Who said that the current generation of players are ‘the computer generation’? Like as if it is they and only they? Was it those who were once described as a bunch of sycophant charlatans, educational hoodwinkers who conjured such a deplorable use of ‘the’, that being the definite article? Weren’t we all -way back whenever- at it wiv’ em? I know I certainly was before the bonce got bashed up… . Here’s the proof that helped the most become my school chess champion… .
I’m tempted to ask ‘Do you remember Sargon II?’ but I think the more correct question is ‘How could you possibly forget Sargon II?’
It’s so wonderful to return to the fold, to be back in the heart of the thing I miss the most, to put to one side a return to health, to become so adrenalized, to go into overdrive, to tear my opponent apart, to win us the match yet again and once more for my long-lost team mates, to make my team both proud and happy, to come back and conquer, to make myself both happy and content and so, to come ‘From out of nowhere’, to watch the first 23 seconds of the video below, you will see what I modeled my behaviour on when I checkmated my opponent and became so ecstatic- I kid you not… .
The day and how it unfolded…
Being so out of practice of course I was worried. This is about honour but the brain damage I have makes me go from hyperactive to a polarized alternative without warning. I never know when nor have the means to control it. I began telling myself just take it to him if you can. I said ‘You are from Luton (letter ‘t’ not pronounced), you know what that means. Stick it to him. And honour your team and its town. Then as the time of departure drew near I dressed with this on.
He he, nothing to see here. Not a reference to where I am from but more so where I should be.
The black snow boots bought in Baku were the ones I wore in Bakuriani, Georgia, and on the way back to Tiblisi where I stopped off and took a pee in scumbag despicable Stalin’s home town (yes, yes, yes claim to fame!). Georgia is below.
Me and me baby in Tblisi. Some cold wind was blowing up that mountain.
Bakuriani. Me and me baby. Isn’t she lovely? Look at the transportation in use!
I wore black fleece trousers also. I wear black because musicwise I was a metalhead once. My jacket is orange because I am from Luton. Prior to play I was not confident because I felt tired and not myself but the conversation en route was cracking. I saw what Milton Keynes is like en route. Then, I saw the University and there I began to change. Was it that I had slotted back in? Perhaps yes perhaps no.
The Karpov-like accumulation of small advantages…
French Tarrasch with me being white.
14. Nd4 was played. The purpose is to place the queen on the f1-a6 diagonal because the black queen is misplaced. When the white queen goes to b5 with tempo after an exchange on e2, then Rad1 is played, white has the easier game… .
Black allows both 15. Bxd4 and 16 Qb5! He thinks a kingside attack is worthwhile. I already know I will win… .
All endgames are won but two rook endgames require much precision so I played 24. Qxb7. He can activate his rook and does with 27. … Rb8 but look at his back rank weakness, it’s easy… .
Ahem. I just played 31. Qd6 and then he played 31. … h5. Hahahahahaha. Any thoughts on how I delivered checkmate with the next move?
You know, I left the playing hall both overjoyed but full of sorrow. Enjoy the vids below.
I appear @ 2.47, 6.20, 9.43.
In this one I am Sir, ‘Not appearing in this clip’.
I appear @ 2.42, 4.31 (my point was soon proven in the game), 5.58 (confirmation that I was correct).
I appear @ 5.21.
I appear @ 0.43.
In this one I am Sir, ‘Not appearing in this clip’.
And so I left the building and entered the night at 11 pm or just there after. Whether it was now cold went unnoticed. Leaving behind that which made me what I am mattered more. The walk to the car was where conversation was most convivial. The team captain and I were so overjoyed…oh how I so much missed every single aspect of what I was walking away from. My heart sank so very far. I walked. I walked on. We were triumphant. We left… .
…on our way home we drove along the motorway and I talked about who played the best. Did it really matter that I won? Yes it did but what mattered more was to feel loved by those who, being English can’t express their feelings so easily, only to then act in accordance with what they don’t feel. When an exception occurs, you know there is a reason for it is now that we are top of the league! And who put us there? It was me :-).
