getting to me. I was getting angry. I wanted to get even with this arrogant and insulting "high school kid". Furthermore, I wanted to use Mike's arrogance in order to teach him a lesson. I said that we should return to the tournament.
We began going back while we were still eating our sandwiches. My mind raced. How could I teach Mike a lesson? How could I get even? We crossed a parking lot. We crossed a second parking lot. Ahead was a narrow passage between 2 buildings. I had an idea.
I stopped in the passage. It was about 5 feet wide. On our left was a brick building. The building had a flat roof and was about 25 feet high. Mike came over and asked what was up. Mike still had not finished his sandwich and his half gallon jug of orange juice was still half full. I knew of the power of planting an idea in someone's mind and I wanted to get even and I wanted to do it in a way that Mike would never realize that I had gotten even. My mind was racing out of control. I struggled for the best words knowing that Mike would turn back for the tournament any second and my opportunity would be forever lost.
I blurted out "Mike, I know you're better than me in chess, and I know you're better than me in basketball, and I know you're better than me in running, but I bet you can't throw that jug of orange juice up onto the roof of that building!!" I felt like I was going to have a heart attack. My heart was pounding. Would Mike take the bait and fall for such a foolish challenge? Mike looked up and mentally assessed the situation.
I had challenged Mike with a nearly impossible task. The passageway was 5 feet wide. The building was 25 feet high resulting in a nearly impossible angle. He had to throw a wet, slippery, heavy, oddly shaped object almost straight up. Mike seemed like he might try it.
To me there were three possibilities . . . all of them good for me. 1) Mike hit the building on the way up and broke the orange juice bottle. 2) Mike missed the building by going straight up and straight back down and broke the orange juice bottle. Or 3) Mike was successful and threw the bottle onto the roof. Mike would probably boast of his skill but I was sure that I could reverse his arrogance by countering that he was an idiot to even try it.
I said, "I know I can do it."
Mike immediately planted his feet and with a half-eaten Italian in his left hand made an overhand throw with his right. The bottle hit the wall about 2/3's of the way up the building. Since Mike had thrown the bottle straight at the building, he was immediately drenched in a shower of orange juice and broken glass. The glass did not cut Mike but his pride had been severely wounded. Mike recovered as best as he could. He took a bite of his sandwich, held out his hand and said, "can I have a swig of your Pepsi to wash this down?"
NO WAY!!