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You can’t go into the dark heart of the chess world without knowing about the fauna that reside there. Meet the subject of today’s lecture, partus-timeus patzerus, or the part-time patzer. The species shows variance in height and weight, but all wear a world-weary half-grin. The patzer takes frequent water breaks, finding the stroll easy on his mind. The more mature beast may carry a timeworn chess set from his youth. It’s easy to recognize this critter. Look for:

1) a self-effacing chess humor. This noble animal reacts to losses with a shake of his head. He understands his losses to be part of a cosmic destiny.

2) his constant threats to find another hobby.

3) frequent losses to little kids.

4) little opening knowledge or desire to accumulate any. He will refer to the French Defense as the “e6 opening for black.”

The part-time patzer prefers to sit between 1400-1600 USCF. He doesn’t stray too far from familiar surroundings. You will not find him playing on the weekends. Your best chance to catch him is on a weekday at the local club. He’s is capable of non-chess speech and less sarcastic than other groups. The part-time patzer may mock Wow, that is One Serious Chess Player. The former emits a funny gurgle whenever he loses to The Child Who will Soon be Better than You.

Study habits: The part-time patzer doesn’t use chess books, though he puts his games through Fritz out of sheer curiosity. Satisfied with his life he is happy to have a hobby he’s always enjoyed. With the passing of his chess ambition he has learned to take pleasure out of simple play. It’s just a great way to wind down an evening. His lack of study will impact his clock.

His preparation for opponents is non-existent. He may suffer from a variant of “same game syndrome,” or SGS, in which he plays the same inferior variation again and again. Every chess game presents a challenging puzzle for this affable hack. He makes a great, if unmotivated, chess partner since he does not want to augment his game.

Last week you brought a little something extra to the chessboard. You sensed a hanging piece long before it became loose, played your plans with aplomb, and weren’t afraid to make an unclear move. Your brain was a brilliant, ergonomic machine capable of mighty feats. The chess world stretched out in front of you and the only thing left was to stake your claim.

Now your brain is a caricature with crisp, accurate calculation all but a vain fantasy. What happened between those two extremes? Just the other day you were delivering cheeky mates in four, and now you’re living on the edge of checkmate. You have the same brain as last week so why did you stop performing so well? It’s inexplicable for so much to change so quickly, yet it has!

Arm wrestling is a contest of brute force. Strength remains relatively constant in this he-man-esque endeavor. If you keep following the same gym routine you’re going to go over the top of the same guy every time. If you can beat your opponent today, you will certainly be able to beat them next week. You have a right to expect that your muscles won’t let you down. You do not have the right to expect this of your brain.

Everything from low glucose levels in the blood to problems away from the board can chip away at your brainpower. Short-term mental ability is subject to forces that you can understand as well as those that puzzle even eminent neurologists. You can exercise, eat right, and do all of the correct things, but what you ultimately get out of your mind comes down to chance.

My thyroid is currently not doing its job and I am experiencing a rating downswing of several hundred points. In order to rebound efficiently, when my brain resumes working, I need to maintain my confidence level. I’ve figured out how to do that and it’s instructive.

I’ve resolved to create a separate chess identity to protect the real me. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde if you will. The human mind strives for a unitary identity and cohesion among selves. The new player is the exact opposite of the old. What happens to the new cannot affect the old.

Interestingly enough I find that it is becoming increasingly difficult to play in my old style. It appears one identity will not survive the conflict. Will I become the chess player I can be or the chess player I pretend to be? The battle continues.

A group of men congregated on the Pequot reservation to play Texas Hold Em’ evenings and weekends. They talked the Yankees-Red Sox rivalry, passing weighted chips to the center of the orange felt with a wish for a safe return. Sometimes unwashed, sleepy players broke their languid silence to talk about the “one-way journey” of their plastic money. Stacks were brought low and raised up again. They formed uneasily swaying towers always ripe for demolition.

Ruling my fifth-seat roost I knew little of chess, and would’ve cared still less. The boisterous cavern was filled with the snickers of granite-jawed regulars sporting dark glasses and Titleist visors. Every three minutes or so the dealer pushed a pile of white, red, green, and black chips to one of the grinning goblins.

