During the off-season, "Gosh Josh" Gordon did as most professional checkerists were expected to do; take part in some exhibitions, some outreach programs, and so on, especially in June. July was widely regarded as a vacation month and of course training camp started at the beginning of August.

Josh was solidly established as first board player for the AA Erie Eliminators; his prospects for moving up to AAA checkers within another season looked good. For the moment, though, he was residing in a modest apartment in Erie, Pennslyvania.

Now, during his July vacation he planned to go back to Ganonoque, Ontario, to visit with family and friends, especially his old teammates in the local amateur team, the Ganonoque Goat-Getters. But for now something special was in store.

It was the second week of June and Josh would be leading a checker camp for Erie area grade school kids, and he had persuaded his new girlfriend, Amy Rye Zwieback, to come up to Erie and help with the camp. As Amy had the week free, the National Checker League gave their approval and reserved a room for her in an Erie hotel. Josh, being very traditional, didn't think it would be proper to invite Amy to stay at his place.

Regular readers will recall from previous stories in this series that Josh and Amy met over the board at a match in Harrisburg, where Amy played first board for the AA Harrisburg Huffers. Amy and Josh had had quite an adventure together, dealing with a scout who was trying to pirate players to join a league in a remote foreign country.

Josh of course was immediately completely smitten with Amy, and Amy looked upon Josh as something of a hero. During the rest of the season, they dated a couple of times when team travel brought them within proximity. Now, both of them were thrilled to be able to have a full week together, doing something they both loved: teaching checkers.

But of course Josh wanted to show off his other capabilties. He had already shared some of his writing with Amy; Josh wrote urban fantasy when he had the time, and Amy loved the stories Josh sent along to her.

What Amy didn't know, though, was that Josh liked to cook, and his specialty was chicken wings--- and not just any old chicken wings.

Amy arrived late at the bus station on Saturday night, and Josh just drove her to her hotel and wished her a good night's sleep. But as checker camp didn't start until Monday morning, Josh and Amy had Sunday together. Amy slept in, but later Josh took her to brunch at a nice restaurant and then they visited some of Erie's fine parks.

Josh promised to cook dinner, saying it would be a nice surprise and a change from restaurant food, something they both had had a lot of on road trips during the checker season.

"What are you going to make for me?" Amy asked, as they were finally on the way to Josh's apartment.

"You'll see," was all Josh said.

Upon arrival, Josh sat Amy down in the living room and brought her her favorite drink, a diet soda. "Just wait here," Josh said, "dinner will be ready in a little over half an hour."

Josh gave her a draft of a new story he was working on to read while waiting. "Let me know what you think of it," he said as he headed into the kitchen.

Amy started reading "Spectral Sussurations in Syracuse" but after twenty minutes or so the aroma coming from the kitchen was tantalizing.

A few minutes later Josh popped out of the kitchen. "Dinner is served, Madame Amy," he announced proudly. "Right this way." Josh's apartment had an eat-in kitchen and he had installed a small dining table with a few chairs.

On the table was a fresh mixed green salad, loaves of French bread, butter, and a chilled bottle of Chablis.

"Why Josh, that looks wonderful!" Amy said, grasping his arm and giving it a light squeeze. "But ... um ... is there a main dish?"

"Of course, my dear lady," Josh replied. "Please be seated and I shall serve you."

Amy took a seat; Josh served her some salad and then, putting on a pair of oven mitts, opened the oven and brought out a large tray of chicken wings.

"Oh, Josh, my favorite," Amy said. "I just adore chicken wings. And I see you baked them rather than fried them."

"Not baked," Josh corrected. "Convection roasted. Higher temperature. Better air circulation. More even heating."

Josh put the tray of wings on a pad on the table. "Please try them," he said.

Amy picked up one of the wings. "Wow, nice!" she said. "Convection roasted ... that's something new for me."

Amy bit into the wing she was holding. A curious look came over her. She took a second bite. Was she frowning?

"You like them?" Josh asked eagerly.

"Uh, well, they're good. Actually, pretty good. It's just ... "

"What?"

Amy couldn't help seeing the look of disappointment on Josh's face.

"Well ... uh ... I mean ... they're perfectly cooked ... exactly right ... "

"What? Josh said, this time perhaps a little more sharply than intended.

