"It's just perfect. We can take a mid-day flight to Miami, and get there in time to board the ship. We'll be at sea on Thursday and Friday, arrive in Panama Saturday morning, spend the day there and fly home directly from Panama to Detroit on Sunday. Well, by way of Newark, but that's just a detail. Like I said, it's perfect!"

Priscilla Snelson was talking to her husband, Marvin J. Mavin. about their plans, or more like her plans, for Thanksgiving weekend. They were in Priscilla's upscale 5,000 square foot condo, having an after-dinner conversation in the immense living room. The butler, before leaving for the evening, had lit a warm and cozy fire in the room's fireplace.

Priscilla was sipping a glass of dessert wine while Marvin, unsurprisingly, was drinking from a bottle of Belcher's Best Ale. Marvin, as we all know, was the superstar captain of the Detroit Doublejumpers in the National Checker League, while Priscilla was CEO of the huge conglomerate Rust Belt Holdings.

"My office closes at noon on Wednesday and doesn't reopen until Monday," Priscilla was continuing, "and your league also takes a Thanksgiving break. It's the perfect time to travel to Panama on a nice little four day cruise on the Luxury Line."

Marvin, who had been hesitating all along, continued to hesitate. "I don't know, Prissy," he said, "it sure seems like a lot of chasing around and stuff. And I don't know how you can use the words 'perfect' and "Newark' in the same sentence. That's in Jersey, right?"

"Could you please not call me Prissy?" Priscilla snapped. "And it's not chasing around as you call it. It's making the most of a long weekend when we both have off. How often do we get a chance to do that? And besides, we had no Thanksgiving plans. We're not going to my parent's place, or to your Mom's, and my friends all have other plans. And yes, Newark is in New Jersey last time I looked."

Marvin murmured about how it was kind of a good thing they weren't going to Priscilla's parents this year. He had an on and off relationship with them. He also would be glad to avoid Priscilla's rarified circle of very wealthy friends. On the other hand he would have liked to visit with Mom, but this year she would helping to prepare and serve Thanksgiving meals at the Senior Center in her town.

But Priscilla was continuing to speak. "In any event, dear husband of mine, there's no use arguing. For one thing, I've already booked all the tickets. And for another, I've arranged for you to be in charge of the checker activities on board the ship."

"What?" Marvin exclaimed. "If you already booked tickets, why ask me if I want to go? Do I, like, have a choice and stuff?"

"No, actually, you don't, but I was just hoping you'd agree willingly without making a fuss. I suppose I should know better by now."

"And," Marvin said, "wassup about leading the checker activity? I was kinda lookin' forward to a coupla days off seein' as how my team got a big road trip right after the break."

"Oh, it'll be good practice for you. You know, the best way to learn is to teach and all that. Anyhow having a big name checker star like you lead the activity got us a big discount. Well, in a way. We get the premiere suite and a dinner place at the Captain's table for no extra charge."

Now, Priscilla, with her hundred million a year compensation (more in good years), could probably afford any upgrades she wished. Marvin knew it was the prestigious seat at the Captain's table that she had wanted, although he didn't think it should have been at his expense. But Priscilla was Priscilla, and as a major businesswoman, status was important to her.

Marvin, knowing he had better go along with the program, merely muttered, "Bet they ain't even got no decent beer. Probably just fancy wine and cute cocktails and stuff."

"Oh, Marvin," Priscilla said, "they'll have the best of everything." Do you think I'd go on a cruise that was at something less than the top of the first class list?"

So on Wednesday afternoon the couple flew from Detroit to Miami--- first class, of course--- and took the waiting hired limo to the docks where they immediately boarded their ship, the Luxury Line's premiere cruise vessel, the Norwegian flagged Luxe de Luxe. No sooner were Marvin and Priscilla settled in their suite (no mere cabin for Priscilla), the ship sailed. They would cruise for two days and three nights, and on the first day the shipboard activities would begin, followed by a special at-sea Thanksgiving dinner.

Marvin decided it would be nice to have a beer before bed; it was almost midnight but of course the ship had several 24 hour lounges. That's when the difficulties began. Priscilla, preferring herbal tea in their suite, stayed behind. Marvin easily found one of the lounges, and needless to say it was very upscale and not at all like the dive bars he preferred back in Detroit.

Marvin took a luxurious seat at the elegant bar. He asked the formally dressed bartender for a bottle of Belcher's Best. The bartender sneered. "Sir," he said, "we do not serve plebian beverages here. This is a top-flight liner and we will not lower our standards for the occasional, ahem, sub-standard customer. May I recommend a craft beer? Luxury Lines commissions the world's top breweries ... "

"Just gimme a beer, whatever beer you got," Marvin interrupted.