As a student of adversity, I’ve been stuck over the years how some people with major challenges seem to draw strength from them and I’ve heard the popular wisdom that that has to do with finding meaning and for a long time I thought the meaning was out there, some great truth waiting to be found but over time I’ve come to think that the truth is irrelevant. We call it finding meaning but we might better call it forging meaning…
Andrew Solomon
Taken from one of Manhattan’s greatest ever writers…if not the greatest, that being Andrew Solomon. The thing that distinguishes him is not just that he is so often at seminal moments in his texts and speeches unwittingly Aristotelian but rather that he is so modern, methodical and meticulous. Being an established journalist in the US and A’s top newspaper, he knows what his readers anticipate, having been drawn, collectively or otherwise, towards his literature for reasons which are both rationally informed and researched well in our modern age…I was tempted to say well-researched there but I’m neither a fan of compound adjectives nor metaphors to be honest… he is not just a man who is triumphant in the face of adversity, but surprisingly or not, also someone who has liked a complimentary tweet or two made about him by yours truly :-).
Combating a sudden fit of melancholy is oh-so easy, I just read or watch @Andrew_Solomon then observe how it dissipates during contemplation
In returning to what was so long ago once ‘home’ -that being where I learnt to play chess- understanding what it once meant to be here and exactly what it means now is not easy. No longer can I consider it as home since home can no longer be ascertained geographically. If we rely upon the cliché that ‘home is where the heart is’ then home is wherever my daughter is so that I can be by her side, protect, love and educate her as every father should, then of course ascribing a location to home is thus otiose. However, life itself is perhaps more complex than chess given it is broader than our beautiful game and much more so the chess community you grew up in and have missed so dearly in more recent years, should you be overtly quixotic. Those thus tainted by the tragedy of its demise from that town you walked almost every road thereof. How do you practice when where you live is bereft of the club you spent so many evenings improving in or not improving in? It is no longer possible to find meaning within its walls, instead meaning must be forged… .
‘I am not an Athenian or a Greek. I am a citizen of the world.’
Spoken by Socrates in Plutarch’s ‘Of Banishment’.
Regarding the walls of thee old chess club I once knew so well, whilst drifting towards a draw in a league game long since significant, me and the team mate next to me had our opponents wander off together. Quietly and somewhat surreptitiously my team mate asked ‘Mark, what do you think to my position?’. I then said ‘It’s out of this world, its covered in bone, it’s out of this world, it’s covered in bone, out of this world, it’s covered in bone, out of this world, covered in bone, OUT OF THIS WWWOOORRRLLLDDDD, COVERED IN BONE AAARRGGGHHHH’. Boy did my team mate look confused, then get this, the chairman of the club came over and said ‘Oy! McCready what ya playin’ at?’ That was back when I used to listen to music during the trek across town. (Erm Mark, please don’t employ the word trek yeah. The last two of the three fatalities you somehow outplayed involve the word trek yes? Bicycle manufacturer and activity in Nepal yes?) I wonder what song such words come from?
‘Forging meaning and building identity does not make what was wrong right. It only makes what was wrong precious’
Andrew Solomon
God isn’t he gorgeous…oops, erm, irrespective of how badly you played or how instantly forgettable your opening repertoire once was, what you have learnt from is precious… .
‘We don’t seek the painful experiences that hue our identities but we seek our identities in the wake of painful experiences. We cannot bear a pointless torment but we can endure great pain if we believe its purposeful’
Andrew Solomon
It is tomorrow that I must go to Milton Keynes and it is there I must play chess to win for Luton once more…once upon a time this I once wrote about a journey across Bedfordshire.
My team mate sat next to me had not moved since we’d left Luton. We mirrored each other’s posture and sat still as he took an interest in the serenity outside. Beyond the square windows of the car, an arbitrary county line went by. Further in the distance, the shining windows of a farmhouse blazed by a creek that wove among the fields in the hills, beyond valleys sloping into an expanse of time, where day and wild orchids blew across the B-road ahead.
Me, me, me, me, me, erm ages ago… .
What a day what a day it will be. How so exciting the manner in which darkness descends will be. As chess players we gain from our game how essential it is to think ahead, so I say, the experience will outlive the result or the manner in which I win. There is supposed to be a world championship match on but for now there is no world championship match, there is only the road ahead and that which lies beyond it.
Its game on tomorrow…ghettos exist we do not profit from them…just thinking of Milton Keynes now…see below.
You pretend to what you say you feel You pretend that you’re something special All your lies that you hide behind I see right through you See right through you
The Perfect Life – Steve Wilson
In the final day, which had two rounds of the Bedfordshire County Championship in May 2010, tragedy struck. In the break between the morning and afternoon game I sat by myself as quiet and deep in thought as always. A close friend called to say that our mutual friend and Irish man Tom O’Grady had suddenly died. His hospital told him his cancer returned and he had five days to live only… . They were correct, he died five days later. Leaving his two teenager sons behind. They lost the father they loved, his family lost a member so beloved, his many friends he was so close to lost a great companion…upon the cricket pitch I had wandered into, there I stood remembering how charming his banter was, the intellectual American lady I knew was much pleasured by his gentlemanly, jovial and captivating tête-à-têtes always within earshot of anyone nearby wherever he was… .
