Fair Play

Knight . . . bishop . . . rook . . . Ugh. I’m thinking about EVERYTHING in terms of chess. Maybe that’s a good thing, considering that my tournament is at 4:00 P.M. My chess knowledge is at its peak. Now, all that’s left to do is to play.

At the playing hall, I check the pairing list and determine my correct board. My opponent shakes my hand, looking smug. I’m confused. He starts the clock, and I move my pawn to d4, playing the London System. Out of the corner of my eye I can’t help noticing he’s peeking at his watch, which displays the exact same position as on the board with the infamous Stockfish logo. He’s cheating by using computer assistance!

Why not resign? You don’t deserve to play against someone of his stature. He’s cheating! my inner voice tells me. Another one pipes up: Just offer a draw! Do you think he’ll even accept such a draw! I try to shut out all the voices in my head, but I don’t know what to do.

Suddenly, I remember—I had read a book about tournament play the night before, and it flashes in my head: If someone cheats, stay calm, stop the clock, and immediately tell the tournament director. 

That’s it! The tournament director! Why didn’t I think about that? I stop the clock, excusing myself from the board, and run as fast as I have ever run to the table of the tournament director.

“Excuse me, sir. My opponent is cheating by using Stockfish to analyze the position.” 

I half-expect the tournament director to immediately agree with me, but instead, he protests that he had taken away all cell phones.

“He’s using a watch. Come see for yourself!”

He comes over and takes a look, and sure enough, the best move blinks on the watch. My opponent is forced to forfeit, and I win.

With newfound confidence, I continue to play and get the trophy I was dreaming of. I stand on the podium to receive it, but I am most proud of standing up for fair play.