"Shall I charge that to your room?" the bartender asked. "It's thirty US dollars, unless you prefer to pay in another currency. We accept Euros, Swiss Francs ... "

"Thirty bucks? Forget it," Marvin said and, somewhat in a huff, left the lounge and went back to his suite.

"Back already, honey?" Priscilla asked. She was in her silk PJs and finishing her herbal tea.

"I ain't payin' no thirty bucks for a beer and they ain't even got Belchers. I thought you said they had everything on this ship?"

"They have everything good," Priscilla said, and then added, "and of course good things do come at a price."

The next morning, the phone in Priscilla's suite rang. "It's for you, Marvin," she said, extending her arm and pointing the phone in his direction."

"Huh?" Marvin replied. He was barely awake, sitting at a table in the bedroom, drinking coffee. "Who calls at 8 in the morning?"

"I didn't ask, dear," Priscilla replied. "Just take the call." Priscilla tried to hide a little smile but Marvin noticed.

Wearing a quizzical look, Marvin got up and took the phone. "Hullo?"

"Mr. Mavin?" a voice said.

"Yeah? Who's this? And ain't it kinda early?"

"Rise and shine, Mr. Maven!" The voice was very cheerful. "This is the ship's activity director, reminding you that you're due in Salon Twelve on Aft Deck Five at nine o'clock for your first lesson."

"Lesson? I ain't takin' no lessons ... "

"No, Mr. Mavin, the checker lesson that you are going to give. Please arrive thirty minutes early for your instructions. That will give you, oh, about fifteen minutes. Don't be late! Ta ta!"

The call disconnected. Marvin hung up the phone and turned to Priscilla. "You knew about this, dincha?" he said.

"Oh, yes, well, you know, superstars are in demand and you have a rather ... full schedule. But only three hours in the morning and three more in the afternoon. A lot of people want lessons from you so the Activity Director thought it best to book a series of one hour lessons. But don't worry, you'll have time for lunch and after 4 PM ... you're free! Isn't that grand?"

Marvin was, shall we say, less than happy. But he didn't want to act dishonorably, nor did he want to disappoint his fans. So he hurriedly drank the rest of his coffee, swallowed a couple of bites of a buttered roll, dressed quickly and went off to find Salon Twelve on Aft Deck Five.

Marvin had to ask his way a couple of times; the ship was enormous and replete with stairs and passages leading everywhere in a bewildering manner. It took a good twenty minutes to reach the venue.

The room was richly appointed with polished wooden walls, a gleaming tiled deck, and mahogany tables fitted out with elegant checkerboards and checkers. Marvin was immediately greeted by an enthusiastic young man in a formal ship's uniform. The man was slim, blonde, and athletic and had something of a commanding presence.

"Mr. Mavin!" he said, in a tone somewhat overly cheerful for eight forty five in the morning. "So glad you could make it! I'm Mr. Randolph R. Richardson, the Activity Director aboard ship. So nice to have you here, although I'll ask you to please come 15 minutes earlier tomorrow, yes? Agreed? Fine, very fine. Now," he continued, handing Marvin a manila folder, "here is your list of clients. As you know today will be individual lessons and tomorrow you will direct the Cruise Championship Tournament, a prestigious event with the first prize being a picture postcard signed by the Captain himself!"

"Uh sure, like uh ... "

"I'm so glad you understand. Now, I'm a busy person--- lots of activities for the guests, you know, and I must run off and see to the tennis lessons and the swimming contests and the champagne testing and oh, so many things! But should you need anything, just use the ship telephone and call one of my staff, who will be more than happy to assist you. Good day now!"

With that, Randolph R. Richardson was off and running, leaving Marvin alone in the Salon, holding the aforesaid manila folder with the list of clients.

And it wasn't long until the first client arrived. He was a middle aged man named Fred who came from Arkansas. He was a big fan of Marvin's and asked questions about professional checkers all throughout the next hour. Marvin was annoyed at first but then decided, it was Fred's money and he could ask whatever questions he wished. (Marvin had taken a very fast glance inside the manila folder and found that the cruise line was charging $500 for the one hour lessons.)

Marvin's next client was a grade school lad with a lot of talent, and the final client before lunch was a 30-something woman who wanted to flirt with Marvin more than she wanted to learn about checkers.

Marvin had a quick lunch and so the day continued. At the end of the afternoon, finding his way back to his suite was a little easier than things were in the morning, and he arrived in time to change for dinner and go to the main dining hall with Priscilla, to take a seat with her at the Captain's table.

It was just as Marvin had feared. While the Captain was of course impeccably dressed and the height of charm and politeness, some of the others at the table were somewhat less so.