She said “The water has no memory.” For a few months everything about our lives was perfect. It was only us, we were inseparable. But gradually, she passed into another distant part of my memory, until I could no longer remember her face, her voice, even her name.
The Perfect Life – Steve Wilson
So hurt I remained on the pitch since I was more isolated there, standing towards where the horizon broadened with that which withered and that which did not. Of all people to be taken away…why…why him? I stopped so very hurt knowing he had suffered so greatly for so long…his child autistic and in need of such great care, then of course, the two stabbings in London…was he really the same thereafter? Poor, poor Tom.
We have got, we have got a perfect life – The Perfect Life – Steve Wilson
I could not go home on that day at that time so play on I did. It was my worst game ever. In shock, I never wanted to be there, never spoke to anyone, never concentrated, and stood at the window to stare into the fields beyond so that no one would see when tears flowed from my eyes. I could not try in my game and lose I did. It mattered not. You must never play chess under such tragic circumstances for its outcome can never matter…life itself matters more…R. I. P Tom O’Grady. Good bye my good friend.
Take your pride, take your vanity. Can’t you see that your ego’s empty. The Perfect Life – Steve Wilson
The writer of that below is so talented and clever. You won’t guess what it is about because that’s his style.
What can we say about GM Lev Aronian, well we can state the obvious by repeating how well-liked, creative and brilliant he is. And his partner WIM Ariane Caoili, what can we say? She has it all, well-spoken, a pleasant personality, polite, a love of academia, and is obviously the most beautiful woman ever seen at a chess board. When I embarked upon an MA and saw her playing in London, not knowing who she was at the time I frowned, unable to believe could be a chess player because she’s too pretty and so I went over to her game to look at her position. She got out of her chair and we engaged in eye contact briefly before she returned to the board to concentrate, perhaps curious what I was in turn curious about. When I left the hall I walked out so slowly thinking “Is it really possible for a female chess player to be that attractive? Surely it can’t be.” And what does that mean you ask? Well, if you see her dressed up in her own attire she is fashionable and puts supermodels to shame with ease. When I first saw her I was glancing round the hall and wondered why she is sitting at a board as she couldn’t possibly be a chess player looking that great -I thought she was probably a model who just wanted to sit down for a minute, not realizing that the seat was already taken.
I never had the chance to go to Armenia whilst stationed in Baku but believed it to be culturally more interesting. You can see traditional dress below if you can draw your attention away from Ariane, which is not easy. What a fun day they are having on camera. A wonderful pair for sure.
Printer down, down, down. Sorry. Many images today are quite readable though.
Confirmed here, whilst I was on holiday with my wife and daughter at the beautiful ski resort Bakuriani, Georgia, near scumbag Stalin’s home town. Click on the link but go to the pictures at the bottom for Edward Winter’s confirmation.
…on what this site initially became…on what this site is now becoming…on what this site cannot become…
On what this site initially became…
…once upon a time, the chess-related musings of an adrift academic were bound playfully and electronically in this online journal of sorts. They grew and grew as the decade did too. I kept on because I love to write whether I had much to say or not; therefore, being read by others was usually of little or no importance, comparatively speaking. Content was based on personal thoughts and experience on various topics with no intended audience borne in mind. With topics broadening, my own take on things always shaped the narrative I constructed: I often thought I was insightful but never that I was right. Sometimes imagination gave rise to originality: and of that I have always remained proud. I often introduced humour, believing that I am funnier than I really am. Sometimes, I found my own style antithetical to the conservatism I believe chess is plagued by -oftentimes that has put a gracious smile on my face… .
On what this site is now becoming…
…this site is now becoming a collaboration of chess in Bedfordshire: much more so of the past than the present -that has become the dominant trend. I document the history of chess in Bedfordshire as much as I can, and as time has passed I have become more thorough and resourceful. However, I am not a trained historian as my background lies principally in philosophy but yes it is true I did study some modules on history as both an undergraduate and a post-graduate too; furthermore, I have trained myself up, particularly in terms of postmodern history. Since 2015, I have only read history and historiography as well as those philosophers who have been so influential on postmodern history, such as Nietzsche (whom I once wrote a 19,000 word dissertation on, entitled: Can the Will to Power be Found in The Birth of Tragedy?), also Richard Rorty and Foucault and I suppose certain structualists such as Claude Levi-Strauss too. Regarding postmodernism, mostly I keep to Hayden White, Keith Jenkins and Alan Muslow.
