WASHINGTON—Unable to win a chess game against me, a frustrated man is using empty threats and other juvenile methods of intimidation in hopes of overpowering me.
Francisco Madero, 57, gave up all hope when I took his queen early on in the game.
“He put his knight on C7 and put me in check, and I could have castled before that, but I forgot to do that,” he said. “And then the only thing I could do was to take the knight with my queen, and that’s when he took her with that goddamn bishop.”
A flustered and fuming Mr. Madero glowered at me. Caressing his now taken queen, he hissed, “I loved that woman. I loved her more than sharks love blood.”
“F. U., you dumb piece of shit,” I explained.
“A lion does not ask permission before he eats a zebra,” he retorted. “So I’m gonna eat your zebra.”
“But there is no fucking lion. Or zebra. You don’t even have your queen and bishops anymore,” I explained. “But yeah, I’ll have your antelope medium rare.”
“You’d better watch your mouth,” he hissed.
“Hey, man. If you don’t like how the table is set, turn over the table,” I said.
Mr. Madero complied, literally turning the table to play white instead. He said, as he shifted his chair closer to the table, “Power is a lot like real estate. It’s about location, location, location.”
Much to Mr. Madero’s chagrin, I again gained the upper hand. “Eat that, motherfucker,” I said, as I took his last rook. But he refused to back down.
“The road to power is paved with hypocrisy. And casualties,” he whispered, choking back tears. “There are two kinds of pain. The sort that makes you strong, or useless pain. The sort of pain that’s only suffering. I have no patience for useless things.”
I moved a piece.