"I hear you play checkers or something," said the man next to him at the table during the course of the dinner. He was likely in his fifties and wore an expensive suit and an even more expensive watch. "Now me, I play checkers too, and I'm really good at it, but what I really am is a hedge fund manager and ... "

On and on it went with everyone at the table trying to one-up each other. The dinner finally ended with traditional pumpkin pie, and Marvin could barely wait to get out of there.

"Having fun, dear?" Priscilla asked when they were back in their cabin. "Wasn't that a nice dinner with interesting people?"

Marvin just groaned, went into the suite's bedroom and threw himself on the bed.

The next day was the second and last full day at sea, and it was the day that Marvin would direct the checker tournament. Then, he would play the winner, with a big prize at stake if Marvin could be beaten or even drawn against.

Registration was bright and early at 8:30 with the tournament starting at 9. There would be two games per round, one with each color, and as many Swiss system rounds as needed to declare a winner. Fourteen players registered by a few minutes to 9. And that's when Marvin got an unpleasant surprise.

At one minute before 9, who came in but ... Dmitri Tovarischky.

Now, long-time Checker Maven readers will remember Dmitri as Marvin's evil nemesis. They've had various unfriendly encounters over the years, the most recent being at a charity gala.

Marvin, after recovering from his surprise, managed to stammer, "You ain't playin', my Commie pal. Strictly amateurs."

Dmitri smiled menacingly. "That is where you make mistake, maya droogh. I am no longer professional. I am quietly retired amateur. I can play in tournament. I will play in tournament."

"Yeah, I heard, you got kicked out of pro play for running some kinda racket on the side. You can leave now. You ain't welcome and that's that."

Now, the ship's Activity Director, whom we met earlier, was listening in, and approached the registration table. "What's this?" he said. "A player not welcome? Mr. Mavin, on this ship all are welcome."

"But this here Pinko is a pro and ... "

"Tut, tut, Mr. Mavin, we must treat our customers politely and ensure their full satisfaction. If Mr. ... uh ... well, I can't quite pronounce it but sir," he said, turning to Dmitri, "you may certainly play. Now hurry hurry! The game must go on! Or something like that."

Marvin had no option. Dmitri was in the tournament.

With a total of fifteen players the tournament would last four rounds, two in the morning and two in the afternoon. By about 3 PM everything had wrapped up and it wasn't surprising that Dmitri had won every single game and took first place easily.

The Activities Director returned to announce the terms of the challenge game. Dmitri would play one game against Marvin. If Dimitri won, he got the grand prize of two free drinks at the First Class bar, a $60 value. If he drew, he got the consolation prize of one free drink at the First Class bar, a $30 value. If he lost, he got a handshake from the Activities Director but nothing more. Since the tournament entry fee was $100, it seemed that the real winner was the cruise line.

Dmitri was cackling as he sat down across from Marvin. "I will be having free drink with girlfriend tonight," he said. "Checkers Boy was lucky before but no more luck for him."

Marvin looked up. "You got a girlfriend? Another Commie that don't know no better?"

'You are making insult to upset concentration? Will not succeed. Yes, I have beautiful Russian girlfriend. She is coming from Minsk. On this cruise we are having special time together. Maybe I introduce you to my Natasha one day." Dmitri laughed again. "Or maybe not. She would not like you. She does not like the American man. Or even American woman."

"Then she can go back to ... "

"Time to play, gentlemen!" the Activities Director interrupted. "The match is being broadcast on the ship's closed circuit television and there are many viewers so don't keep them waiting!"

The game began. After some back and forth, the following position arose with Dmitri to play.

"Watch this, Checkers Boy," Dmitri said. "You think being piece up is big deal. But Dmitri show you."

So saying, Dmitri played 18-15, resulting in the following position with Marvin to play.

Dmitri then started to sing rather loudly (and tunelessly).

Checkers Boy will lose this game
And must hang his head in shame.
Dmitri is our one true hero
And Checkers Boy is just a zero.

Dmitri repeated this several times. Marvin, now fuming, remarked, "You think being a Commie is cool, but it ain't. And your last move wasn't cool either. Ha ha. Watch this!

Marvin made his move.

---

What should Dmitri have played in the first diagrammed position? What did Marvin play after Dmitri's 18-15?

We don't exactly know if you're on a deluxe cruise to Panama over this Thanksgiving weekend, or if you're locked in competition with an arch-rival. But we do hope you'll have time to try today's two-part problem. To see the solutions and the conclusion of our story, click on Read More.

[Read More]

"Sal, I really think you ought to agree with me."

Those words were spoken by Sylvia Westerman, Sal Westerman's wife of many decades.