Some friends and former playing partners back home describe me as the ‘go to guy’ for the history of chess in Bedfordshire. This compliment says more about the lack of interest in the subject than my own endeavour. As mentioned, I am too adrift from academia to feel chuffed by it. Rather, I tend to lament that my historical research, like my chess, just isn’t what it should be. Even though I may well have a broad understanding of Bedfordshire chess history courtesy of the volume of research put into it, all of which began in 2014, this is not something I am particularly proud of. Nonetheless, out of courtesy compliments are graciously received. If the truth be told, I just see it as my job and only that – after all someone’s got to do it and no one else is that interested!
Amongst the many others, I have created three categories: ‘Bedfordshire Chess’ and ‘History of Bedfordshire Chess’ and ‘Luton Chess Club’. This website is slowly moving towards a consolidation of those (all of which can be found in one of the toolbars to the right).
On what this site cannot become…
…I like to be both creative and amusing when I can be, factor in that playfulness has been an ever-present factor, the content of this site should be thought of as multifarious. It could be said I continue to enjoy undermining the conservatism I believe chess is underpinned by even after all these years, and often try to use humour to do it still, believing I have got better at it. Consequently, despite the general direction its going in, this site cannot only be about Chess in Bedfordshire and nor will it be. It may become noted for that yes -in fact that’s been the case for years already even by established historians, archivists, and whoever else. External factors aside, this site is titled McCreadyandChess. I cannot, nor will I not, remove my own personal thoughts and experiences of chess from the posts of this site -especially if I think they are funny or original for they constitute my writing at its very, very best. In addition, the number of categories alone tells you that breadth of content is important to me. I am proud of my site, it is identity conferring and that is how it shall stay -end of story. All you really have are: ‘Some thoughts on the beautiful game’, which, incidentally, just happen to be my very own; nothing more, nothing less, take of it whatever you please… .
A side note on how to read old Tom Sweby's columns
Not perhaps, but quintessentially, Old Tom Sweby is best thought of as a passionate devotee to the newspapers he wrote for. He was well read and knowledgeable of the Bedfordshire chess scene and well beyond, given that he was the president of the S.C.C.U. once upon a time. He was generally well-respected and rubbed shoulders with many, if not all, of those eminent within British chess circles. It would, however, be a critical mistake to see his column is primary source material entirely. That it is not. You will also find secondary source material quoted too, and the reliability of that is not quite as Tom hoped. Given that he wrote for decades, this is to some degree inevitable, and after all we are all prone to error whether we realize it or not. Thankfully, with regards to old Tom Sweby, they are infrequent and for the most part old Tom continued to document events and developments in the Bedfordshire league from the get go as best he could but, of course, everything lies open to interpretation. Despite this, and generally speaking. this does indeed make him informative and thus worth reading. Dare I say his columns constitute a narrative describing the latest developments, match reports and changing nature of the Beds league...he knew his audience and wrote according. This manifested itself over decades but brevity was always in play courtesy of the restictions imposed by writing a column. Should you wish to read a in instrumental figure of the Beds' league post WW2, you are quite welcome to peruse what has been posted here... . :-) I should, however, point out that as the decades wore on he gradually moved on away from narratives concerning the Bedfordshire league towards affairs both historical and international. The reasons for this are multifarous, old age was a predominante factor presumably, however, the bottom line is with regards to how the Bedfordshire chess scene developed post WW2: old Tom Sweby is your go to guy. He wrote more about chess in Bedforshire than anyone else did but given he was a Lutonian and writing for a Luton newspaper there is both bias and greater coverage of his hometown than the rest of the county.
Gallery
I’m either 10 or 11 here
1982, myself versus Brian from Sunderland.
At the Thai Junior chess championships. My daughter of course.
Pattaya 2011
2011
Thai Junior Championships
2008
2011
Around 2011
2011
Pattaya 2009
2011
Kuwait 2008
2012
2012
2011 BKK Chess club
2011
2011 Thai Open
2011 Thai Open
2013 approx
Around 2014
2010
2012
Around 2011
2011
2011
2013
Around 2011
Around 2011
2020
2011
2008
2011
2013 or thereabouts
2010
2017
2014?
2010
2024
2024
2024
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