Friday, June 10, 2011

Checkers Mastermind Emerges After Spending Years in Exile

May 14th, 2011. It was high noon. For May, the heat was sweltering. There I stood in the Cedar Bluff Cracker Barrel, anxiously waiting. For? The arrival of a local legend. The establishment was packed, shoulder-to-shoulder. Spectators had voyaged many a mile on wagon, horseback, and foot from all Appalachia in hopes of catching a glimpse of this legend - a reclusive mastermind who had vowed revenge upon an old opponent, who had taken an oath to systematically dismantle him in a grueling high-stakes battle of strategy and intellect.

Who was this local legend?

The mysterious "Black Widow".

Who was this poor unsuspecting opponent?

The author, "Fragrant Fowl", disciple of the fabled "Papa Goose" .

And, how would this battle of strategy and intellect, as you say, manifest itself? A duel to the death?

Perhaps, something just as dangerous - checkers.

Yes, checkers. A seemingly harmless and jejune game in some regions, but not in Rocky Top. It is to 21st century Appalachia what jousting was to 16th century England, what a swashbuckling fencing duel was to 17th century France, what a yodeling contest was to 18th century Switzerland, what a high-flying back-flipping roundhouse-kicking Kung-Fu battle was to 19th century China, and what a six-shooter duel was to early 20th century America. The victors arise, lionized in the eye of the public. The defeated disappear, fading away into the shadows. It is here that honor is won and lost, that fortunes are acquired and dispossessed, that reputations are hung in the balance. In Rocky Top, to proverbially "drop the gauntlet" is tantamount to any of the above - jousting, fencing, yodeling, kung-fu fighting, gun dueling - the only difference being that here in Rocky Top, the primary means of settling any dispute, whether it be a territorial dispute, legal in nature, or to reclaim one's honor or reputation, this dispute is conducted to and weighed upon the great modern scales of justice - the checkerboard.

And it was before this checkerboard, on May 14th 2011, that I nervously paced to-and-fro, awaiting my opponent. The palms of my hands were cold and clammy. Beads of sweat had formed over my brow. I could feel bosom palpitate with anxiety as I pondered a myriad of scenarios in my head, over and over like a movie reel, all the while keeping my peripheral vision locked on the front entrance.

1988 - The Clash of the Titans

My opponent, this "Black Widow", named after that insidious arachnid who was notorious for devouring its mate, was one of those mysterious characters - one which much is rumored about, but which very little is actually known. According to rumors around town, this "Black Widow" character, once known as "Kimberly Sanders", had once enjoyed a meteoric rise to the pinnacle of the checkers world, completely undefeated. "Tricky Rick", the 1985 winner of the Tennessee Valley Fair Checkers Tournament, had suffered a crushing loss to the young Kimberly, who was believed to be a child prodigy. Her warpath of victory continued unchecked, dethroning the biggest names in town - "Slickmove Sanford", "Downtown Clarence Brown", "King Me Carl", and even the renowned "Triple Jump Jimmy". These giants in the game had fallen like Goliaths to a young David, and only one man in the statewide area remained in her path before she would bear the glorious title of "State Champion" - a certain man known as "Papa Goose", an elite grandmaster in the middle Tennessee region who boasted of a perfect record: 10,999 W - 0 L. The day was May 14th, 1988. I remember it like it were yesterday. Two heavyweights face-to-face, one looking to retain his crown, the other looking to despoil it and call it her own. The match was heated, but in the end, Papa Goose's notorious and controversial secret move, "The Iron Goose", proved too much for the young mastermind. His 11,000th consecutive victory was recorded in the annals of history. With the record now securely in place, Papa Goose could now retire after a long satisfying career, but not without a successor. As it pleased Providence to do so, Papa Goose would pass the baton to yours truly, the author, who was privileged to study under the tutelage of this fabled wizard, eventually mastering the "Way of the Goose", and who would come to be known in the checkers arena as "Fragrant Fowl".

And, what had happened to Kimberly, you ask?