It was mid-November of 1955 and the Westermans were in their modest home on North 13th Street in Bismarck, North Dakota. It was a Saturday and the Westermans were having a soup and sandwich lunch at just about noon; Sal would soon be off to the weekly meeting of his Coffee and Cake Checker Club and Sylvia would be joining her knitting group at the home of a neighbor.

The Westermans had been discussing Thanksgiving plans, and with the holiday less than a week away, they still hadn't decided what to do. Or, at least, Sal hadn't decided. Sylvia most certainly had.

"Joyce can't come this year," Sal said, "so can't it just be the two of us at home?" Joyce was their daughter, who was a lawyer and had moved to Washington D.C. to work for a very prestigious Washington law firm.

"Joyce can't come most years," Sylvia pointed out, "and we've had a quiet Thanksgiving a lot of times. This year most of our friends are out of town or have other plans, so ... "

"I hear the restaurant at the Patterson Hotel puts on a great Thanksgiving dinner," Sal quickly said.

"I'm sure they do," Sylvia replied, "but that's not the same as a home cooked meal and besides it would be frightfully expensive. No, Sal, the Patterson is out, and we're going to Dickinson. It's decided."

Sal tried not to groan audibly. Dickinson, a town about 90 miles west of Bismarck, was where Sylvia's sister Phoebe lived, and Sal and Phoebe did not get along--- to say the least. Sal tried his best for his wife's sake, but Phoebe offended Sal in the worst possible manner--- he thought Sal's checker hobby was a waste of time, and didn't hesitate to tell him so, often saying that Sal was lazy and spent time on checkers rather than help around the house "like a decent husband ought to do." Phoebe herself had been single all her life but had definite opinions about husbands, even never having had one.

"How about you go, and I'll take the train down to Minneapolis. They're having their annual Thanksgiving weekend tournament. That way we'll both be happy," Sal said. But Sylvia's reply confirmed that it was hopeless."

"You and I are going to Dickinson, and that's my last word on the subject. We'll go down there on Wednesday afternoon, and we can come home on Sunday morning. Surely you can deal with four nights in Dickinson."

Sal wanted to say that it wasn't Dickinson that he had any trouble with, it was Phoebe. But Sylvia knew as much and, once in a while, expected him to grin and bear it.

There weren't too many more words exchanged between the couple. Sal sort of grunted, which Sylvia took as assent. Sylvia seemed to be about to say more, which Sal knew would be admonishments on being nice to Phoebe and so on, but he stood up and quickly said, "Time to go to the club, dear." And after that, he had his jacket, gloves, and hat on and was out the door in record time.

The 10 minute or so walk to the Beacon Cafe, where his club met every Saturday afternoon between Labor Day and Memorial Day (except for major holidays, like Thanksgiving weekend). The weather was slightly damp and overcast and it was cool rather than cold, at about 25F, which Bismarck residents considered relatively mild for November.

Walking calmed Sal down a little, but still, his stress must have been visible, for when he entered the Cafe--- an uncharacteristic five minutes late--- the proprietress, Deana, took one look at him and said, "Having a hard day, Sal?"

Most of the other club members had already arrived. The "boys" as Sal called them were all but one of them at least fifty years of age. Today Larry, Wayne, Dan, Delmer, Young Blaine, Ron, and seldom seen Theo were present. All of them were looking in Sal's direction, wondering what he would say.

"Oh, it's nothing," Sal said as he made his way to the back of the Cafe where the big booths were located. "Nothing at all. Well, nothing much. Ah, okay, a little something but I wouldn't worry about it."

It was clear that all of the boys, not to mention Deana, were curious. But no one pressed Sal, at least not at first. Everyone talked about what they were doing for the holiday. Wayne would be going to the farm out in Wilton for a big family gathering. Dan had relatives in the western part of the state and would be visiting there. Ron and Larry were having small family dinners. Young Blaine and his new wife, Young Moira, would be going up to Minot. Even Deana chimed in, saying she was closing the Cafe for the weekend and going out east to the family farm in Gackle.

Finally, it was Deana who brought it up. "Well, your turn, Sal," she said, "we all know something's bothering you and it's not hard to guess it's about Thanksgiving."

"Checkers first," Sal said. "I've got a nice problem for you boys ... "

"Come on, Sal," Young Blaine interrupted, "we're all friends here. Tell us what's going on."

Sal, in the middle of setting up his checker problem, stopped. "All right then," he said, "it's about Sylvia insisting on going to Dickinson for Thanksgiving with Phoebe."

Now, everyone knew about Phoebe, and Sal's trials and tribulations in that department. They all were sympathetic but they did stop short of outright disagreeing with Sylvia, even outside of her presence. Again, though, it was Deana who spoke up.

