#a show where Lady Macbeth is also a Weird Sister? Sign me up

[fairydust-stuff]

The Queen of the Feast of Feasts:  a Prudence Character Study

The Queen of the Feast of Feasts  a Prudence Character Study 

Prudence Blackwood is first introduced to us along with her fellow witch sisters Dorcus and Agatha confronting Sabrina in the woods and warning her a half breed like her is not welcomed at the Academy of unseeing arts, since Sabrina is half mortal. Then all three of them put a curse on her.  Later we learn all three sisters were adopted by Father Blackwood. They are known as the Weird Sisters and seem like their going to operate much like every other bully clique who hates the protagonist for being different. 

This gets subverted when Sabrina herself summons them to help get revenge for her friend Susie by messing with moral boys who hit her. They strike a bargain that Sabrina won’t join the Academy if they help her get revenge. Sabrina agrees to this but crosses her fingers behind her back (our heroine ladies and gentlemen). 

The three of them execute a plan that involves tricking the guys into hooking up with each other and blackmailing them. Then Prudence and her sisters scare them off and are also revealed to have done a spell to control the boys um anatomy. (Honestly the whole thing makes me uncomfortable especially when certain facts about the football players come to light later on, but that’s not what this essay is about) 

Prudence tells Sabrina “ You may be more suited to the academy then we first thought” showing she’s changed her mind. Prudence also reveals she knows Sabrina had no intention of keeping her promise but agreed to help anyway, because she enjoys tormenting moral boys. This reveals a lot about Prudence’s character she is crafty, cruel and bigoted but she can bend a bit when faced with what she sees as potential. 

We also learn that Prudence is very wise, since she points out that signing the book of the beast and making a contract with the devil is about giving up your freedom in exchange for power. Prudence  laughs in Sabrina’s face when the half witch suggests they shouldn’t have to give up anything for power and should have it all. This highlights her self awareness and hints that Prudence is far older than her appearance suggests. Which actress Tati Gabriella has confirmed stating that Prudence is really 75 years old.     

For the first season Prudence kind of fades into the background other than viciously hazing Sabrina with her sisters which links back to her cruelty.  Until episode seven titled the  Feast of Feasts. The Witches of the coven have a tradition where a witch is selected as a sacrifice to be killed and have her flesh consumed by the other members of the coven after they fast. Prudence is chosen and sees it as a great honor “ Prepare me a bath of buttermilk and bring me a plate of macaroons” she orders. 

Prudence goes about sweetening herself to be the best feast she possibly can. 

Sabrina who is chosen by the coven as her handmaiden tries to persuade her it's all nonsense as she baths her. “ You don’t really believe all that” Sabrina insists.  Prudence reveals she does, she wants to die to be honored by the Coven and to “reside in the Dark Lord's heart until the trumpets of the apocalypse sound” This shows us Prudence is a true believer who is truly devoted to the Church of Night. 

Sabrina bring Prudence to her school and she finds out Harvey is descended from witch Hunters then someone kills a familiar and Prudence thinking its Harvey has to be persuaded out of full retribution mode by Sabrina who informs her “ Harvey didn’t kill that  farmiar” to which Prudence gives the best line of the season  “ How is your faith in the mortal boy any different than my faith in the Dark Lord? Why is your faith more valid than mine?” this line once again highlights the fact that Prudence is an old soul who challenges Sabrina to actually think. 

Its revealed near the end of the episode Prudence is Blackwood’s biological daughter and was only chosen as feast queen so Blackwood’s wife could get her out of the way to protect the inheritance of her own children. This sets up Prudence’s character arch but for now it just spares her from being eaten though she still sits on the throne because she is Prudence and wants to feel special for one night. 

She has a slight role in the mines episode where she lets Sabrina kill and resurrect one of her sisters because both Agatha and Dorcus went behind her back and collapsed the mine to kill the Kinkle family. This suggests that Prudence does have a bit of a code despite her anti human stance, she feels there at least has to be justification for killing a mortal.  

In Season 2 Prudence  is openly acknowledged by Father Blackwood as his daughter. She’s also assigned as her baby brothers wet nurse and in chided in the first episode for letting him cry. However despite  her newfound responsibilities Prudence’s Father and her do not see eye to eye. When Prudence offers to run against Sabrina as head boy, Father Blackwood won’t allow it because he cannot conceive of a witch with a position of authority. Furthermore he will not allow Prudence to have his last name.  

This results in Prudence and the other weird sisters telepathically wireing the answers to Sabrina. While i’d rather have Prudence obtain the position for herself because Sabrina shouldn’t get everything she wants. It is at least the first act of defiance toward her Father from Prudence. 