The Metamorphosis

Little was known until recently. Ever since suffering her decisive defeat at the hands of Papa Goose in 1988, she had completely vanished from public eye. Mystery enshrouded her inexplicable disappearance like a nebulous cloud. Searches had been made, but in vain. Rumors began to circulate that she had adopted the life of a hermit, taking up residence in a small cave somewhere in the Appalachian mountains. Interestingly enough, only a few years ago, a handful of avid hikers recently confirmed finding a deserted cave in the Appalachians, fully furnished with a limestone table that crudely resembled a checkerboard. The walls of this cave had strange markings of the deadly black widow spider, along with inexplicable words such as "IRON GOOSE", "1988", "GOOSE WILL PAY", and "VENGEANCE IS MINE SAYETH THE BLACK WIDOW". This nebulous cloud which enshrouded this mysterious figure finally cleared away, and it was on April 15th 2011 when she reportedly reemerged. Local news channels were fixated on this baffling reappearance of a figure once thought lost. The Rocky Top Cafe was abuzz with chatter. Even the folks down at Ralph's Five-and-Dime, the local grocer down on the corner, were in disbelief.

For the most part, the author was largely unconcerned about all this. That is, until the very next day - April 16th, 2011. It was on this dark, stormy eve that the author returned to home to find the following note fixed on his front door with a dagger:



A powerful shudder traveled down my spine and caused the deepest recesses of my heart to tremble and quake in fear, for reasons I could not deduce. This effects of this ominous note persisted all day, all month. The Cedar Bluff Cracker Barrel? On May 14th? Was this not precisely the location where, 23 years ago to the exact day, the epic battle had been waged between the young prodigy and Papa Goose? Was the rumor then true? For 23 years, had she led a monastic life in the mountains? Creating a makeshift checkerboard from limestone? Applying mind, body and spirit in the rigorous study of ancient methodology, meditating atop lofty mountain summits, and eventually perfecting her style, strategy, and technique? All of which would culminate in an grand rematch between two epic forces? Between agents of dark and light? Between agents of good and evil? Between Fowl and Arachnid? Inconceivable!


Enter the Black Widow

As inconceivable as it may be, it was here I stood, 23 years later, pacing to-and-fro before the exact same checkerboard on May 14th 2011, amidst the same murmuring crowd, the numbers of which continued to swell considerably. Suddenly, a voice could be heard, bellowing "Hark! The Black Widow approaches! Silence!". A hush fell upon the crowd. Just then, as a row of grandfather clocks struck 12, the tintinnabulation of their bells tolled in unison, perhaps foretelling some ill-fated terror, the front door creaked loudly on its hinges as it opened ever so slowly. Could it be her? Undoubtedly so. The long awaited moment had finally arrived. Rays of sun filtered in from outside, creating a dark silhouette which stood enshrouded in luminous light. What stood at the threshold seemed not to be human, but rather a specter, a phantom, a phoenix. A thick cloud of gray smoke, which smelled distinctly of burnt biscuits, drifted over from the kitchen, which added to the moment. Indiscernible whispers could be heard throughout the establishment. Father embraced wife. Wife embraced child. Child embraced doll, or buried their face deeply into their mother's bosom.

Without a word, and with slow and deliberate steps, the Black Widow made her way to the checkerboard. As she approached, I could feel my breathing become more shallow and unsteady. She lifted her head, revealing her eyes, revealing her countenance, which was more beautiful, perhaps deceptively so, than I remember it being 23 years prior. Had a physiognomist studied this countenance, he would most likely observe a well-pronounced pair of zygomatic processes, a well-defined mandibular contour, an equally well-defined sternocleidomastoid, and would have deduced a fiery intelligence in her eyes. She was an enigma, perhaps, but an enigma made only more beautiful by the crucible of time.


The Fall of The Fowl, The Rise of the Phoenix

"So we meet again, Black Widow", said I, attempting to elicit some dialogue.

Without a word, she glanced me over with a distrustful eye; eyes that could pierce into even the deepest chambers of the heart and penetrate even the most impervious vaults of the mind. This scrutinizing gaze seemed to say, "Fragrant Fowl, your reign is over. Prepare to be vanquished to foreign lands, or even worse - the barren wastelands of North Knoxville." This silent gaze returned to the checkerboard, accompanied by a taciturn nod of the head. Finally, after some period of contemplation, she uttered eight words that seemed to have the same effect on me as a massive stone hurled by a catapult might have on the stone walls of a medieval castle:

"Black moves first, Fragrant Fowl. Does it not?"

Gulp.

My first mistake. I had built my entire strategy around moving second, not first, indispensable to "The Way of the Goose". It enabled me to "wait patiently and strike swiftly", as the Great Papa Goose would wisely say. "Follow your opponent's lead. Feign weakness. Lure them to their own demise. Do this, my son and a thousand battles will be a thousand victories." I never failed to do so in the past, but, somehow in my nervous apprehension, I had erroneously stood on the wrong side of the checkerboard. The Black Widow seemed aware of this, and sneered with a sinister pleasure. I had no choice but to adapt.