"Um ... it's like, they aren't very spicy, you know, kind of pretty mild actually."

"Of course they are. I use an herb and spice mix that enhances the natural flavor, which is further enhanced by the cooking method ... "

"Yes, I get that ... but look ... I've got just the thing to make it right for both of us." Amy reached for her purse and pulled out a bottle of Devil's Own Hot Sauce. She opened the cap and splashed it liberally on two of the wings.

"What are you doing?" Josh asked. "I would never, ever ... "

"Oh, try it!" Amy said enthusiastically. She took a bite from one of the now seasoned wings. "Awesome!" she exclaimed.

"Uh ... sure." Josh picked up the other seasoned wing and took a large bite.

Josh's head exploded. His vision dimmed. His mouth was on fire. He felt as if steam was coming from his ears. His nose started to run. He didn't know if he could breathe.

It was all he could do to get to the kitchen sink and flood his mouth with water. But that didn't help much.

"Milk, Josh, or yogurt. Water won't help. Gee, I thought you were a tough guy. Guess not. 2 million Scovilles is above your limit, I suppose."

Josh realized now that he was going to live after all and wondered if it was a good thing. The pain wouldn't go away. He stumbled to the fridge, found a quart of milk, and drank it all down in a few gulps.

Finally catching his breath, he sat down at the table and managed to say, "What's a Scoville?"

Amy smiled. "A measure of spicy hotness. A bell pepper is one Scoville. A Jalapeno might be around 1,000. My sauce, like I said, is 2 million."

"I thought we were friends," Josh said in a weak voice.

"Oh, we are ... I don't share my Devil's Own with just anyone, you know."

Josh grabbed a kitchen towel and mopped his face. "Uh, Amy, from now on maybe we'll just go to restaurants, okay?"

# # #

But Josh and Amy made up quickly in the way that girlfriends and boyfriends so often do (in our alternative world); they solved a few checker problems together.

Later, Josh drove Amy back to her hotel. He'd pick her up bright and early in the morning to go to checker camp.

Devil's Own Hot Sauce, indeed. Josh shook his head. Girls were just full of surprises.

---

Wouldn't it be nice, in our own world, if couples could make up by solving checker problems or playing checkers together? Although that reminds us of the rather pedantic checkerist Harvey Hopkins, who back at the turn of the 20th century suggested that women test the fitness of suitors with games of checkers, couples playing checkers together surely is a good thing. However, you're welcome to try to solve today's problem solo, as a couple, in a group, or any way you wish. When you're ready, click on Read More to see the highly practical solution.

[Read More]

Marvin was feeling a lot better. A couple of days had passed since Marvin had been quite ill and played poorly in his game against Stella Striker of the Phoenix Paraffin, in fact so poorly that he cost his team the match. Even a talented pinch mover, Courteous Curt Curtiss, couldn't save Marvin's position. (Please see the our previous Checker Maven story for full details.)

Marvin knew he was in trouble with the new Head Coach, Sammy Sawizawiz. He just didn't know how much trouble. Before Marvin hit the showers on that fateful evening, Coach had accused him of not putting his team first.

So it was that, upon Marvin's return to the Detroit Checkerdrome for a Doublejumper practice session, he wasn't surprised to be told the Coach wanted to see him in Coach's office.

Marvin dutifully went to the office area and knocked on Coach's door.

"Come in," called Coach Sawizawiz.

Marvin opened the door and entered.

"Close the door behind you," Coach quickly said.

Marvin did as directed and went to take a seat in front of Coach's desk.

"Hold it right there," Coach said, "I didn't say you could be seated."

"Uh gee Coach, well I just ... "

"I didn't say you could speak, either," Coach interrupted. "You will stand there and you will listen and not say a word."

"Okay, Coach ... "

"What does 'not say a word' mean? Do not talk! You had better listen and listen well."

Coach folded his hands over his stomach and continued, "You have reputation as something of a troublemaker. Now, even leaving aside what the now disgraced Coach Baba Dudut thought of you--- I've read his notes--- Coach Riddleme said I should keep an eye on you. Your general lack of respect, your excessive beer drinking, your tendency to do what you want instead of doing what you're told, and a lot of other things ... well, you're a good player to be sure but that doesn't make up for a bad attitude, selfishness, carelessness, and being bone headed at times."