During the play Prudence gives Sabrina advice “ lust is not a sin Sabrina” she informs her. Though the moment is more about Sabrina it does highlight Prudence’s views on sex which does make up her character. Prudence being raised within the Church of Night has always been very comfortable with her sexuality in Feasts of Feasts as queen she requested an orgy and teasingly invites Sabrina to join in. Prudence does not view lust as something to have hang ups about physical desire is something to be acted upon. Within the same episode she pursues Ambrose Sabrina’s cousin flirting with him. Her advances are returned and two of them enter a poly relationship. 

The valentines episode isn’t really a highlight except it reveals the fact Prudence and her sisters have the same dream and share a vision about how the Spellman’s will be the undoing of the Blackwood’s which Father Blackwood dismisses. I’m guessing this a macbeth reference but it does show that Father Blackwood dismisses Prudence’s concern for his safety. 

Later Prudence goes to Zelda blackmailing her into getting the anti pope to declare Prudence a Blackwood. Now whether or not Prudence wants the power that comes with the name or desires to be part of a family is unclear and i honestly think there’s evidence for both. On one hand Prudence does attempt to murder Father Blackwell later in the same episode and only relents when he declares her “ Prudence Blackwood” but on the other hand she does save her fathers life from Ambrose and when Father Black wood changes Prudence with protecting the acdemy and their family name while their off on his honey moon. 

Prudence takes this vow very seriously replying he can rely on her. 

The next episode we see Prudence honoring this promise she sets about breaking Ambrose who she see’s as a tradior to get him to confess to the murder of the anti pope, refuses to let Sabrina into the acedmy while calling her out for useing her and her sisters all year and saveing her life only for selfish reasons during the Feast of feasts. 

These acts reveals a repressed bitterness from Prudence and hint she sees both Sabrina and Ambrose of using her just to destroy her father which is why she’s so vindictive towards them. Much like trying to kill her Father, Prudences acts of violence seem to come from a place of great betrayal and a sense of her not being important to those she cares for.  Prudence is also high on the fact she appears to have finally gained the approval and affection of the only parent she’s ever known and intends to keep it that way. It's a response for some children who grow up in emotionally abusive household and Prudence has done so for at least 75 years. 

Then a life changing event happens to Prudence making her question evaluate her values. Witch hunters show up at the academy and despite the best efforts of her and her sisters fail to protect the other students. The Witch hunters due to their angel powers (just go with it) overpower the sisters and start killing other witch students as Prudence and her sisters watch in horror while awaiting their fiery pire. Then Sabrina the half breed swoops in last minute and demolishes the angel witch hunters (Gosh it is hard to say that with a straight face) and brings the dead students back to life after respecting herself displaying power beyond that of a regular witch and as aggravating as it is, it does further Prudence’s arch as she starts to question whether half witches and by extent morals are inferior.  

Prudence goes as far as to question Ambrose about Sabrina’s miracles. She also admits seeing Sabrina come back from the dead made her happy. When Ambrose admits he’s scared to die Prudence in a rare moment of tenderness resources Ambrose  there’s no need to be frightened since he’s an honorable man. “ Satan keep you” she tells him sincerely showing us Ambrose has been forgiven and that Prudence is finally being honest about the fact she likes Sabrina (For some reason). Here Prudence is clearly starting to question what she’s been taught.  

In the last two episodes of season two Prudence’s dynamic with her Father reaches its conclusion. When Father Blackwood decides to form his own denomination the Church of Judas. He creates a new set of rules and restrictions Prudence after looking them over states “ These new rules only apply to the witches and not the warlocks” Father Blackwood replies that “Witches should focus on more femmine magics of herbalism and fertility” Prudence asks if the rules also apply to her. Blackwood says as long as she gets the other witches to cooperate she’ll be exempt from the same rules. Offering Prudence special privileges along with the unspoken promise of his affections with a chaste kiss. 

While Prudence does take the bait she also helps Zelda convince Father Blackwood to spare a witch for trying to leave the Church of Judas persuading him i’ll only create a martyr and cause more rebellions in the future. This is usual  for Prudence who was previously fine with the torture and exacution of Ambrose showing a shift in her thinkng. Prudence watching her classmates killed in front of her while refusing to denounce their Dark Lord seems to  have caused her to develop more of an appreciation for the lives of the other coven members beyond those who she considered family. 

  Later  Prudence catches Zelda admitting she does not support the Church of Judas and the other witch warns Prudence her blood won’t protect her from Father Blackwood. Prudence not only dismisses this but retrieves her half baby sister and tells her Father about Zelda’s deception. Zelda takes Prudence hostage and demands that baby Letica be given back to her. Blackwood dismisses her claiming that since he has his full blooded daughter he doesn’t care if Zelda kills Prudence. Which supports Zelda’s claim that Prudences blood won’t protect her. After Zelda is locked up Prudence asks Blackwood “ Father, what are your plans for baby Letica?” as she now feels doubt about his intentions. Blackwood replies he intends to marry her daughter to her own brother Judas. 

