Neil Schmitz

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He might have been down to a king and two pawns.  I might have had a bishop and a rook.  I've forgotten my chess game.  I had him cornered.  It was hot in my Annex B office and it was late, somewhere between five and six.  We had played a long back and forth chess game, no clock, in the prelims of the department chess tournament.  I had him cornered, I was checking his king at will, but I couldn't find the checkmate.  He was wily, elusive, and he had this cold little grin on his face when he found his out move and again stymied me.  "Irving," I said, "resign."  I thought it was the gentlemanly thing for him to do.  I still had some big pieces.  He had none.  He wouldn't.  We grimly played on.  The  moon came out.  I was scheduled next to play Martin Pops, a notorious queen killer.  Every game he played he promptly forced queen exchanges, swept the queens from the board, so you played distracted on a diminished board.  I think I lost that game.  I blame Irving for that loss. 



Neil Schmitz