There was a television show on about murders connected with a chess players.
It brought back memories. In my youth, I was an avid chess player.
My father taught me how to play. At first, as would be expected, he beat me every time we played. But as the years passed, I gradually started winning some games. Then it got to the point that I won every game. My father did not like that. He started angrily knocking over pieces with every defeat, and even started upsetting the board when it became clear I was going to checkmate him in a move or two.
Suddenly he did not want to play any more.
Instead, I began playing with friends and at school. I did well, pretty consistently winning. Early in high school, there was a county-wide chess tournament. I entered, and it was the first time I played some really good players. I learned a lot from them by playing them, watching games, and talking with other players in between games. I managed ultimately to finish third in the scholastic division. I was pleased, as this gave me a realistic sense of my ability - and what I'd need to do if I was going to get better.
But I also saw some players show the same sort of anger my father displayed when he lost. I also saw in some the kind of arrogance I sensed in myself. I didn't like that.
I knew there should be more to chess - or even competing - than anger and arrogance. In the first round of the tournament, I played a girl who was clearly not in my class. I defeated her easily. But I saw her disappointment and hurt, and since there was time before the next round, I offered to play her again for fun. I kept it close, then made a "blunder" that let her win. I praised her, and said imagine if that had been the tournament game. She seemed to feel better.
That's what games should be about.
After the tournament, I continued to play at school, joining the chess club and, because I won consistently, becoming the unofficial "president." But I also realized that if I was going to become really good, I had to study, practice, devote hours every day to playing. I'd have to sacrifice a lot of things in life, and while I liked chess, I was not willing to do that.
My last "real" game came during my freshman year in college. One of my high school friends and frequent opponents had been growing increasingly frustrated during our senior year of high school because I consistently beat him. During a college school break he came back home, contacted me, and challenged me to a game.
We played. He crushed me.
He had a look on his face that made me really uncomfortable. It was not just of victory - it was gloating, vicious, almost demonic.
He then told me he had spent months studying and practicing, just so he could beat me.
Just to beat me. Not for the love of or the fun of the game. Just to beat me.
Our friendship basically died at that point. Although I played a few friendly games with other people after that game, and even play online games against a program occasionally, I never played a serious game again.
What I saw at that tournament, what I saw in my former friend, convinced me that rather being a player of the game, the game would play me if I dedicated my life to it.
I would only be a pawn.
I discovered the same thing was true of other games that I'd been good at - Scrabble, and bowling. To get better at them, I would have to make many sacrifices of time and focus and energy.
While there's nothing wrong with any of those games, they are just games. They are meant to be for fun, socializing, and developing skills. But games are only a part of life. Life involves interacting with people, enjoying nature, serving God, and so much more.
Playing games can be part of life, but should not control it. The same is true of so many other things we pursue. How many times have we heard of people who dedicated their lives to one thing - games, sports, acting, painting, writing - to the neglect of everything else, and in the end, when they could no longer do those things, found themselves lost and alone and empty? If people have skills, there's nothing wrong with developing them - I want a musician to play well, for example. But if developing that skill means becoming so focused, so obsessed, that one fails to become a healthy, well-rounded person, then such pursuits devolve into something dark and evil.
Like the look on my former friend's face.
As G. K. Chesterton once observed, “If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.”
Life involves finding balance between work and play, and seeking that which is truly important.
Pax et bonum