"You know, Sal," she began, "as much as I want you to be happy, Sylvia's got a point. She ought to be able to spend a holiday with her sister once in a while."

"But do I have to spend it with her?" Sal asked. "Phoebe could care less if I were there ... oh ... right ... she'd have a lot to say if I don't show up, wouldn't she, and it would make Sylvia uncomfortable." Sal thought a moment longer. "Of course," he continued, "she'll have a lot to say if I do show up!"

Everyone laughed, but Deana said, "I'm sure you're right Sal, but you know what the right thing to do is, too."

That pretty much wrapped up the discussion, and Sal finished setting up his problem. Deana announced that the pumpkin muffins were hot and fresh, and Sal said he was looking forward to the boys buying some for him and his wife, as was the tradition if the boys couldn't solve Sal's problem. Sal, in turn, would buy if the boys did solve it.

Sal said that 45 minutes ought to be enough time but the boys, already deep in study, likely didn't hear him.

---

If you live in the US, what are your Thanksgiving plans? We hope they are pleasant ones and don't involve difficult relatives or stressful situations. But regardless, for the moment see if you can solve Sal's problem. Click on Read More when you're ready to see the solution and the brief conclusion to our story.

[Read More]

Intense focus and concentration. You can't play championship checkers without it.

In today's Checker School installment we learn something that Mr. Andrew J. Banks thinks is important. Here's what he had to say in his unusual and entertaining book Checker Board Strategy as published some 80 years ago.

---

MEMORY --- CONCENTRATION

Concentration is the second method of developing a logical memory. As we walk down Pennsylvania Avenue, crowded with people and noisy traffic, or stop for a foamy, fizzy strawberry ice cream soda, we concentrate upon only about one one-hundreth of what is going on around us. In the same way, it is possible to run over a checker game and learn practically nothing. On the other hand, when the Internationalist showed Hatley how to solve a problem, Hatley's eyes popped open as he took in some startling maneuvre. He was alert; the new idea stood out on the horizon of this memory "like Mars at Perihelion." By concentration, we remember ideas rather than moves.

---

To illustrate his point, which we believe is that attentive problem solving yields more results than inattentive game replay, Mr. Banks gives us the following problem.

It's quite a nice little problem, with two solutions, the shorter way (which Mr. Banks surely intended you to find) or the longer way. Go for the shorter way and see if you can find it, then concentrate your mouse on Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

The season had opened and "Gosh Josh" Gordon was still with the Erie Eliminators, a AA club which was part of the Detroit Doublejumpers farm system. Josh had moved up to first board from third board, a rather stunning achievement for a player with just a year of professional experience. But there were rumors that Josh was going to be moved directly to the Toledo Tillicoultrys, a big step up to AAA play.

However, that didn't happen, and needless to say Josh was disappointed. However just a few weeks into the new season, a couple of things came up, and Josh found himself facing a dilemma..

The first thing that came up was this. Josh was in his little apartment in a middle-class section of Erie one evening on an off-day for the Eliminators. (AA salaries were good but not extravagant, even for up-and-comers, and Josh lived comfortably but modestly.) The next morning the team would be taking the bus for a five hour ride to Harrisburg, where the Eliminators had a three match series with the Harrisburg Huffers.

Then his cell phone rang. Nothing unusual about that, but he didn't recognize the number, which identified as being from Jersey City, New Jersey. Josh thought it might be a spam call, but he answered anyway.

"I would like to speak to Mr. Gosh Gordon," the voice on the other end of the line said. It was male and had a strong accent.

"This is Josh Gordon," Josh replied. "Who is calling, please?"

"Let me introduce myself," the voice said. "I am Mr. Mack, and I represent a very important checker team that plays in another country. It is actually a small kingdom in a faraway land, which has much money. That is both the team and the land are having much money."

"Sure," Josh said, "and I'm the Easter Bunny. Good bye!"

"No, you must wait!" the voice said with clear urgency. "I am telling the truth! You would know the name of the kingdom, it is very famous, it is the kingdom of a very famous king but I may not yet say to you the name, however you will know it later after we make the agreement between us."

"Agreement? What are you talking about? Look here, pal, you have maybe thirty seconds to tell me who you are and what this is all about. And how did you get my phone number anyhow?"

"That also I cannot tell you, but you will know by this finding of your phone number that my kingdom is very serious."

"About what? You have fifteen seconds left."

"About making you the offer, Mr. Gosh."

"The name is Josh. What offer?"

"To come and play the checkers for our team in my kingdom. We are wanting young American players to make us even stronger. We are asking only the young players who will play many years for us and be paid very much money. We know that you, Mr. Gosh, are a good player and very soon we will make the offer to you. You will like it, the offer."

