When I meet people I usually like them to know one thing about me. Generally, acceptance of this particular thing is crucial in maintaining a friendship with me.
I am not a games person. I hate card games, board games and team sports with equal measure. In the past I have been known to flip the occasional Monopoly board in a fit of torment.
I've stormed out of many rooms with a miniature iron or silver top hat digging into my clammy palm.
My worst nightmare at school was forced participation in educational games.
Flinging the baseball bat and fleeing was my go-to coping mechanism.
Duck, Duck, Goose was like running around one of the nine circles of hell. But for whatever ungodly reason, this week I caved and finally allowed myself to be taught chess.
I was slaughtered, of course, within the first 10 minutes of my first game.
Now I am the proud owner of An Introduction to Chess: Book One by one Leonard Barden.
The only way I can reconcile this purchase with myself is to claim that losing was too much for me. And in order to keep that from happening again I need to have a basic understanding of the fundamentals of chess.
For lack of a better phrase, I need to get my head in the game. There are plenty of other things I could and should be spending time and money on. But in the interest of expanding my mind, the $4 spent on this little book in Scribes seems but a small price to pay.
I have almost convinced myself that finally mastering a game will give me great satisfaction. I am cultivating images of me winning some sort of championship, my well-thumbed instruction manual tucked into the breast pocket of my tweed jacket.
My flatmate tells me of her humiliating defeat, a 9-year-old child taking her out.
I can hardly imagine a child mastering such a prestigious game. In the dark recesses of my mind I find scenes of my brother and I using knights to kick other chessmen off the board. Evidently, we were not as sophisticated as these modern children.
While I'm certain revenge need be wrought on the 9-year-old child in question, beating would be nothing compared to beating a fully fledged chess-playing adult.
Barden assures me he can give me the tips I need to ''defeat my friends''. This sounds like something I am interested in. Maybe, with my newfound love of game(s) I can instigate flat chess nights.
We can sharpen our minds through logic and strategy. One of us will probably find a way to turn it into a drinking game. This is all a mere fantasy, though.
Games still seem to provoke a profound sense of panic deep in my soul, and I'm not sure I will even make it through this helpful and concise publication.
As I sit here and think about it, however, I realise this could indicate a significant moment in my development as a person.
Obviously, in agreeing to a round of chess I made myself vulnerable, but when I was obliterated I might have responded like an adult. I went out and bought a book and thought about how I could improve (read: win).
Technically, it would seem that I have taken a step up from using a chess piece as a weapon, flipping the board and leaving the room in floods of tears.
I might not ever be a chess champion, but at least now my palms don't sweat at the mere thought of moving a pawn.
- Millie Lovelock is a Dunedin student.