Prudence is horrified and frees Zelda from her cell telling her to take her half sister and run. Zelda offers her the chance to join them but Prudence declares she can't leave her sisters or abandon the rest of the coven. Further conveying her found loyalty that of just the family unit.  

Prudence finds Agatha and Dorcus and convinces them to do a spell to end Father Blackwood. They are interrupted by Blackwood who demands Prudence attend him during an audience with the Dark lord. She silently observes as Blackwood expresses disgust at having to bow to Sabrina as queen of hell. Later he tells Prudence to pack. She inquires as to why they should run from the Dark Lord. Blackwood angrily snaps he “ Will never bow down to a spelman whore!”  When Prudence asks him what about the rest of the Coven. Blackwood reveals he poisoned them a communion. Prudence runs out ignoring Blackwoods warning she’ll never see the baby twins again. 

After a vow to kill Father Blackwood she runs to the church teleporting Dorcus and Agatha to the spellman house and telling the Spellman family “ Blackwood poisoned the entire coven!” Pudences sisters and some of the coven members are saved. The last shot of her shows Prudence beheading Father Blackwood which is not only a  literary representation of what she wants to do to him but also a symbolic rejection of him as a leader and Father. 

So what can we take from this? 

 Prudence’s core character trait is her Faith. It's shown that Prudence has faith in Blackwood despite how many times, he’s let her down, she has faith in her adopted sisters shown by how many times she relies on them, she even starts to have faith in Sabrina. 

My reading of Prudences arch is not one of rejecting Faith. Prudences questions are still rooted in religious doctrine even in her last scene with Blackwell “ why are you running from the Dark Lord?” to Prudence, there is no reason to run from the very figure she devoted her life to even if it means bowing to Sabrina this is the ultimate act of religious piety that makes sense for the girl who bathed in buttermilk to make herself a feast. For Prudence no sacrifice is too great.  

Prudence’s arch seems to one of learning to question the leaders of one’s Faith community and whether they have the best interests of those they claim to want to lead. 

The irony is Prudence is heavily implied to be taught the values of faith, family and community by Blackwood, values which he does not share. As show cased by how he uses both his family members and the coven witches and warlocks for his own personal gain and discarding them when it's convenient.  

It's not his rejection and endangerment of her that causes Prudence to move against him but the reveal of his plans of an incestus union between his own children. Even then there are hints she may of gone with him had he not poisoned the coven. Acting in the same vein as the witch hunters Prudence was told to protect the other students from. 

 It's worth noting Prudence is done with him after he proves a danger to the very coven he’s leading because she does value everything, Blackwood doesn’t and as a person of faith Prudence realizes everything about him is a shame.  So she rejects him. That is why Prudence with her morally ambiguous cunning, faith, self sacrifice, intelligence and value of family  is the true Queen of the Feast of  Feasts. 

[roamingholiday]

Wednesday, July 26th 2017

I did Nothing, and it was wonderful. This is going to be a reoccurring theme.

The thing is, at a certain point, I have to stop having an interesting life. I have to revert back to the fairly standard, monotonous, humdrum, generally uneventful baseline that I had before I went to London. Being in another country can only be exciting for so long, you know, before my own general blandness asserts its dominance over the stimulating presence of another country, and I become boring again.

I didn’t have class, so I slept late, and I’d just turned in an assignment and had yet to receive another from either of my professors, so I had nothing to occupy my time. I’d already completed the independent study reading, because the class was supposed to happen on Tuesday, but was unexpectedly pushed back to Thursday. All of my friends were feverishly trying to complete midterm papers for classes that I am not in.

I watched the entirety of Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency, I suppose, which is a masterpiece that everyone should get to experience. I read part of Name of the Wind, which is also a masterpiece that everyone should get to experience. I had no deadlines, and essentially no purpose. It was great.

In the evening, we went to see Macbeth at St. Paul’s Church (not to be confused with St. Paul’s Cathedral, which is a different beast entirely). The church has a plaque on the outside reading The Actors’ Church, which I quite like.

The production was about as different from the Tempest that we saw the week previous as something can get. It was phenomenal.