"Sorry, dude," Josh said, "First, I don't know who you are, or whether you're legit or more likely some kind of nut case. Second, I have a contract with the Doublejumper organization right here in the USA. I can't play for whatever or wherever your team is even if I wanted to, which I don't think I do. If there even is such a team. Bye now."

Once again Josh heard "A minute, Mr. Gosh!" and the voice continued to speak.

"Never mind of the contract!" the man said. "We will for you break it. We will pay the owners of your team. They will not mind."

"They will mind," Josh said, "probably a lot."

"It does not matter! They cannot reach you in our kingdom. You will be safe and you will live as a rich person with an apartment and all of your wishes will be answered! If your team makes the lawsuit, in our kingdom it will not have meaning! Now, I will at your next games be watching. You will not know me. But if you play very well, we will make the big offer. How do you answer, Mr. Gosh?"

"I say you're wacko," Josh said, and cut off the call. "So crazy," he muttered.

Now, it was near Josh's bedtime and he thought he would just blow it all off. But that's when he got to thinking. Could this actually be a foreign recruiter? It didn't seem likely, but Josh had heard of some players taking offers overseas in odd locations. Josh thought maybe he ought to report the call to his Coach, although he wasn't sure if it was even worth a second thought.

But the more Josh thought about it, the more he didn't know what was best. If he didn't tell Coach, Josh himself might be out of line, and that's not a position he cared to be in; and though unlikely, if word got out somehow, Coach might even think Josh was considering jumping ship. However if he did tell Coach, would it look like he was saying that you should have sent me up to AAA and if you don't here's what might happen? And would Coach likely think Josh had only made up an incredible and crazy story?

Josh had kind of a restless night, and by morning he still couldn't get the matter off his mind, but then it was time to board the team bus for the ride from Erie to Harrisburg. Josh didn't want to try to talk to Coach in front of everyone else. That was a likely just a convenient excuse for putting things off and Josh knew it. But the first match of the three match series was tonight and there was in any event little free time.

Game time rolled around and Josh still hadn't talked with Coach. But as he took the field, the second thing happened and at least for the moment, it made Josh forget all about his problems. For, waiting at first board, to be Josh's Harrisburg opponent, was the loveliest young lady Josh had ever seen. Her name was Amy Rye Zwieback and she was another up and coming young player, about the same age as Josh.

Now, was this young woman truly the loveliest in the world? It's certainly hard to say, but in Josh's mind, she was. It might have been that Josh was just especially susceptible at the moment, or maybe there was some other reason, but he was thunderstruck, and the sight of this young lady took his breath away.

Perhaps Josh always had some sort of ideal in his mind; perhaps too he was something of a romantic. All he knew for sure was that he had this tremendous reaction. In the back of his mind, though, Josh knew that he was being a bit foolish and had better settle down. After all, he was there to win, not to woo.

But darn it all ... what an image of perfection! And when she shook hands and gave Josh a warm smile, and then wished him good luck in a honey-laden contralto voice, Josh's heart leapt.

But Josh was a professional checkerist, and he tried to play his best game despite being more than a little distracted. He managed quite well, even if he kept stealing little glances at Amy, and after some time the position on the board was as follows, with Josh to move.

As we said, Josh was there to win, and he thought he saw a way to do it. But what would Amy think if Josh won the game? Would she be very disappointed and therefore unhappy with Josh? Or would she admire him for his over the board skills?

All Josh knew was that he had to focus and play the best move, come what may.

---

What would you do in this situation? It seems that in the course of just a couple of days, our hero Josh has encountered both a sticky career situation and something of an instant romantic infatuation.

Choose wisely, and then click on Read More for the solution to the problem and the rest of Part One of our story.

[Read More]

We are pleased to announce the release of the hardcover edition of Grandmaster Richard Pask's Complete Checkers: Repertoire. This new edition incorporates hundreds more additions, corrections, and enhancements. Mr. Pask did a complete review of the previous trade paperback edition, resulting in the ultimate in refined, verified, and accurate play. Together with the hardcover of Complete Checkers: Insights, this forms a set that may well be unmatched in the history of checker book publication, and will likely be the standard course of instruction and reference for decades to come.

As always a completely free PDF version of the book is available for download, either here or from the Richard Pask page linked in the right hand column. A print version is available from the usual Amazon sources, at a price designed to recover only some (not all) of the costs of the project. (This is a completely non-profit non-commercial endeavor.)

Here's an example position taken from page 109 of the book. The run-up is as follows.