Mostly the men breathed deeply while waiting for something good to happen. Trying too hard to get fate to notice you is impudent, ill-advised and dangerous. The constant test of patience frayed nerves and turned beards white over the days and weeks. The game left men  financially destitute; “the poker hospital” always had room for more patients. Hold Em’ put deep fissures in some people’s psyches. No one was less self-confident than a man walking away under the gaze of nine unsympathetic men. As a player’s ego incrementally crumbled they scrambled to recoup losses and respect. Subconsciously they wanted the bad decisions to end and tomorrow to be different.

I was interested in the bluffs that happened as the men cracked and revealed the human beneath the stone. “Here goes the light bill,” or “Guess I should take my kids to school,” they told us during those final all-in hands. The character that sticks out in my memory, and the only one for whom I rooted, was a man in his mid-20s they called The Sheriff.

He gained this nickname because he didn’t believe your story no matter how compelling. He was an investigative reporter, a martyr, and incredulous poker sentinel. The Sheriff called people down again and again. They named a rock after him – Gibraltar. The more he went down the better his nature became. It was a weird bit of self-flagellation. With this peculiar calling fetish he was certainly destined to lose, right? That’s how the story must end.

I was there when he got paid off on the biggest 1-2 hand I’ve ever seen at that limit. More than he could have ever lost. He uncovered his cards and blasted the table to bits. I’m not sure how much the pot held. I do remember that someone had tried to bully him off of a hand. He could disparage himself, but one else had that license.

He coaxed the massive pile into a tray, bid us a good day, and I never saw him again after that. He had talked about his non-poker designs often;I like to think he won at his future, preserving the utmost etiquette the whole time.

The Sheriff won by laying bare his own psychological unfitness for the game he loved. Your attempts to value bet him to oblivion only made his only job easier. The evaluations his opponents made piggybacked on data that he’d provided them. So the next time you lock horns remember your defense sets the tone of attacks to come.

I just finished Sian Beilock’s Choke: What the Secrets of the Brain Reveal About Getting It Right When You Have To. Judging from her accolades on the cover the author is obviously an esteemed scientist. Too bad her book is essentially a wearisome literature review. It has almost no interpretation in it. Beilock does talk a little about chess, but is too devoted to a meaningless recapitulation of old studies. Here’s a breakdown of what she says.

An efficient working memory is a good indicator of overall chess aptitude. You can give a master a position from an actual game and he or she will easily be able to recreate it on a blank chess board. Novices often fumble at the same task. The reason for the disparity is the the NMs and FMs process the board in manageable chunks. For example: “The h-pawn has moved and the bishop is on f4. It’s got to be a London system.”

The titled player will remember the board’s specific features because he or she will be able to fit them into a scheme. The knight is normally on d2 in the London System, as above. The Master would most certainly see this as a “chunk” related to the overall position. If the knight went to the c3 square instead he would have registered that cluster of the board as a chunk with a weak d pawn (since the c pawn is still at home.)

So should you despair if you can’t keep disparate information in your head without losing it seconds later? Not necessarily. Masters fare little better than less-experienced players when trying to memorize made-up positions. Chess Masters are not always smarter than class players, but they do muster their resources admirably and efficiently. This is why they can immediately seize upon the important feature of a position. Much of what registers in our brain during a game of chess does not actually need to be there. This process of paring down is possible for any player to master.

When you plan, try to keep your memory from being overloaded. Break the board down into sectors and analyze each in turn. You’ll start putting your brain under less pressure and foster those conceptual ideas that separate the titled players from the everyone else.

In the last column we talked about designing your chess playlist. You should use songs that uplift you, give you inner peace, and just have a power you may not comprehend fully.

Lionel Richie – Easy: If this man were a chess piece he’d be the king. Seriously, he called himself a Commodore and that title hadn’t been used for about a century. Nobody even bothered to call him on it. Relaxed, confident, and cool if this guy had less melody he could still be a remarkable chess player. The French call it sangfroid, but anyone’s chess benefits from a little bit more swagger.

“I’ve paid my dues to make it. Everyone wants me to be what they want me to be. I’m not happy when I try to fake it. That’s why I’m easy, easy like Sunday Morning.”

The Macho Man Randy Savage – Entrance Theme: The late Macho Man was an epic showman among epic showmen. Every time he went up to the top rope to drop an elbow you knew it was ridiculous. It did however expand your sense of possibilities. For just a second that combination that you’re putting together doesn’t look so outlandish when you think about a huge man wearing tights fighting another man dressed the same way. Take a chance with your game!