First and foremost, it was a moving production, which here means a production that literally moved around from space to space (not that it wasn’t also emotionally moving as well). There were five distinct areas that we cycled through during the course of the play: a rose garden, during which the opening fight scene took place, as well as the scene in England towards the end of the play; a stone walkway of sorts, which was used as the battlements of both Inverness, as well as Dunsinane (for those of you who do not want to have to use google to understand my references, Inverness is Macbeth’s castle, and Dunsinane is the king’s castle, which *spoiler alert* becomes Macbeth’s castle after he *spoiler alert* murders the king); the courtyard of the church, which is at the base of the stone walkway but hidden from view by the wooden structure of the battlements (we got to walk through the ‘gates’ themselves, which was super cool) that represented the common places of the castle, where people were received, where Lady Macbeth convinces Macbeth to stop being such a coward and just go literally stab his sleeping friend in the back, where various characters have various existential crises at various times; the inside of the church, which was where all the creepiest scenes happened, because they could actually play with lighting there (it not being outside), so that everything was bathed in red, which was where the banquet scene where Macbeth seems Super Crazy for the first time (ghosts appearing does that to a man, so does having all your friends killed, apparently) occurred, as well as the final fight scene (Macduff chopped off Macbeth’s head behind the pulpit and came walking out with a very realistic head in his hands that he shoved onto a scepter in the middle of the stage area, it was really gruesome and really, really excellent); and then the second rose garden, the other border to the stone walkway, where the witches gave their second prophecy, and Macduff’s castle was apparently located. The audience was ushered around to each of the locations by the characters themselves running off to another stage, and some of them (the courtyard, the church, the second rose garden) had seats, and some of them didn’t really, and the action often started before everyone had gotten into a place to see things, which meant that you heard what was going on before you rounded the corner and saw it, which was super interesting. (More interesting, I suspect, for people like me, who are very familiar with Macbeth and have at least a vague understanding of what is happening in each scene already, than for people who are entirely in the dark, but to me it was super interesting.)

The cast also numbered all of seven people, which I have never seen. Macbeth, with seven people? That’s insane. They did cut out the whole Northumberland subplot, which isn’t particularly surprising, most people do even when they don’t have an exceedingly limited number of actors, but still. Seven people. The only person who didn’t double up or triple up or septuple up was Macbeth, which I suppose you probably could have seen coming.

Lady Macbeth was particularly fascinating, because not only did she play herself, but also Fleance (Banquo’s child, nearly brutally murdered), Macduff’s child (brutally murdered), a soldier (murdered), a herald, and one of the witches. Lady Macbeth is no small part, either.

The witches were also incredibly cool, because they designed with massive, face-covering masks, apart from Lady Macbeth, who wore what looked like the mouth of a venus fly trap, where her face could be seen through the teeth. The other two were terribly mutated crows, and one of them was on stilts. It was so cool.

A witch, about to give Macbeth some super dubious life advice. (Fun fact: when a witch gives you really specific parameters for your death, do not assume that you are invincible.)

Two witches, at the banquet table, with Macbeth sitting on the throne in between them. The witches were the guests at the ghost-banquet, which was a lovely interpretation.

All in all, a really great show. Excellent gratuitous amounts of fake blood everywhere. A+ character interpretation. Macbeth was kinda eh, but Macbeths usually are, because Lady Macbeth will always overshadow them. 10/10 set design and costuming.

[mrtuckerlane]

2017 Denver Open: Let’s Play Some Chess

As I walked into the ballroom of the Ramada Englewood, I wondered what the other players thought of me. Was I really that guy, the guy that people saw walk through the door and immediately say to themselves, “Man, I hope I play him first round?” I had to look awkward with my chess board. It had been years since I last carried it in public and any swagger I once possessed was sure to have dissipated under time’s corrosive force. And my attire? Well, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be wearing, so I tried to look classy in my favorite black button-down (see my profile pic). As I approached the registration table, any doubt that I was a complete mark was completely erased. 

“I’m here for the chess tournament,” I stammered, unsure if I was in the right place, doing the right thing.

“Okay, what’s your name?” the lady at the computer asked.

“Tucker Lane,” I responded. Having given my first and last thousands of times at the scorer’s table of wrestling tournaments, I sounded like an impostor, an identity thief using my name in a foreign arena. I haven’t checked my statement yet, but my credit card may have gotten flagged for suspicious activity, even though I never swiped it at the venue.

“Hmm, you’re not in the system,” the lady answered in confusion.

“Yeah, I’ve never played in a chess tournament before,” I rejoined immediately, “but my chess teacher from long ago convinced me to come play, so I thought I would check it out.”

“Who was your teacher?” she asked, genuinely interested from behind her dark-rimmed glasses. I think she was excited that chess was being extolled to people outside of the small circle that comprised the community.

“Damian Nash.”

“Oh, that’s great!” she said enthusiastically. “Damian is actually already here.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s part of the reason I came down. It will be good to see him again. It’s been 15 years since he was my chess teacher.”

“Well, let’s get you registered,” she said, turning her attention back to the computer. “You’re going to need a U.S. Chess Federation membership, which is $40; a Colorado association membership, which is 15; and the entry fee, which is $65 for non-Denver Chess Club members. Which division do you want to enter?”

I missed her question as I did the math in my head. One-hundred twenty dollars?!  The figure was disarming to a guy who had been teetering back-and-forth on whether or not to play. I thought about turning and cutting out, but the registrar’s persistence kept me on the hook.

“Sir, which division do you want to enter?” she repeated.

“I don’t know,” I answered, still slightly dazed by the steep cost of the entry fee, “but for $120, put me in the division that gives me a chance to get a win.”

“What’s your rating?” she asked, trying to garner some information as to where I might best fit.