1.	9-14	23-19
2.	14-18	22x15
3.	11x18	26-22
4.	7-11	22x15
5.	11x18	21-17
6.	3-7	25-21
7.	7-11	24-20
8.	10-14	17x10
9.	6x24	28x19
10.	11-16	20x11
11.	8x24	27x20
12.	4-8	21-17
13.	1-6	29-25
14.	8-11	17-14
15.	2-7	30-26
16.	11-15?	...

Black should have played 6-9, which was the only move to draw. White now has a win. Can you find it? See if you can, and then click on Read More to see the solution. Or better still, download the new book and see all the variants on this ballot!

[Read More]

You're an adventurer about to enter strange and reputedly dangerous territory. Look ahead ... is it a trap? Is it safe to proceed?

Our game of checkers is no stranger to devious traps and the need for caution. Let's explore this a bit.

In our ongoing Checker School series, we've been (more or less) following along in the fascinating and eclectic book Checker Board Strategy by Andrew J. Banks, published back in the mid 1940s. One chapter in Mr. Banks' book is entitled "Denvir Strokes" featuring situations taken from the work of the controversal old-time player and writer John T. Denvir (no, it's not the more modern folk-singer who went by the pseudonym John Denver). Mr. Banks presents most of Denvir's problems as "traps" given the title of Denvir's 1894 book, Denvir's Traps and Shots.

Now, given Mr. Denvir's mixed reputation, we're not totally sure if the following is an original of his, but he does claim it was from one of his over the board games.

It's actually quite a good problem, although perhaps not for the reasons you think. Why is this called a "trap"? You'll see when you solve it or click on Read More to see the solution.

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In our previous story, our hero, Marvin J. Mavin, refused to fill out a 'political correctness' evaluation sent to him by Grosse Pointe Modern Thinkers Academy, in advance of his scheduled lecture at that school.

Not having received the evaluation form in a timely manner, the school canceled Marvin's lecture, and sent a complaint to the Belpre, Ohio headquarters of the National Checker League, which read in part:

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We are highly upset by Mr. Mavin's refusal to complete a routine political correctness evaluation, which we require in order to protect our students from mini-micro aggressions, ideas which they may find offensive or not properly aligned with beliefs and holdings required of the politically correct, and so on. We had no option but to deny Mr. Mavin access to our school. Because of this, our students were deprived of the opportunity to further develop their interest and skills in the sport of checkers.

We would like to further point out that, upon review of Mr. Mavin's National Checker League web page, we noted that he did not list his preferred pronouns, in an obvious gesture of contempt toward an obligation incumbent upon all politically correct members of society.

Finally, while not related directly to Mr. Mavin, we want to point out that our checkers are blue and gold in color, in order to avoid any untoward implications by forcing students to play with red and white or black and white checkers, which could lead to a belief that one of these colors is more likely to win than another, and is thereby thought to be superior.

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The letter was addressed to Mr. Axel Homeboy, the NCL Commissioner, who immediately contacted both the Detroit Doublejumpers (Marvin's team) owner, who in turn contacted the Head Coach, Mr. Baba Dudut, who then berated Marvin in front of the team at the next practice, not because Coach thought that checkers ought to be politically correct, but because Coach had gotten in hot water with the team owner and the Commissioner.

Marvin just listened in silence, as did his teammates. However, there was a match that evening with the Arizona Almas, and unfortunately, both Marvin and the team were dispirited and discouraged by Coach's rantings, so the match wasn't going well. The fourth and fifth board Doublejumper players had drawn. The third board was won by the Doublejumpers but the second board fell to the Almas. That left Marvin on first board, needing a win or his team would lose the match on tie-break rules.

Marvin's opponent was Paul "Peanuts" Peterson, who was a reputable player. Peanuts was playing a good game and the situation came down to the following position with Marvin to play, needing a win.

Marvin gave it some thought but couldn't quite get the whole political correctness debacle out of his mind. Finally, though, he made his move.

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A win for the team is at stake. Set ideologies aside; the game is what matters at the moment. Can you win it? Give it a try and then give a correct click of the mouse on Read More to see the solution and the rest of the story.

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In previous stories about the Beacon Cafe, with its setting in 1955 Bismarck, North Dakota, we've explained about both the spring and fall seasons and the absolute requirement to rake your yard. In the spring, that's done on the first weekend of April, no matter if snow is still on the ground. In the fall, the rule is a little less rigid, but it's usually the first weekend in October, after this cold-weather city has typically experienced its first hard frost.

There was no question about it. If you were a homeowner, you followed these rules if you didn't want to be known as a misfit, someone who didn't belong, or even something of a pariah, because if your lawn didn't look right, it affected the rest of the neighborhood.

