2008 Woodie Awards
How ISU chess saved the universe
Jerrod Warr
Issue date: 4/4/07 Section: Life
Early one crisp Saturday morning, when many ISU students (and perhaps faculty) were preparing to wake to a massive hangover, there were others- champions, if you will, who were preparing for battle. This was not a battle we could trust some sissy jock or a suave, public-friendly cheerleader to handle; no, for these are they who are not worthy to wield this power. For lo on Saturday past, a war commenced that will echo throughout the halls and classrooms of ISU for months to come. On that day, pawns flew as the ISU spring chess tournament rocked the world.
* * * *
Warning: The article you are about to read details the carnage of chess warfare. If you want the "professional" version of this story, the G-rated one that won't keep you up in the middle of the night in cold sweats, then read the Idaho State Journal's articles on the event. But if you want the raw, in-your-face PG version, then say goodbye to your loved ones and read on.
* * * *
It was a long climb up to the 3rd floor of the PSUB where all the havoc would eventually take place. Some students, innocent bystanders who were somehow unaware of the weekend's combat, would not live to tell the tale. As the protectors of pawns walked past the mini computer lab, the odor of fresh coffee and frosty-glazed pastries stung their nostrils... evidence that the smells of war can be as brutal as the sights. And indeed the sights were horrific- chess boards lying haphazardly about, some with their pieces facing in all sorts of directions; it was truly chaotic. Other parts of the arena offered little comfort; Chess Life magazines were strewn about and open to random pages, as if readers were hoping to find something... anything that might help them in this final hour.
By 8:45 a.m., most of these elite warriors were already present, each of them preparing, in their own way, for the upcoming checkerboard bloodshed. Some sat quietly in a corner and polished their thick-rimmed spectacles, knowing now was no time to have smudges interfering with precious vision. Others drank Juicy Juice with their moms; these soldiers were all under ten years old, showing that the monster that is chess cares not what age you are. Yet no matter what these combatants did to ready themselves, they all shared one thing in common- at the stroke of 9 a.m., they knew it was checkmate or be checkmated.
* * * *
Warning: The article you are about to read details the carnage of chess warfare. If you want the "professional" version of this story, the G-rated one that won't keep you up in the middle of the night in cold sweats, then read the Idaho State Journal's articles on the event. But if you want the raw, in-your-face PG version, then say goodbye to your loved ones and read on.
* * * *
It was a long climb up to the 3rd floor of the PSUB where all the havoc would eventually take place. Some students, innocent bystanders who were somehow unaware of the weekend's combat, would not live to tell the tale. As the protectors of pawns walked past the mini computer lab, the odor of fresh coffee and frosty-glazed pastries stung their nostrils... evidence that the smells of war can be as brutal as the sights. And indeed the sights were horrific- chess boards lying haphazardly about, some with their pieces facing in all sorts of directions; it was truly chaotic. Other parts of the arena offered little comfort; Chess Life magazines were strewn about and open to random pages, as if readers were hoping to find something... anything that might help them in this final hour.
By 8:45 a.m., most of these elite warriors were already present, each of them preparing, in their own way, for the upcoming checkerboard bloodshed. Some sat quietly in a corner and polished their thick-rimmed spectacles, knowing now was no time to have smudges interfering with precious vision. Others drank Juicy Juice with their moms; these soldiers were all under ten years old, showing that the monster that is chess cares not what age you are. Yet no matter what these combatants did to ready themselves, they all shared one thing in common- at the stroke of 9 a.m., they knew it was checkmate or be checkmated.
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