“I don’t have a rating, but I’m sure that if I did, it would not be very high.”

“Okay,” she added pensively, “so you’re entering as an unrated player. I’m going to go ahead and put you in the Under 1400 division.” As I soon discovered, there were three different divisions within the tournament. There was the Open division, which was comprised of the studs. This is where the Grandmasters, the Masters, the Experts–and the few eccentric people who wanted to be beaten by these royalty of chess–met to compete. There was the Under 1800 division, which consisted of really good chess players who weren’t quite ready to play with the big boys and girls. Then there was the Under 1400 division, which was full of little kids, has-been’s, and never-will-be’s. This was where I found myself. I handed the lady a crisp Benjamin, a crumpled Andrew, and went into the lobby to wait for the first round.

I found a sofa in the corner and sat down by myself. I hadn’t seen Damian anywhere, and I literally knew nobody else. With no one to talk to, I whiled away the minutes observing the bustle of the hotel. There were kids sitting on the carpet, playing games of quick chess. Every table in every conference room was occupied by checkered boards as players recapitulated and re-imagined what had transpired in their favorite games. Old men paced hallways, engrossed in chess literature, trying desperately to find that one clue that might give them the edge in their upcoming games.     

As the round approached, the officials posted the pairings on the wall. I stood up and went to look at the U1400 sheet. There were 50 tables set up in the ballroom and from what I could tell, the highest-rated players sat at table one, a beautiful marble surface flanked by two thrones of velvet, located at the front of the room. To give you an idea of where I stood in the hierarchy, in my first-round match, I was placed at table 50, a teetering plastic counter-top accompanied by two fold-up chairs, tucked away in the back corner of the ballroom.

My first round opponent was a lady named Kathy. She appeared to be between 60 and 70 years of age, and her countenance reminded me of the weird sisters from Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Her mouth was crooked, her left eye was squinted, and she had a long, gray braid that hung down the middle of her back. Her rating was 1016, which suggested that while she was not very good, she was at least experienced enough to get a tournament rating. She hobbled up to table 50 and gave me the stare-down.

“You Tucker?”

“Yeah,” I answered affirmatively. “You must be Kathy.”

“We’re using your board,” she directed, cutting past any pleasantries. “Do you have a clock?”

“No,” I said. “I thought clocks would be provided. I apologize–this is my first tournament.”

She dug into her chess bag and produced her clock, setting it next to my board. It had been 15 years since I had last played a timed game, and I tried my hardest to remember how it functioned without having to ask and draw further attention to my novice status.

“Be gentle with it,” Kathy commanded. “I’ve gone through dozens of clocks over the years and don’t want to buy another one.” Just as she was explaining her chess-clock woes, a young kid approached us, in need of a clock for his game.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Do either of you have a clock we could borrow?”

“No,” Kathy snapped back,” and even if I did, I wouldn’t let you use it.” The kid moved on down the line, unabashed by Kathy’s stern denial, and Kathy turned her attention back to me.

“Never let anybody borrow your clock,” she coached me. “People don’t respect other people’s stuff. And move the board closer to the middle of the table. It’s not fair that it’s closer to your side than mine.” 

With the tournament director explaining the rules of the first round to the crowd of roughly 100 players, I stood up and situated the board closer to Kathy’s side. Even though I had slept soundly the night before, had not been at all nervous about the outcome of the tournament, there was something in Kathy’s brusque, abrasive manner that made me want to beat her. An old familiar feeling of butterflies in my stomach, heart fluttering in my chest returned to me as the director signaled the beginning of the first round.

As the white player, I had the built-in advantage of getting to move first. Damian always said that in high-level chess, white wins 50 percent, black wins 25 percent, and 25 percent end in a draw. With the odds in my favor, there was no way I would let Kathy put me in a 0-1 hole to begin my chess career. 

I started strong, calculating my moves based on the numerous chess principles I had committed to rote memory over the years. Control the center. Develop all pieces. Castle the king to safety. As we moved into the middle game, I had a convincing lead, all of my pieces well-aligned to attack, ready to unleash chaos on Kathy’s cramped, backward defense. Tournament chess was not so hard, and I envisioned texting my mom in a few minutes to let her know that I had won my first official chess game.

And then my plans of that celebratory message were crushed by a single blunder.

Over-anxious to bring the death knell upon Kathy, I moved my rook into her back rank one move too soon, putting her king in check, but leaving my powerful piece vulnerable to attack by her hidden knight. The exchange of my rook for her knight was too significant a disparity for me to overcome, and Kathy systematically used her advantage in material to decimate me. My most far-fetched tricks exhausted, all hopes of Kathy making a blunder of her own vanquished, and my defeat was sealed in checkmate.

I breathed slowly, calmly in an attempt to subdue the rage that was heavy in my chest. How could I have lost a game I was so clearly winning? Why did I always make such stupid mistakes? If I couldn’t beat Kathy, who was I going to beat? AHHHH! Blunders! Blunders! Blunders!  