Sal Westerman, whom we all know as the unofficial leader of the Coffee and Cake Checker Club, which met every Saturday afternoon at the Beacon Cafe with the exception of summer and holiday breaks, was a long-time Bismarck resident and understood how the town worked. When he was younger, he and his wife Sylvia, later joined by their daughter Joyce, were out there raking faithfully every spring and fall. But some years ago Joyce had moved away to Washington D.C. to join a law practice, and Sal and Sylvia were now elderly, so they hired out their yard raking to some ambitious and relatively younger ladies in the neighborhood.

Hiring someone to do your raking was acceptable, if marginally so. Doing it yourself was considered much more meritorious, but if you had an excuse, such as age or infirmity, people would nod their heads and understand, even if they felt it wasn't quite the same as getting out there and sweating. Of course, if you were younger (such as under 70) and capable (such as not terminally ill), hiring out the yardwork was considered the height of laziness. And not doing it at all--- maybe you need to move to a slum in a big city where you'd fit in better.

But "raking day" had taken place on the previous Saturday, which had turned out to be a slow day for the Coffee and Cake Checker Club, as many of the "boys" couldn't get their raking done before the 1 PM club start time. Now, the "boys" were, except for Young Blaine, all over 50 years of age, yet everyone other than Sal and Old Frank did their own yardwork.

Today, though, the attendance was much better. Dan, Delmer, Wayne, Larry, Louie the Flash and Young Blaine were all there in addition to Sal. Naturally the initial talk was about raking leaves the previous weekend.

Now, back in the day, leaves were raked and left on the curb for City pickup, though some rakers would create mulch piles and a few would haul the leaves to the landfill on their own. But another measure of merit was how big a leaf pile you created. Larger leaf piles were of course more highly esteemed than smaller ones.

Blaine said he and his newlywed wife Moira didn't have to rake as they weren't yet homeowners and were renting in an apartment building. However the building's owner offered Blaine a day's worth of pay to rake up the grounds, and Blaine and Moira gladly took it on. He mentioned the huge pile of leaves that he had loaded into the owner's pick-up truck to haul to the landfill. But the rest of the boys insisted that it didn't count because an apartment complex was larger than a house and besides, Blaine did it for hire.

Louie the Flash hemmed and hawed about his own efforts, mumbling about going to Fargo to visit yet another new girlfriend. "I raked her yard, does that count?" he asked. But the boys said they could hardly give any credit to out of town raking.

The raking one-upmanship contest went on for a little while longer when finally Sal intervened. "Boys, we're here for checkers! Now I'm sure you all--- or almost all--- did your jobs, and who had the biggest pile of leaves really isn't all that important. Let's just call it a draw and move on."

There was a tiny bit of grumbling, especially from Wayne, who had a big house and a big yard and thought he ought to have been the winner. But eventually there were nods of assent.

"Now, look," Sal said, "I have a problem for you that is quite thematic, and if you think raking leaves and the game of checkers aren't related, take a look at this.

Sal laid out the following position on a couple of the checkerboards which were on the tables in the big booths at the back of the Cafe.

"Well then, here's the idea. There are a lot of pieces on the board. Think of them as leaves and find a way to rake them all up! I'll give you, oh, forty-five minutes to solve it."

The proprietress of the Beacon Cafe, Deana, always knew when to speak up. A blue-ribbon baker, Deana sold the boys wonderful baked treats during their meetings. If the boys didn't solve Sal's problem, they would buy for Sal with some to take home for his wife; but if they solved it, Sal would buy for the group.

"I've got autumn leaf cookies today," Deana called out. "Freshly baked and from an old family recipe." As usual, Deana's timing--- and marketing--- were impeccable.

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Are there any special rules about raking your yard, whether in spring or fall, in your community? Do you follow those rules or would you rather just play checkers? We know what our option would be! Regardless of your local situation, do try to "rake the leaves" in Sal's problem. Click on Read More to see the solution and the brief conclusion of our story. We're sorry, but you'll have to provide your own cookies.

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The old expression "all roads lead to Rome" stems from the long-ago empire of Rome once being the center of everything. Today, the saying generally means that there can be many ways to achieve the same goal.

We can apply this to our game of checkers, too. Here's a relatively easy speed problem that can be solved via multiple initial moves, but the play leads to the same result in all cases.

Can you find the "roads to Rome"? We think you can, and when you have, click on Read More to check your solution.

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A thief stealing a checkerboard! Perhaps the checkerboard is especially valuable; who knows what motivates our perpetrator?

The checker fraternity is of course familiar with stealing on the checkerboard. In this installment of Checker School we continue with material from the eclectic Andrew J. Banks book Checker Board Strategy with a position that should illustrate this known tactic.

See if you can solve this one--- it's not that difficult--- and then let your mouse steal a click on Read More to see the solution.

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