Baby its cold outside

MiNdependents,

Never let anyone tell you chess is not a dangerous game. Allow me to expand. No? Too bad, my hand has already expanded several times its regular size. You'll forgive the brevity of this post when you find out I'm typing it with only my leftern-most five digits, and not well.

Since April of 2005, in that awesome former apartment of mine with the balcony that overlooked the dangerous park, I've been playing regular chess against my friend Trevor. Its with some consternation that I say, I believe he has improved more than I have. That is, I used to be far better than him, now, we're about equal. We've kept statistics and I think they bear this out. This was no more plain than on the night of January 9 when I had him over to my house to play a few games. We also, as is our habit, went swimming in a jug of wine and didn't come out until we could stand on the bottom without getting our feet wet.

Perhaps that's why Trevor won 4 consecutive games. Unheard of. I do not believe I've ever beaten him in four consecutive games on the same night. Perhaps over the course of a week or two, but never the same night. And as I said, he's improved over the past few years, but my God. With my pride on the line more than it would have been if I had been more sober, we set about a fifth game. By about the tenth move, he took my queen. That was it. My volcanic temper erupted, i bopped the table from underneath and upset most of the pieces (its a vinyl board so flipping it was not an option) then turned to the wall of my chess cave and gave it what for.

I knew right away that I broke the bone - the fourth metacarpal - and 12 hours later, after icing it and and ibuprofining it as best I could, I finally went to the hospital. Now I'm in a splint and will not be able to take batting practice, type, or put together the magazine without a great deal more effort. Further proof that my temper needs tempering. And proof at last, that chess can be dangerous.