Kathy extended her arm across the table, the fat from the back of her elbow hanging low, and offered me her hand in acknowledgment of a game completed. She also gave me some words of advice. “Make sure you count all of your pieces. It’s easy to get them confused with the player sitting next to you. I would hate for you to be down a piece before your next game.” I gave my pieces a cursory one-over. At this point, I was too frustrated with my performance to care about losing a piece, and I forcefully stuffed them all into my bag.

“Can you please sign my scorecard?” Kathy asked, pushing the small piece of paper toward me.

“Where do I sign?” I asked lugubriously.  

“Down there at the bottom.” She pointed with her stubby little sausage finger. “You sign mine, I sign yours, then we take them over to the head table so they can enter the results. Here, let me show you.” She picked up our scorecards, took me by the hand, and led me where I was supposed to go. We dropped the cards in a little basket and then walked across the room and recorded the result on the wall chart. My loss was official. 

As I stood nearly a foot taller than Kathy, she had to tilt her head back and look up to make eye contact with me (well, with her one good eye). “Tucker, that was a good game for your first time. You are a handsome, polite gentleman, and I hope you win the rest of your games.” We shook hands once more, and she shuffled out of the ballroom. Her magnanimity made me feel bad for the less-than-flattering opinions I had initially formed of her, made me feel petulant for the string of obscenities that littered my mind in the aftermath of my defeat. Still, I wondered if she would have found me so handsome had the final result turned out the other way.

Chess has an interesting custom in which the players get together immediately following their games to go over what the other player was thinking, how he or she would have moved in a certain scenario. While I was seething, looking for furniture to move, searching for the proverbial wall to punch, the Masters of the game were learning from each other, taking the opportunity to improve their craft. It’s pretty impressive to watch, as they are able to remember exactly what they played 20 moves prior and all of the different scenarios that would have arisen had they chosen a different alternative. It was in this exercise that I reunited with Damian. 

He didn’t recognize me immediately. After all, it had been 15 years. A few seconds later, however, a knowing smile emerged on his face, and he stood up to shake my hand.

“Tucker Lane,” he exclaimed. “How excellent to see you. Are you here playing? Here watching?”

“I’m here playing,” I answered. “I saw what you posted on Facebook, and I made up my mind, after 15 years, that I was finally going to enter a tournament. Unfortunately, I lost my first game, a game I was well-positioned to win. Knights continue to give me trouble, and I ended up dropping a rook as a result. It was all downhill from there.”

“That’s okay!” he said, beckoning me to follow him. “Let’s go over some knight concepts I think you will find useful.” He led me to a meeting room in the back of the hotel, where he had a chess board setup, and proceeded to instruct me on the various strengths, weaknesses, and tactics of knight play. He was such a good teacher, and I readily absorbed everything with which he presented me. After a few minutes, our study was interrupted by a swashbuckling youth who entered the room to say hello to Damian.    

“UTAH IN THE HOUSE!” the boisterous young man cheered, opening his arms in offer of a hug. Damian chatted with him briefly before introducing me to his acquaintance.

“Alexander, this is one of my old students, Tucker Lane. Tucker is playing in his first-ever chess tournament.” Alexander turned his attention to me.

“TUCK!” he exclaimed, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You look like you workout, Tuck! Can I see a little flex, Tuck?” he flashed his skinny biceps in imitation of what he wanted to see from me before moving behind me and squeezing my traps and shoulders. “Oh yeah: Tuck’s a strong one!” 

“Tucker was a world-class wrestler in his prime, having won many state and national championships before advancing on as an Olympic alternate,” Damian explained to the exuberant youth. I didn’t interject to correct Damian as he embellished my career accomplishments, and Alexander offered me a high-five in congratulations of all I had accomplished.

“That’s what I’m talking about, Tuck! Nobody around here wants to mess with Tuck! Well, I’d mess with Tuck on the chess board, but you know what I’m talking about,” he chided before turning and bidding us adieu.

“Who was that?” I asked in amusement.

“That’s Alexander. Alexander is undoubtedly one of the top two or three best players in the state of Utah, but he has a reputation as being a very cocky young man. In fact, he’s offered a $500 reward to anyone in Utah who can beat him. He thinks he’s the next Bobby Fischer, but he’s getting ahead of himself.” 

I understood what Damian meant about Alexander being a very cocky young man. As if our first exchange weren’t enough of an indicator, for the rest of the weekend, whenever I would pass Alexander in the hallway, he would run up to me, give me a playful right-left, right-left to the midsection, and exclaim, “Tuck-Tuck-Tuckety-Tuck! Ouch! Are those abs made of steel?”