I initiated the first move. She followed.

I made another move. She followed again.

An opportunity for a jump presented itself. I took it.

Another opportunity for a jump soon presented itself. Once again, I took it, making a stack of two red chips on my side, zero black chips on hers. Despite my off-balanced start, things were looking bright for Fragrant Fowl.



Meanwhile, the crowd was suspended in perfect silence.

After a few more moves, the stage was set. On the right hand side of the board, I observed a golden opportunity for a triple jump. The thought of triple jumping the Black Widow, and the effect it would have, engendered an indescribable sensation of pleasure. Without making it obvious, I analyzed this potential move from every angle, carefully extrapolating out any and every consequence. The coast was clear. All that needed to be done was to move a single black chip into place. Once this was done, a devastating blow could be inflicted, squashing the arachnid once and for all.

Had she made this same observation? It was impossible to tell. She remained impassive, impervious, imperturbable.

As nonchalantly as possible, I moved the black corner piece into place:



Perfect. I had waited patiently. I had feigned weakness. I had lured her in. Now, it was time to strike swiftly.

Seconds after removing my hand from the piece, the same sinister sneer appeared across the face of my opponent.

"You are discerning and wise, young Fragrant Fowl." she said. "And, it seems Papa Goose has instructed you well..."

Saying this, reached for a red piece, on the left side of the board, and proceeded to jump one of black pieces. Pausing, but with hand still on the piece, she continued:

"But, in all your wisdom, you've neglected one thing."

With the same red piece, she jumped another black piece. And, as if a veil had suddenly been lifted from my eyes, I saw precisely what was about to ensue, but nothing could be done to prevent it. A surge of fear gripped my heart, which was now racing furiously. With the same red piece, she proceeded to jump yet another, and another, and another.

And another. And another. Each jump was yet another devastating stone catapulted into the stone wall of my fortress. I recoiled in horror.

"King me." she said stoically.

All together, 7 pieces had just fallen victim to the most perfidious snare I had ever beheld. The infamous "Septuple Jump", unseen since the championship game of 1932, between "Red Fox" and the legendary "Fast Fingers McGoo". It was a move more treacherous than even the fabled "Iron Goose", and was believed to be folklore. Only 5 pieces remained to her 10, one of which was a king, which could traverse the length of the checkerboard at will.

"Confound it!" I muttered, banging my fist upon a nearby display of jelly beans.

Regathering my sense of composure, I thought it wise to flee for safety and regroup. All seemed hazy. My heart was beating so loudly perhaps it could be heard. With trembling hand, I moved a piece to safety - or, so I thought. The moment I removed my trembling hand from the piece, however, a muffled chuckle could be heard, which steadily crescendoed into a diabolical howl.

"Tisk, tisk, tisk! Yet another impetuous move, Mr. Fowl."

At this, she proceeded to use her king in a jump so egregious that would annihilate in one fell swoop the remaining 5 black pieces, which I had unwittingly aligned in perfect order. The predator had become the prey. The crowd gasped in terror. I felt as if a dagger had been plunged into my bosom.

The catapult had hurled its final stone into the ramparts. The walls of the castle, once so impregnable, had fallen to ruin and crumbled under siege! Victory, once so assured, was plucked from the palm of my hand in a grand reversal of fortune! Into her clutches I had stumbled! Into her tangled web I had walked blindly and foolishly!

"Ruined! I am ruined!" I said, dejected, melting to the floor like a wax candle.

The uproarious crowd was bewildered, in a state of panic. All were fleeing in terror. Fathers took wife and child in hand, and escaped through the front door, some even breaking windows. The lamentations of woman and child could be heard, "Oh, beloved Fragrant Fowl! Banished forever to nether regions of North Knoxville! May it never be!"

I lifted my eyes. The Black Widow was nowhere to be found. Just as mysteriously as she had entered, she had vanished. Once again she returned, into the shadows.

My eyes shifted to the black and red pieces piled in disarray on the checkerboard. Something could be seen protruding from under the pile - a white slip of paper which piqued my curiosity. Piece by piece was lifted, revealing the following note:



Which was the same message written on the wall by the hand of Providence to the ancient Babylonian King, Belshazzar, and which meant, "You have been weighed in the balance and have been found wanting."