13 Feb 06
Frankie’s Chess Challenge
Yesterday’s chess score was 4-0 to Frankie. He annihilated my Australian Attack, crushed my Catalan Opening, dismantled my Tarrash Defense, and pulverised my Panov Attack.
This evening, to get motivated, I sat on my bunk reenacting grandmaster chess games, but Frankie’s words kept replaying in my mind: “Don’t you know who you’re fuckin’ with? I am the greatest.”
It took the arrival of Two Tonys to alter my mood. “Whaddaya doin’ up there?” he asked.
“I’m studying Kasparov. I got beat last night by Frankie. I’ve gotta get him back – soon.”
“Let’s go find the motherfucker then. And you give him some fuckin’ Kasparov.”
We found Frankie finishing off Big Man.
“Don’t you know who you’re fuckin’ with?” Frankie said. “Check – check – check –
“You ain’t shit!” Big Man said, and left in a huff.
“Hey, Frankie,” Two Tonys said. “Jon here’s gonna take ya down. I was just up in this motherfucker’s house, and he had a book out, studyin’ Kasparov moves. Now he thinks he’s in Kiev, on the Russian steppe, leadin’ the Mongol hordes into Europe. I bet he’s gonna kick you're fuckin ass.”
“You know what? I fuck Russians for breakfast.” Frankie said, and began groaning and thrusting his pelvis at us.
“You wouldn’t be sayin’ that if the KGB had you bent over some barrel in a basement, askin’ you where you'd hid your fuckin’ Mexican gold. Give this fucker some Kasparov, Jon,” Two Tonys said and departed.
I abandoned my usual openings, and adopted a queenside fianchetto, looking to establish my bishop pair pressurizing his kingside. Frankie began dismembering my kingside. Fearful of an imminent loss, I felt my anxiety rise.
“After I win this game are we gonna take a shower together, Englandman?” Frankie whispered in a sexy voice.
"No way," I said.
Frankie was about to win the game. However, overconfidence led him astray, and he made a mistake by placing his queen on the same diagonal as his king. I pretended not to see this vulnerability as I moved my rook to a square that would support my bishop in a queen steal. Frankie didn’t notice. I took his queen and finished him off.
“That was good, Englandman,” Frankie said. “Very, very sneaky.”
Two Tonys returned and asked, “What happened?”
“I gave him some Kasparov,” I said.
“That’s a good thing,” Two Tonys said. “Pretty soon, you’ll have Frankie eatin’ Russian fuckin’ caviar and cucumber outta yer fuckin’ hand.”
“I thought I told you,” Frankie said, “I bone Russians down for breakfast.”
“You wouldn’t be talkin’ shit like that if Stalin was your fuckin’ celly,” Two Tonys said.
“If Englandman thinks he’s the champ then maybe he’ll have a little wager on a game to make it a little more interestin'.” Frankie said.
“What kind of wager?” I asked.
“Whoever loses does twenty pushups.”
“Is that all? No problem.”
“You didn’t hear the rest – you do the pushups butt naked,” Frankie said, “And when you lose, Englandman, I’m gonna get a real good look.”
“With that attitude, you’re the one who’ll lose. You’re pissing off the chess gods. But if I did lose, I would be concerned about what you would be getting up to while I was doing the pushups.”
“You’ve got nothin’ to worry about, Englandman. After I get a good look, I’m gonna go home, put a blanket over me, and let my imagination take care of the rest.”
“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll think about the bet, and let you know.”
Should I agree to the bet?
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Copyright © 2005-2006 Shaun P. Attwood