My next game pitted me against a young man named Braden. He was afflicted with some sort of palsy and although it seemed like he was only 10 or 11 years old, I was probably underestimating because of his condition and diminutive stature. His rating of 687 suggested that if I were to have any hope of winning a game, it would be against this young man. A much more inviting target for conversation than Kathy, Braden asked me numerous questions about my background in chess as we waited for the second round to commence. 

“I always wanted to play physical sports,” he explained, “but my disability never allowed for it. I decided to start playing chess as a way to be competitive in something. I’ve been going to tournaments for several years now. I know my rating suggests that I’m not very good, but the only reason it’s so low is because I’ve played in so many kids’ tournaments. In reality, my rating should probably be somewhere between 900 and 1000.”

Great. I thought I was getting a guaranteed win, but my hopes appeared to be prematurely wrought. I was in for yet another battle. No win would come easily for me on my maiden voyage in competitive chess.

In stark contrast to my previous game, I played exceptionally poor chess from the beginning. Despite starting out as white yet again, I quickly found myself in a material and positional hole to my young adversary. Just when I resigned myself to the inevitably that a win would not be possible from my current position and turned my attention to coming up with a strategy to coax a draw, Braden was the one to make a blunder. He left his rook unprotected from the attack of my stealthy knight (how ironic!), a mistake he recognized the instant he removed his fingers, leaving his piece in harm’s way. The grimace on his face when he realized the magnitude of his error would have stirred the most granite of hearts, but I was in no position to feel sympathy for other people’s colossal mistakes–I still felt the stab of my own too deeply. I quickly scooped up the hapless rook, regaining a lead I would never relinquish. I had won my first game as a real chess player.

“Oh, man, I had you,” Braden lamented as he shook my hand in conclusion. “I had you, and I blew it. I absolutely blew it.” I could not disagree with him–he was right. Had it not been for his mistake, there is little doubt he would have won the game. But the mistake he made, and I was happy to take any win I could get.

The third round saw me paired against a young girl named Lauren, rating 1075. On paper, my strongest opponent thus far. For the sake of this story, and my ego, let’s just say she was in middle school. A cute little blonde, she had the disposition of a pit bull. I approached our table and asked if she was Lauren.

“Yes,” she shot back curtly. 

The forceful nature of her affirmation gave me pause, and I asked, gently, if she would like to use my board.

“That’s fine.”

Conversation over.

Unlike my first two contests, there was no clear advantage gained in the early and middle portions of the game. We jockeyed for position, back-and-forth, each of us deftly thwarting the other’s attempts to gain control. Lauren had an odd habit of turning her head and looking at the wall, ignoring the board in front of her, as she considered her next move. As we entered the end game, Lauren forked my two rooks with her bishop, a potentially debilitating attack, and for the first time in our battle of more than two hours, she made eye contact with me and smiled faintly.

I’m not a chess Master who can think 10 moves ahead, but I do have the ability to think two. Seeing that Lauren was likely to jump on the opportunity to fork my rooks with her inferior piece, I had myself in position to neuter her attack by putting her king in check with my queen. What’s more, in doing so, I connected my queen with my rook stationed on the seventh rank, confining her king to the back of the board, a prison from which he would never be able to escape. The game lasted several more moves as Lauren tried to trade pieces and wait for me to make a blunder, but I avoided one of my customary pitfalls and eventually checkmated my young adversary. Turning her head away from me, Lauren tried to squeeze my fingers off in the post-match handshake, rose, and exited the building.  

I ended the first day of my first chess tournament with two points. In tournament play, a win counts as one, a loss counts as zero, and a draw is worth half a point. My two points put me in 8th place in my pool of 22 competitors. Nothing to brag about, but I was happy to have gotten a couple of wins and have myself within striking distance of the top spot with two games remaining. When Kathy saw that I had ended the day with two points, she congratulated me and drew attention to the fact that I had surpassed her, as she would be going into day two with only a point and a half.

My first game the next morning came against a Turkish gentleman named Sulleiman. Although he was probably my age or younger, his thick black beard, heavily receding hairline, and hairy chest and back gave him the appearance of a man in his 40′s. While his rating coming into the tournament was only 967, he sat in 6th place in our pool, having beaten a pair of competitors with ratings over 1200. I knew I was in for a tough game but if I were to win, I would have three points and be a strong candidate for the U1400 title.

We battled evenly through the first dozen moves of the game, each of us knowing how important this contest was for our final standing. Sulleiman eventually got my black bishop into some trouble, and he started chasing it with a couple of measly pawns. After several moves, he decisively threatened my piece and appeared to have it trapped with no means of escape. However, I saw that my queen had his defending pawn pinned to his own black bishop, and I could feel the oxygen sucked from his chest as I took his lead pawn with my bishop. Thoroughly exasperated at not seeing the pin he created on himself, he rose from his seat and went outside to smoke a Marlboro Red while he considered his next move, his clock running all the while. After a lapse of nearly 10 minutes, Sulleiman came back into the ballroom. He took my bishop with his defending pawn, giving my queen an open lane to take his black bishop and leaving me a pawn up for the game.

