Archive for July 20th, 2020

I feel as though I’ve been drugged and duped. Snatched from the off-line world and dragged into a murky on-line underworld courtesy of a dark descent full of twists and turns, the last of which knocked me unconscious.

Only if you fancy a game drop me a note. I had to join both https://lichess.org/ and https://www.chess.com/ and go under the username Olcmarcus in both…as you may know Olc is Gaelic for evil. But evil at chess I am not, just out of practice and tactically poorer than ever because concentration levels are at an all-time low.

If you want to play, you’ll probably win. I’m brilliant at blundering, I really am. Despite impressions gained by this site I genuinely am only a strong club player at best, and usually your average club player. Yes I’ve beaten an FM, yes I’ve drawn with an IM, yes I put up a solid defence for long enough against a GM rated 2620 once, but that aside -nothing.

Because quite a lot of people seem to like my site, I thought I’d reach out and we’d play. The choice is, of course, yours.

Marcus McCreadus

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If you were to gaze into your run of the mill abyss, you’ll become snagged on it gazing back into you I promise.

Before it became too perplexing, the purpose of your average politician was to improve the quality of life for Joe Public. Now of course they try to preserve it instead, or alternatively, elongate its longevity; both being by far an easier option than enrichment overall: they once protected us against the odd terrorist popping up every once in a while here and there but now its germs they save our souls from…well, personally I prefer to come under fire from terrorists than germs but that’s just me being me!

Germs?
Terrorists?

Although there is little if anything to fear, along comes drastic social remeasurement coinciding with the daylight robbery of numerous civil liberties, all aimed towards the war on softer targets germs; namely, Covid-19 (19, pronounced na-na-na-na-na-na-na nineteen: representing the average age of a US soldier in the Vietnam war). With your freedom and income taken away too, the fabricated, emplotted pandemic enemy looks set for certain defeat not to mention Joe Public of course. The only incoming hammer blow being that you can’t play chess in public anymore, forcing chess players to play on-line more than usual.

To make matters worse, even I got swindled into it all after becoming bored by just having my computer to play against. I wanted different opponents. Then disaster struck. And strike hard and firm it most certainly did. I rejoined my hometown team on-line and played old friends, playing partners from a bygone era over ye olde fibre optics. Then things got messy. Real messy. The ever curious on-line extraordinaire and former Nigel Mansell-esque speedster on county match days H.Mirza only went and crafted an on-line tournament in my name, honouring my undying love of my hometown chess scene.

Named after myself, naturally it had disaster written all over it. The concept was complimentary: myself bashful beyond words. Then there was this time zone thing which came into play, what with me being six hours ahead and cream-crackered at the best of times. On medication that can literally blow your head off, enter I did and play on did I. I daren’t tell you that I have to take Solian for life otherwise you’ll instantly guess what the result of a diagnosis in February was, and how the virtuoso hyper mania had to suddenly take to the back seat, along with everything else bicycle accident related.

Yeah I do drugs, I have to. So what of it?
It ain’t nofin’ like mine init. Mine bigger and busted up by bike bezerkery. It got koshed twice but ain’t got no kibosh coming anytime soon. Just remember you never saw nofin’, you never read nofin’.

Rusty and rightly suspicious of on-line chess assuming it always pales into comparison to the real mccoy, and cream-crackered too, on I did play prone to error and mostly pathetic I was. My play woeful by my own low standards so say I. Too tired to concentrate before it began, buggered I was. Twas midnight which drew oh-so-near when it was all over and sighs of relief bellowed across my empty room. A friend who was only rated 203 when last playing in Bedfordshire -and yes that’s 203 not 103-joined, provoking a mild euphoria underpinned by a more prolonged pride. Just like the old days it simultaneously was and wasn’t. I did win one game, missed wins in another along with countless perpetual checks, then fell to pieces in yet another game whilst floored by fatigue, the ability to calculate intermittent at best.

I felt both honoured and embarrassed but above all else cream-crackered. I slumped into a heavy sleep where a strange dream appeared; in which I spent my entire life studying chess, and then upon realizing it was a waste of a life, I turned towards fruit machines, then blew myself up with dynamite when that failed to assuage guilt and support my pension for if anything it only drained what little life was left in me. A colourless and kaleidoscopic life of chess flitted through my sleeping brain before the bright bang of dynamite which naturally followed my misspent adulthood.

The future?

On I limp, knowing myself to be shit at chess because I was always shit and am destined to remain shit, and there that be thy moral of this fine tale. Only written because I feel lonely and have no one to talk to.

To conclude, I will assume you, unlike I, weren’t blown away by the dynamite gag, but like I, wonder what you are doing reading this rubbish. I end as I begun: ashamed of my low-hung head, bad behaviour on-line and mysterious manoeuvres which transgressed the off-line life I seldom lead auspiciously but always inconspicuously… .

Drat and double drat!

A bored Mark signs off… .

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