Sacrifice
A short-short story
In chess, a player sacrifices a piece in hopes of greater gain.
When I was ten, I started playing chess for a stupid reason — I thought that having a chess set in my bedroom would make me look smart. I didn’t have much money nor room, so I bought a small plastic set used on eBay for $5.
My father had played something called postal chess with his father in Japan: He would mail his first move and wait for the reply move — A game would take months! Of course, they could have cheated by consulting an expert, but my father is an honest man. For example, when he bought a reproduction netsuke for $15 and, in error was sent an authentic one worth thousands, my father sent it back.
My father was honored that I would follow his chess tradition so he played with me often, gently offering suggestions.
As I got better, I went on chess.com and played online. My rating started at 1000 but by the time I was a senior in high school, it was 1900 — Your rating goes up and down based on how you did against opponents of a given rating. To give you a sense of how good 1900 is, grandmasters are 2,500 to 2,800 and the best computer chess engines are 3,600+.
My best friend Booker’s parents didn’t know how to play chess. When we were sophomores in high school, he asked me to teach him. After two years, his rating was up to 1450. I was gratified that I could help and see his slow and steady progress.
Get Marty Nemko’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
I had started a chess club at my school and, of course, invited Booker to join. I set up tournaments and just before graduation, invited the neighboring high school’s chess club to join us for a final tournament. I paired the players like they do in basketball’s March Madness: the best against the worst, with the best usually ending up in the finals.
Booker was understandably scared to be in the tournament. His first and probably last match would be against someone with a 2,000 rating — He wouldn’t stand a chance. So I decided to try something. I paired myself against him and deliberately lost so he could at least get into the second round.
Of course, he was shocked. “Akio, how could you have made such a bad move? You lost on purpose, didn’t you?” I told the truth: “Booker, in school and in the media, they tell us again and again that we Asians and whites are privileged. In our own social studies class, the teacher urges us to surrender our privilege, that Blacks suffer systemic racism, the legacy of slavery, and that whites and Asians need to surrender their privilege as reparations.” Booker thanked me.
When I got home, my father asked how I did in the tournament. When I said I lost in the first round, he was shocked and he pressed for details. When I explained, he did something I had never seen him do: He exploded:
“Akio, you worked hard for your rating. That is EARNED, not privilege. So many Asians and whites have worked hard and been smart. For you to throw a match is unfair to yourself, to me, to every successful Asian and white, and to our ancestors. What you did was unfair even to Blacks. Do they want to feel they succeed because of a hand-out?”
I tried, “Dad, it’s not a handout it’s a hand up. We need to go beyond equality to equity — To give them an advantage until they succeed like we do.”
My father lowered his head and slunk away. I got light-headed, confused, and head down, crept to my room to think.
I read this aloud on YouTube
Marty Nemko is a lousy chess player, not as bad a career and personal coach, and is the author of 32 books, including the just-published Affirmative Actions. You can reach Marty at mnemko@comcast.net