When reviewing the game later in the day, Damian lauded me for the daring attack I launched. “Tucker, that is absolutely sweet. That is just a sweet, sweet move. That’s where chess becomes an art form and why I always thought you had such promise as a player. It’s not conventional, but the execution is nonetheless effective. You’ve given yourself the lead and find yourself in strong position to win the game against an outstanding opponent.”

Alas, I was not able to convert my material advantage into a win. As per usual, I found myself haunted by a pesky knight and in my knee-jerk reaction to extricate myself from the pestilence, I foolishly traded off more powerful pieces and squandered the lead I had so creatively built. Sulleiman eventually sentenced me to checkmate, my hopes of winning the tournament officially over. Still, I had been within an eyelash of the top in my very-first competition and if I could find a way to win my final contest, I could leave Denver with a winning record, feeling good about my prospects as a chess competitor. 

My fifth-round match-up was against a guy named Kirk. Kirk was one of the highest-rated players in the U1400 division, coming into the tournament with a mark of 1267, but, somehow, he had lost to a couple of players rated significantly below him, leaving him tied with me at two points apiece. It wasn’t the most ideal of match-ups for me on paper, but it appeared that Kirk was not playing his best chess and if I performed at the top of my game, perhaps I could hand him yet another loss.

However, when the round started, Kirk was nowhere to be seen. As players all around me built their fortresses and smacked their clocks, I stared around the room in perplexity, wondering where on Earth Kirk could be. After several minutes, I got up, went to the tournament director, and asked him what I was supposed to do in the given situation.

“You start his clock,” the man instructed. “If he’s not here within an hour, you win the game by forfeit.” I went over, did as I was instructed, and found a sofa as I waited for the hour to elapse. Although I wanted to play, a win is still a win, even if it comes via forfeit, and finishing with three points would leave me within the top-ten of my pool–not bad for a first-timer.

About 45 minutes into my wait, the tournament director came out into the hallway and beckoned me. “I think your opponent is here.” I went back into the room and saw a man sitting on the opposite side of my table and steeled myself for the reality that my third point would have to be earned the hard way. 

Instead of playing chess, he looked like he should have been working behind the counter of Joe’s Garage. His short-sleeved, baby blue button-down was tucked into his Wranglers, his protuberant belly creating quite the strain at the midsection. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead from beneath his grease-stained Ford baseball cap, and his neatly-trimmed gray mustache was getting perilously close to Hitler territory. 

He made his moves quickly and decisively in order to make up for time lost. I tried my best to match his pace, not letting him use any of my clock to consider his next move. I wanted to keep my advantage in time. I did some good things throughout the game. I made him move his king early, eliminating any opportunity he had to castle to safety. While he had his entire queen side confined to his back rank, I got all of my pieces active and into play in the opening. 

But for all the good I did, my weakness against the knight was once again my undoing. Kirk found a hole deep in my position. methodically worked his knight across the board, and put me in check, creating a fork on my king and queen. Deflated by the loss of my queen and livid at my inability to foresee knight attacks, I elbowed the top of my king’s head, tipping him over and ending the game in resignation. I angrily scribbled my name across Kirk’s scorecard, thrust my chess set back in its case, and stormed out of the hotel. 

I stewed the entire drive home. I absolutely hated losing at chess. It was probably some kind of narcissistic, deep-rooted machismo in which I liked to think I was smarter than everyone, and losing at chess dispelled this lofty opinion I held of my own intelligence. I could write off the loss to Kathy as the first-time jitters, the loss to Sulleiman as a game well-played against the eventual runner-up. But the loss to Kirk in which I had a 45-minute head start? That one stung. After starting the day in 8th place in my pool, I finished in 17th, leaving me as essentially the sixth-worst player in a tournament of over 100 people. 

By the time my fury subsided, I reflected on the weekend and came to some more rational conclusions from the experience:

Knights, knights, knights! I’ve got to practice more with knights, and any time I have the chance to get my opponent’s knights off the board in a fair exchange, I need to gladly accept

Don’t get flustered after making a blunder! Rather than feel like all is lost after making a critical error, I’ve got to rebound, think rationally, and try to find a way to play through the game rather than resign

Improved sportsmanship! It’s okay to be upset at defeat, but I’ve got to be more cordial with my opponents and be willing to review my games with my adversaries like the Masters do

Despite the disappointing end to the competition, it really was an enjoyable experience. It was really cool to be a part of such a diverse group of people competing for a common goal. I’ve never been part of a competition in which such equality existed among participants, as old and young, male and female, black and white, decrepit and virile, English-speaking and foreign-tongued, all entered on an even playing field. Chess is truly a universal language, one that I clearly don’t speak as well as many.

The next tournament is in Colorado Springs in mid-August. Will I be back for Round 2, or will I do like Iron Mike and fade into bolivion? 

Only time will tell.