Inspiration and Perspiration

Perhaps I should be like some energetic bloggers who maintain more than one blog (although I must confess to kept a separate blog, Rambling and Roving, on Wordpress for our trip to Vancouver last year). Trips aside, in everyday life I suppose I could use one blog for photos, another for thoughts, and yet another for memoirs. But that's too much more my feeble brain to manage, so I just maintain this one where everything gets jumbled up together, and I get gaps between blogs which really should run consecutively. I had been blogging about tennis, bowling, chess and trophies and such, but got sidetracked by music festivals and baby pictures, but I have another thought or two from my chess mentoring days to add before dis here dog is willing to let go of dis here bone.

As I've mentioned previously, I've had all sorts of types of students in my chess club, from very bright kids, which is what one might expect, to pretty regular guys and gals. There was one genius or someone pretty close to that level who played with us for several years. I first knew that something special was up when I looked up from my desk one lunch hour when the club was in session and saw PJ helping Sandra with her homework. The thing is that Sandra was a honour student and a year older than PJ.

So, you'd think that PJ would be an incredible chess player, and he was, in point of fact, very good. If memory serves, he was the top player in the league for at least one year and possibly two. But he wasn't as good as he could have been because he played so fast. I suppose that he was used to things coming so easily that he did his mental calculations quickly and probably didn't bother double-check his conclusions. I, however, was always a slow and deliberate player to the point where if the kids wanted to be sure to win against me they'd just challenge me to a game of speed chess. They'd get their win and be happy, but it never bothered me because I didn't consider it to be real chess.

I guess PJ played a form a speed chess even when it wasn't called for, and he was certainly very good at it. But when I played him, I'd just take my sweet time and win more than I lost. Although he was undoubtedly the brightest student that I ever played, he was not the one who gave me the most difficulty. Perhaps it was because my slow play drove him to distraction; I don't know.

There's a lesson a sorts in my experience with PJ. For me, it has to do with attitude and perseverance. We're not all gifted, but with hard work we can still accomplish a lot. Someone has said that "success is ten percent inspiration and ninety percent perspiration," and I think there's a lot of truth in that. While we have no control over the gifts that we have been given, we do have everything to say about how we use what we have. It's called character, I believe. While I can surely appreciate giftedness, it is dedication, application and perseverance that I admire more deeply.

My "Sort Of" Trophy

It's odd how a single post about Wimbledon has got me onto a Memoir track that I hadn't intended to travel. I like to do that sometimes though — write about my past. It was Ginnie at Goldendaze-ginnie who first put me onto this possible use of blog space. That was her primary purpose in starting her blog — to record moments of her life and times for the benefit of her family ... and others. Although Ginnie has had a much more varied and interesting life than I, I do like the idea of recording my past, some of the time anyway, for posterity.

That's my way of telling Dear Reader that I am not quite done with recollections of my brief sorties into the world of competition. I do understand that eyes will glaze over at this point and that most will click onto the next blog. Just as long as y'all come back, eh?

In my last post, I mentioned that I would win a trophy ... sort of ... or of sorts ... or however exactly I phrased it then. It was to come from a very unexpected win at chess of all things. Now, I am required to back up and set the stage, but I'll try to give you the quick version.

For many years, I had mentored the school chess club and team. The club would meet in my room in almost every lunch hour. Some years, despite the silly notion of chess players being uncool, nerdish wimps, we had quite a full house with an assortment of students. Over the years, I've had tough guys, football players, hockey players, and track champions in the club and on the team, so the nerd image doesn't necessarily hold up, or didn't in my club.

I would often play against the kids at noon and frequently was quite successful. I'd play the best players and usually give a good account of myself, winning more than losing. There came a point when I wondered how I would fare against good, adult competition, so on one cold, winter evening, I showed up at the city chess club. Just in time for a round robin tournament. Yikes!

After a shaky start which involved getting used to the deeper level of play, I eventually managed to tie for first place after about two months of round robin play (one match per evening one night a week). The achievement was not as glorious as it sounds, for they referred to this tournament as their amateur tournament which the two best players sat out in order to give the rest of us a fighting chance. Nevertheless, the competition was still good: for the most part better than what I had been used to in the quicker lunch hour matches with the kids.

Then came the sort of trophy. The club presented me with a huge trophy that just about required a truck to transport to my house. I was to have it for a time and then pass it onto the co-winner. Since I hadn't won a trophy up to that point in my life, Cuppa had the trophy shop make me a small, permanent reminder of this slight achievement. And that's the sort of part because I really had to make my own. Sheesh!