The wall is my favourite move in the game of chess. Named by myself, it describes an end-game move that results in a checkmate of the opponent’s king. I trap the opponent’s most powerful piece with an impenetrable wall consisting of my rooks and the queen. It is my favourite move because it is so difficult to pull off every game.
So many things have to go my way before I can think of pulling it off. First, I have to protect my rooks and the queen while attacking my opponent. I have to keep enough pawns in the battle so I could recover the pieces if I lose them in the battle. I have to be aggressive in my moves so I could capture the powerful pieces such as the queen, the rooks and the bishops from the opponent’s fortress. I have to capture all the pawns out of my way to take over the opponent’s part of the battle field without any hindrance.
Something about the move tingles my body whenever I pull it off. The fact that the opponent has no way out from such a wall is so satisfying every time it happens. This move has given one of the best memories of my short career of playing chess. Even now, my face wears a triumphant smile whenever I think about it.
I was exposed to the game of chess during my middle school days. I faintly remember a visiting teacher giving me a hands-on lesson about all the pieces and their moves. I was taught about chess notations and other advanced stuff, but I soon forgot them. With the basic knowledge I had of chess, I used to play with my friends. I was not the brightest plant in the pot, so I got Beaten many times. Looking back on it now, those unpleasant defeats helped me learn the art of strategizing more than my convincing victories.
I still remember the day when I got my own chessboard from Madurai. I went to IAB Madurai for a reading competition. I didn’t win anything, but ended up spending some money to get my own chessboard from their assistive tech shop. This investment enabled me to escape the hierarchy of bullish students who loved to make us beg to borrow their boards to play chess with friends.
During my 8th standard, I was informed about a state-level chess tournament for the blind, scheduled to take place in a nearby stadium. I was a decent player, so I was asked to participate. I enrolled myself just so I could get out of the school for a couple of days. Looking back on it now, I laugh at myself for being so confident in my ability despite being an ordinary player. The fellow participants from my school were more serious. They were sharpening their strategies by playing with others while I was totally relaxed and confident.
When the tournament started, all it took for me to learn a harsh lesson was my first game. I was paired with a player from Chennai who has already represented Tamil Nadu in national tournaments. I didn’t fold very easily though. I tried my best but lost. After the match, the player motivated me by highlighting some of my best moves during the game.
My next game was a much closer affair, but a couple of rubbish moves cost me the game. For my third game, I was paired with a student from my own school. We played out a draw. He was a talented player. He could have smashed me soundly, but he didn’t. The first day of the tournament ended with me getting a solid point out of a fortunate draw.
The second day began with a couple of humiliating defeats. There were moments I dominated those games, but my poor game awareness gifted those victories to my opponents. I was desperate to get a solid win under my belt. That’s when the last game happened.
I was paired with an impatient player from another district for my last game. He wanted to finish the game quickly so he could go and tour the Brihadisvara Temple with his friends. He expected to finish me quickly, but I wasn’t ready for another humiliating defeat. My opponent’s friends were their, crowding around the table. They were egging him on to rap me up fast. “It will be quick boys,” He said to them. But I had other ideas.
My previous losses made me wiser. I paid closer attention to every move he made. I didn’t let him to dominate me. His friends were there to motivate him, but their constant chatter resulted in him making trivial mistakes. I captured his queen very early in the game. He still under-estimated me. He still believed in finishing me early. As the game progressed, I lost one of my rooks in a dumb move. But I had enough pawns, so I didn’t despair. One by one, I picked out his powerful pieces. Knights, rooks, bishops all captured as the game progressed.
I made sure to decimate all his pawns, preventing my advance toward his king. One of my pawns crossed his fortress, and I recovered my lost rook. “Your bishop is gone,” He cackled as I lost my last remaining one. I didn’t care as my final trap was in motion. I positioned my rooks in a5 and a7, trapping his king to a limited number of moves between b6 to h6. As a final nail in the coffin, I brought my queen to a6, trapping his king on c6 to an inescapable checkmate.
The victory saved me from the ignominy of not winning a single game in the tournament. Though I lost 4 out of 6 games, the single victory I got over my impatient opponent satisfied me. Though it was my last game of chess in a state-level tournament, I view it as one of the best sporting moments of my life. He underestimated me, and I taught him a lesson.
I am still thankful for the impatient opponent I met on that day. He gave me my greatest sporting moment. Now, whenever I pull off the same move in chess, I always remember him fondly as one remembers a long-lost friend. Whenever I think about his friends, I smile involuntarily. Maybe they distracted him from defeating me that day. Did he take part in any tournaments? Did he win any matches? Did he underestimate the next opponent he faced? Did he ever visit the Brihadisvara Temple? Who knows!
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Game of life
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