Power Trip
The chess game of all time
I begin recounting this journey, still in a semi-intoxicated state, at a desktop in the comfort of my home—not my actual house, but my local chess club. It was Thursday, the day on which all of our club regulars stop by to play our weekly rated games, and I couldn't believe my eyes upon discovering my pairing for today.
Stroke of Serendipity, or Comic Misfortune?
It all started back at my place. I had just come home from work, and I invited my buddy over for dinner prior to our evening game. I cooked us some nice steak and oven-roasted potatoes with salad on the side, a meal that was certainly heartier than what I'm normally accustomed to. The real intention of my hospitality, however, was that I had planned on taking some magic substances with my food, and I wanted my friend there to witness it—whether it was an ascent to euphoria or a spiral into madness, was soon be decided at the chess board.
Upon finishing our meal we promptly drive over to the club, my mind serene and devoid of emotion or any chess-related thoughts. On usual weeks I would take some time to get in the mood, maybe solve some tactics on my phone or do a little preparation for my most-likely opponent, but today I literally did not care. And thus, I enter the club and undergo the usual routine, unpacking my streaming setup to prepare my Twitch broadcast, until the commencement of Round 6 of our Winter tournament. As fate would have it, printed on the pairings sheet was me as White against the same buddy of mine who had kept me company for a good part of the last hour.
Pursuit to Uncertainty
I open the game with 1.e4—initially I was thinking of avoiding any theory whatsoever, but sitting across from me was a formidable opponent, and so I was compelled to enter forcing lines. My strategy then was to play a solid sideline with little risk of tanking on the clock at such an early stage, which is something I've been doing too often for my liking as of late. After a few minutes of consideration, I come up with the 2.c3 Sicilian, hoping to enter Morra-declined waters. What soon followed came as a shock to me, and even invoked a couple of audible laughs at the board. "I just chugged a beer in the other room to even up the playing field," he whispers to me before embarking on our battle.
My buddy blitzes out his opening in confidence, whereas I am confounded by move seven. He plays a direct variation in 5...e5, maximizing his development and inviting an early queen exchange. Instead of trading in the center, though, he pins my knight and takes it, totally unprompted and without any semblance of reason. At this point I'm already thinking to myself: is he throwing me off intentionally, taking advantage of my physiological state? Taking it easy on me as the good friend he is purported to be? Or does he genuinely believe this is the way to play for Black in the Alapin? Whatever the case may be, I rapidly deploy my remaining forces and castle, enjoying my healthy bishop pair and blatant lead in development.
My prior suspicions were dissipated in the following moves when my opponent trades off his only remaining active piece, all for a meager pawn on c3. I baited him into this line knowing full well of his materialistic nature, but this was a bit much, even for him. I couldn't help but let out a small chuckle—I almost felt insulted, taken as some fool who cannot refute this garbage. With a happy-go-lucky attitude, I make a wayward queen move, simply forking two pawns which were left behind.
He spends an ungodly amount of time in a desperate search for a nonexistent defence. This is when I notice from the stream footage that he had just made a touch move violation, but I refuse to claim it not out of generosity, but because the game was approximately over regardless of what he plays next.
Video evidence of touch move violation: Qc3-a5
Buddy guy was refusing to resign, down a clean piece and only hoping I'd forget to move my loose bishop on e2 at some point. I lean back in my chair as I chase his queen to Narnia and back, pondering the method by which I was to further torture my opponent. It was all being livestreamed after all, and I wanted to put on a good show. Ultimately, I offer a queen trade and he obliges.
A handful of spectators bore witness to the bishop dance that ensued, an act of humiliation which only delayed the inevitable. I was so utterly dominating I could walk over to the skittles room right then and there, down three beers, then another three, and still muster the fortitude to guarantee the fat 1-0 on the scoresheet. Clicking back to reality, I instead settle with a can of Red Bull from the club concession and put on my focus hat, purely an act of irony for the camera.
The charade eventually ended at long last—it took a whopping thirty-seven moves for my opponent to throw in the towel. I relished those final moments, honestly just relieved that I didn't lose a club game for the second straight week. Funnily enough, in the aftermath he confessed that he lied about chugging the beer before the game.
And that, my dear reader, is the story of how I beat my friend on a Power Trip.
