Read Searching for Bobby Fischer: The Father of a Prodigy Observes the World by Fred Waitzkin Free Online
Book Title: Searching for Bobby Fischer: The Father of a Prodigy Observes the World|
The author of the book: Fred Waitzkin
Edition: Fred Waitzkin
Date of issue: March 19th 2013
ISBN: No data
ISBN 13: No data
Format files: PDF
The size of the: 382 KB
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Reader ratings: 3.6
Read full description of the books:
You might be more likely to have seen the film, which is a good representation of the book.
I recall that the film got some flack for its representation of Washington Square Park as a den of iniquity, but it seemed spot on to me, having played there around the same time.
That trip I played quite a bit of chess, often outdoors, around Manhattan, and apart from one game in The Village Chess Shop the only time I looked like losing was in Washington Square Park. Sat down and started playing a black guy who was the consummate hustler. I'd never experienced anything like it, only read about it. Yep, I was going to lose, but it was going to be a lot of fun.
Suddenly, however, another black guy came up and asked for table money. I was happy to pay whatever, these guys, whether legitimately or not, as I found out near the world trade centre, never asked for much, so what did I care? But I was completely ignored as these two started a big black dude mother-fucker argument about who owed what to whom. After a while the board was smashed, pieces and clock flying.
I ran for it, quite nervous, I must confess, to another row of tables where people were - laughing at me. I'm not sure if this is the case or not, but when I gathered my wits it seemed like maybe the chess area is segregated and I was in the black part. Maybe somebody who has played there can answer that for me. It seemed like I'd suddenly gone from being surrounded by blacks to surrounded by whites and that the latter found the whole incident highly amusing.
New York. Everybody's a hustler. I played outside near the World Trade Centre on this trip. Somebody asked me to play and said it was usual for the loser to pay the table money, a dollar a game. Fine, I said. After I won maybe the first half a dozen games I decided that was enough. I hung around to see if my opponent handed over money to the guy running the show, but of course he didn't. I think that's what amazes me about America. Not that there's a hustler near by whereever you are, but that they are so penny ante.
There must have been a whole generation of fathers who lived vicariously through their children in that post-Fischer period. Children overburdened with unreasonable expectations. I hope they are all ashamed of themselves now. The fathers, that is.
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