I'm Not Him

Oh, hey again; I'm in the middle of watching a re-run of "The Brady Bunch!" (Go check it out.) And I'm only sharing my stories with you because it would simply be shameful to stop now ... Just kidding. I enjoy trying to inspire you cool ChessKids. (Even if, knowing the utter fool that I am, I probably won't succeed in the end. Whatever.) But hold your horses, Alec: if what we enjoy comes from doing what’s honorable, isn’t being honorable - at least in the historical sense of the word (if that actually means anything anymore in our day and age) - just equivalent to abstaining from shameful activities? After all, that’s why my parents and coaches meant everything to me and more as a ChessKid. Without my “family” steering me in the right direction in regards to pleasure and pain (and my mentors were – like Bruce Pandolfini’s character and Vinnie – more than just sideliners), honor - and its pleasureable consequences - would, in truth, only be an ideal fiction. 

 

In fact ... Now that I think about it, I guess that mostly all of the decisions that I’ve made - and am still making - in my (honestly) surreal life have been driven by the timeless but often forgotten motive of honor (and, of course, its counterpart shame). Haha! When I was rated fourteen eighty-eight in second grade, I wanted out of chess. (Could you believe it? Done, fuhgettaboutit, thank you.) Thank God I couldn't disappoint my parents, though, because if I went against their wishes and (shamelessly) quit, I would've missed out on, among other things, playing virtually every weekend (and even having my tenth birthday party to celebrate my being the number one American ten year old chess player (what an honor!) at the Marshall Chess Club. (Oh, very much appreciated, Sophia & the Bellizzis.) Hooray, you guessed it: the Marshall Chess Club became like a second home to someone who, like Josh’s character, got sucked (I seriously used to think "suckered," though) into our so-called royal game. And although Manhattan was definitely no Atlantis, the chess club in the heart of Greenwich Village seemed (oh, the trickery!) like the perfect palace for any naïve, innocent ten-year old boy desperately wishing to prove his honorable worth in the big, bad world of rough and tough grown-ups.

 

So – your honors – in our uber-civilized day and age when honor and shame are often overlooked, please remember that I - and, consequently, Josh’s character - was addicted to playing chess because of the pleasureable high that followed from playing the part of the chivalrous knight in shining armor (not dead yet, Nelly Furtado!), both literally on the chess board as well as figuratively off it. Chess does teach us, in the end (although I pray to God the end's not near yet), what it means to make our parents and coaches proud. And in our royal game as well as in the game of life, even if we fail epically in our endeavors - as I tend to do, oh my God - please, keep in mind that as long as we've made (and continue to make until the day we die, which, at this rate, is soon) an honest effort for our loved ones, there's no shame, only satisfaction, in whatever we "choose" (but do we really have a choice, children?) to do.

 

Now, seriously, leave me alone! If you want me to blog more, you've gotta earn it... just joking. But I'll only do it for y'all when (like Marcia, Marcia, Marcia) you've came, saw and conquered! Or - as Grace Tandon expresses it - don't just sit still & look pretty; rather, on your mark, get set, you cool ChessKids: go!

 

Neither Slim nor Shady

You're back already? Well, then I'm super proud of you super cool ChessKids. And while you were away, I think I've been able to compose myself. (I hope at least.) Seriously, though, speaking of super: in our super scientific day and age, we often have trouble recollecting things that we know deep down that we shouldn't. For example, if I ask you what comes to mind when one says the word "Marshall," for any current or former objectively-oriented twenty-first century animalistic mind (especially since I just talked about it!), it's the chess club. But there's actually another Marshall that should come to the inter-subjective "human" mind: the one who asked the real Slim Shady to please stand up (oh, duh!). Now, please don't get too excited, because I don't know anything about the real Slim Shady. But I can tell you about - wait for it - “Asa Hoffmann.” And I'm pretty sure you'd like to know; after all, these famous words eloquently spoken by Ben Kingsley are well-known, even for - to my surprise - more or less non-chess players.

So, before you ever again judge that, um, "strange" guy from the film, please know that it was actually extremely unfair how the one and only Asa was portrayed by the movie’s script-writer, since Asa’s character – unlike for example Josh’s – was completely unrealistic and misleading. The real Asa Hoffmann (contrary to the film’s awfully malicious interpretation) was definitely not a chess-playing loony-bin who was always lost in his chess thoughts or whatever in some corner of a dark room. On the contrary, always super humble and super polite, Asa was and is one of the most respected chess players out there (not only because he gave quite a few chess whippings in the Marshall to this young whipper-snapper) and is, even in his seventies now, still making his way around the Greenwich and East Villages at night. Oh, and by the way, did I mention he’s also super bright? Before playing chess full-time, he went to Columbia University as an undergrad (something the film actually got right about him), one of the most super schools in New York. (And beyond, since if you can make it here...) 

And when a person damages someone's reputation, don't blindly believe what you see or hear. Always stick up for others not only because it’s the right thing to do, but also because you'll never know when you'll be, like the real Asa Hoffmann was with the movie's script-writer, slandered. After all, you've only got one life. One shot. One opportunity. Will you capture it or just let it slip? And always doing the honorable, human thing for your brothers and sisters is not only helpful and rewarding for them but also for you - and, most importantly, for the whole, wide world.

Epilogue

Well, I hope that our answer was pleasant enough. (And anyways, I'm exhausted.) But, Alec ... you wild and crazy ChessKids may still ask: why be human like Josh? In truth, we're all animals. After all, even though I'm - and you're - not him, Bobby Fishhead held the world in contempt, and look where it got him! But, children (and Bruce): us humans oughtn't aim at truth, because it's our unique imagination that makes us human after all. Since birth, we ought to have played imaginary games besides our true ones like chess. We should have made imaginary friends to be able to relate to someone "just like" us, alongside our real (but often fake) ones that we need to make it safely through the jungle that is our dog eat dog world. Most people don't anymore, but it would do us good - if we haven't already - to honorably fall in (and out) of imaginary love at some point. And, most importantly, we'd better always have imaginary purposes guiding us through life, otherwise we might as well just despair at our honestly shameful, meaningless animalistic lives. That's the true goal of "pretending" to be human, and Josh's journey in "Searching for Bobby Fischer" reminds us - on my honest word - of what would happen if we'd recall how our lives are fated to go. So, go!

Man! That makes our human living and dying a little easier, doesn't it?