Men and Boys
It was a February I think, about 22 years ago, that a gangly, fellow student, with hair the vibrancy of hazard lights and a grin that spread across the campus, came bounding up to me and suggested we revive the defunct Sheffield University Chess Club. I was rather impressed by the funds available to form NUS Societies, the mass of chess equipment in cupboards but, most of all, by his enthusiasm and belief that, together, we could do it. Therefore I agreed. Just a few weeks later the enthusiast left to spend a year in France as part of his course, leaving me to hold the reins. That source of energy who tricked me into taking on the running of the University Chess Club was Douglas Johnson.
How fitting that all this time later he and I managed to (somehow) find wins against lads half our age in a pulsating match with the present day University. The whole day reminded me of the chaos of those distant years – happy years, when we witnessed the Thatcher Sacrifice, we lost an Italian game to Germany (on time) but won the Cold War when their Perestroika Gambit ran out of control. While Chern was a wee baby in Malaysia, Srini a junior chess champion in India, Gleb was learning to put together Kalashnikovs in a Soviet Chess School (its no wonder we won), and George was probably in a pub, I proudly captained the Uni team to three successive promotions, reaching the top division before my team ruthlessly sacked me (like Thatcher) on the feeble grounds that I was a crap player (like Thatcher). They sort of proved their point by winning the title without me! (Unfortunately, like Thatcher’s.)
Then, like now, I was surrounded by a team that covered my failings. I directed operations through notes pinned to the Chess Society board in the Student Union or with a pile of 10p’s from a public phone box; numbers smudged onto the back of my philosophy lecture notes questioning the existence of time, (a scepticism shared by Srini). We moved by public transport (20p bus journeys) though I remember once we hired a car to play in Clay Cross and crawled back at 20 mph down the M1 in fog so thick you couldn’t see the windscreen wipers. I could go on and on, but lets jump to the present.
Match day, February 2012 and at lunch time I get a call saying the venue had changed. 8 hours notice isn’t great but at least we have mobile phones now. And cars. Or one car. The match that followed was tight but nothing compared to the journey. Srini’s vehicle carried George, me, Gleb and Chern as well as the driver. If George and Gleb boarded a bus it would drop a few inches. Half the chassis of Srini’s car is on probably on Western Bank this morning. There was certainly a funny noise when we spilt out but that may have been my ribs popping back into place.
We lost the toss, intending to play Black on odds. They chose Black on odds. We started badly on the bottom 4 boards. Douglas (Black) manfully began to defend a Kings Gambit but when a White Rook, seemingly with a bomb strapped to its chest, strode in front of his King, Douglas’ pieces fled to the edges of the board like children. I played 1. e4, probably for the first time since my student days and became stuck on the barbed wire of a Caro Kann. Gleb lost a piece and George just lost. I couldn’t believe what I saw. Having purposely blocked his opponents mate threat on h7 George then exposed it, and we were 1 down before the indentations had disappeared from Srini’s backseat.
Gleb was hammering out moves in some testosterone enraged battle. He and his opponent were crashing down their pieces and thumping the clock in a real fury. I hid behind George. Gleb refused several draw offers (even when he seemed worse) and eventually, when nothing was left on the board (except sweat) and springs and wires were beginning to emerge from the poor clock, the board 5 players fell into each others arms like exhausted boxers at the final bell.
Chern has really upped his game this season. It wasn’t a surprise when a 160 opponent offered him a draw. He remains unbeaten for us. Srini uncharacteristically backed out of a threatening King side attack which his Alekine had served him. He blundered a piece, very cleverly won it back and began to boss a double rook and pawn ending before blundering again.
Douglas’s game was as chaotic as his games 20 years ago were. Then they were fuelled by a lot more beer. His calmness is the same though and amidst the fireworks that were going off all around and on his board he emerged victorious and wonderfully modest.
My game was similarly bewildering. A bit behind, a lot ahead, and this even before a Black Hole appeared on c3 as we took turns to leave pieces unguarded there. He made one more mistake than me and I was able to seal a tie to probably the most dramatic collection of games of our already amazing C Team history.
Many candidates for man of the match. Chern, I’m sure, played the best game but Douglas once again provided the win on which our result was build and he did so in the pendulum style of the match. However, in keeping with the abnormal nature of everything that happened, one performance stands above all others. Man of the match: Srini’s car.