4 Non Blondes – What’s up: This song, from way back in 1992, combines expressive guitar rifts, impressive vocal range, and a positively addictive chorus. “I wake in the morning and I step outside and I take a deep breath and I get real **** ” should probably not just be your mantra for chess but for life in general. It’s difficult to get up that “great big hill of hope,” and it helps to have a tune while making the climb!

Jessie J – Price Tag: It’s not about the money. When you’re in prize contention it’s easy to play for results instead of the process. This is the easiest way to drift out of your game. Stay within yourself and love what you do! Also, I do know music from within the last two decades 🙂

Jay Z – Brush your Shoulders Off: This song made the Black Album. There is just so much here it’s impossible to know where to begin. You know you can handle anything when listening to it. It narrowly beats out “A Country Boy will Survive,” because Jay Z’s masterpiece is so widely applicable. Whoever you are and wherever you live this rags-to-riches story will mean something to you. It’s iconic, and it’s the perfect play when you’ve got a nice comfortable advantage and are trying to increase the pressure.

Honorable Mention goes to Rick Astley’s Never Gonna you Up (My rook).

At a recent tournament I noticed a couple of people listening to music on their mobile devices. I think that’s an excellent idea to aid with relaxation, but you can’t just pick anything. You’ve got to choose a piece that’s soothing for you, or at least makes you think. If you go for speed metal you might get a much-needed adrenaline boost, but I can’t guaranty the chaos that ensues will benefit you! Here are the first five songs that I’ll have playing when I visit the World Open this summer.

Neutral Milk Hotel – In the Aeroplane over the Sea: There’s something about the lead singer’s distressing warble that makes any situation better. However bad my position, it’s not so terrible that I want to wail. Also, Anne Frank definitely had it worse than you do defending the Closed Lopez.

Skillet – Never Surrender: It’s actually okay if you hang a piece too early but let’s not take these Christian gentleman too literally.

Drake – Headlines: His bio doesn’t quite compute with the underdog motif of the song, but it always helps to feel like someone’s hating on you. It’s hard to manufacture extra motivation when your game is so bad that no one’s watching your board.

Kenny G. – The Moment: The song is a masterpiece. It doesn’t have any lyrics so it’s helpful for situations involving deep calculation. Sometimes it helps to step outside of yourself. There is something about a soft saxophone that can make even a routine tactic seem epic.

The Handsome Family – The Bottomless Hole: This is not one of their best songs, but it is helpful to think about the relentless quest for more in your life. I might click over to it when I have to decide whether to swallow my pride, accepting the inevitability of a particular book draw.

So what’re your songs and how can they gave you that sudden shock to your system when you hit the wall?

Among my vices at the chess board is that I play in a lot of tournaments, regardless of whether I am at optimal playing strength. I enjoy the game tremendously, which is excellent, but improvement requires actually being competitive in the games you play! It does not involve hanging your queen on move four against the otherwise-harmless Trompowsky Opening. This occurred only after I allowed a mate on the back rank in the preceding game! I did the unthinkable, losing two games in a combined total of five moves. That’s hard to do, even for a beginner!

Now, what I’m about to do is what any profoundly talented chess player does (at least I still have my vanity!) – offer a litany of excuses for my poor play. I stayed up quite late last evening working on some projects for clients, and my results  tonight were exactly what I ought to have expected. I played too quickly, allowed the adrenaline of a very close game carry over into the next, and did not take time to analyze positions in the fashion they deserved flagyl 200.  I have basically used every justification except “the dog ate my pawns.”

So, the question I’m going to pose to you today is whether or not discretion is ever the better part of valor. Should you forgo the pleasure of playing in order to step back and look at the quality of your chess from afar? It’s all about the process of clarifying what you want out of the game. I hate to lose, but yet the mindfulness that allows a player to win is conspicuously absent from my chess these days. There is some dissonance here.

Only after seeing my own question in print did I resolve to actually take the advice I’m trying to give to hang up the pieces for a few weeks. I’ll still be giving you your daily fix of chess blogging, but the next time I play I’m going to be ready. They won’t have old Chris to kick around anymore!