A poem which Chester B captain Dave Bryan had published in Chess:
wise but merciless
extra large coffee flasks
And one by Jack Yang (10 years old, July 2016):
THE FAKE CHESS MATCH
I’m sitting in my chair
Putting hands through my hair,
Waiting to press the clock
To start the tick-tock.
As my hands feel numb
Bats start flying in my tum,
My opponent sits down
With the support of a town.
As I make my first move,
I think I’m going to lose
He is much higher graded
Please don’t play the opening I’ve dreaded.
And of course he plays the French
Which hurts me like a wrench
My ears are red hot,
And I’m starting to lose my plot.
As the game carries on,
My head seems to have gone,
I play a bad blunder,
Which makes me simply surrender.
And finally my luck has come,
Like he just had a few pints of rum,
Suddenly his eyes were really red,
But then I woke up in my bed
I suddenly realised it had all been a dream,
And that was when I let out a great big scream
I sat up and looked at my watch,
Oh, no, I was late for that same chess match!