Choking on bony chicken

There are many expressions and phrases peculiar to the chess world, which, when combined with opening names and the use of chess notation, often make overheard conversations between chess players completely unintelligible to the average member of society. Terms like “patzer”, “kibitzer”, “zugswang” and the oft-misinterpreted “prophylaxis” frequently adorn the chess enthusiast’s vocabulary, much to the perplexity of his non-chessite colleagues.

One of my favourite pieces of local chess slang is the “Bony Chicken”, coined by Melbourne international master, Guy West.  It usually refers to an underrated junior. When faced with such an opponent, a successful win doesn’t really offer much ‘meat’ (in terms of rating points gained). But there’s a significant chance of ‘choking’ against them, and such a loss is particularly painful.

My tournament at last weekend’s Melbourne Anzac Weekender was, unfortunately, littered with bony chickens, and twice I got one caught in my throat. As far as a satisfying ratings meal goes, it was always going to be tough. But this tournament included some of the boniest chickens (or ‘most talented juniors’, perhaps a more complimentary way of putting it) in Australia.

Not surprisingly, then, going into the penultimate round, three pre-pubescent juniors were vying with me for first place, with two of them ahead on the scoreboard. To be honest, this is testament not only to the wealth of junior talent in Australia today, but also to the Melbourne Chess Club building committee; two years ago, the overwhelming stench of cat piss and body odour would have prevented chess parents, and consequently their progeny, from attending.

Unfortunately, the kids stumbled a little towards the end, and I was able to avoid a third successive choking and scrape through to share first with Bobby Cheng, but not before he gave me a few nervous moments in our last-round encounter. A result I was happy with, all things considered, but probably the first time I’ve had to share a title with a 12 year old since I was, well, 12. We’ll be seeing a lot more of this little man, along with his emaciated fowl-like colleagues.

Aside from the chess, the tournament offered everything I’d promised a Brunswick St tournament would. The smorgasbord of culinary options within walking distance was a real blessing, particularly on the three-rounds Sunday. A few of us chess desperados even got out the chess sets at the Gypsy Bar after the presentation – this little gem sponsors the MCC’s weekly tournaments, as well as promoting local musicians, strong sangria and everything quirky. My only complaint would be the dinner menu (four of the six options were unavailable), but I’m promised that was only due to a “one-off delivery failure.”

Still, it’s a shame. I hear their chicken is good.