"The other night in our opener with the Paraffins, you were many of those things. And a liar as well ... "

'Hey Coach, that's too much ... " Marvin broke in.

"SILENCE!" Coach shouted as he stood and put his fists on his desk. "One more word out of you and you'll finish the season in Hoboken New Jersey as a water boy for Single A play! If even that!"

Marvin said no more.

"Now, about that match with the Paraffins. I asked you if you were okay and you lied and said you were, even though you knew how sick you were. You never should have showed up, let alone played, but it was Opening Day and so you lied your way into the game. And then you messed it all up so badly that even Courteous Curt, our best pinch mover, couldn't straighten things out! You cost us the match! On OPENING DAY! How do you think the fans liked that?"

Coach took deep breath and continued. "Well, I'll tell you! They were really angry! Some of them wanted you fired right on the spot! Others said what a bad example you set for the kids who look up to you! Well, what do you think about all of that? What do you expect me to do?"

"Well, gee, Coach ... "

"I still didn't say you could speak!"

"But you asked me a question ... "

"Well, I don't want to hear your answer! It would just be more lies and self-serving excuses! Now, here's what's going to happen. I'm fining you $1 million. You know what? I'm sending you to Hoboken for the next series of the Hoboken Hams. I won't make you a water boy but you'll yourself be a pinch mover. Then you can see what it's like to try to clean up other people's messes. Maybe it will all teach you a lesson. There's always hope, but frankly I doubt it. Now go home and pack. Your overnight bus leaves at midnight and that will get you to Hoboken tomorrow around noon."

"Bus?" Marvin muttered.

"Yes, bus!" Coach replied. "You're lucky I don't make you pay for your own ticket. And by the way, your pay will be commensurate with the Low-A League scale. Something like 5% of your present salary. Now, out of my office!"

Marvin had little choice but to exit Coach's office, put on his street clothes, and drive back home.

Figuring to be away for just about a week, Marvin packed a bag. He would have to tell his wife, Priscilla, when she got home and she wasn't going to be happy.

It didn't take long to pack and get ready to go to the downtown bus terminal. He'd have to leave at around 11 to catch that midnight bus.

Meanwhile, Marvin tried to keep busy with some checker problems in the latest All Checkers Digest, but his heart just wasn't in it. He was looking at the following problem

when Priscilla returned home at about 8 PM. Priscilla, as the CEO of the large international conglomerate Rust Belt Holdings, worked long hours.

Over dinner, which consisted of Tournedos Rossini, truffled mashed potato, asparagus with Bearnaise sauce, and an Asian Pear salad, all prepared on site by Priscilla's private chef, she noticed that Marvin seemed quite dejected.

"Okay, out with it, dear," Priscilla said, already suspecting what was wrong. "Let's hear it."

Marvin, having little choice, explained what had happened at the Checkerdrome with Coach. "So I gotta like, catch the midnight bus and stuff," he concluded. "Could you maybe like give me a ride to the depot?"

Priscilla started to laugh but turned it into a glare. "I don't think so, dear hubby of mine. I have to get up early for work tomorrow, as you well know, and besides, giving you a ride and sympathizing would kind of go against the lesson Coach is trying to teach you. No, you can take the city bus. It will be good for you."

"The city bus? At night in Detroit?"

"Oh, okay, maybe it isn't quite the safest thing. Take a cab or a ride share instead. Just make sure it gets charged to one of your accounts. I'm certainly not paying for it."

Even though dessert was Baked Alaska, Marvin decided to skip it. He stayed in his study until it was time to leave for the bus depot, and left the condo and went down to the lobby without another word.

"Hoboken, here we come," he said to himself as his ride share pulled up to the curb. "Pinch mover it is."

---

Marvin is in for an experience, it seems. Pinch mover for a Low A club is a big step down. Will Marvin learn the lesson coach wants to teach him? We don't know. But what we do know is that you can try to solve today's problem and then click on Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

It was October 1955, and the merchants of downtown Bismarck, North Dakota, were holding a Saturday festival near Broadway and 3rd. It was a warmer than usual day for October, with temperatures in the lower 70s, and the merchants agreed to move the festival outdoors. Many downtown merchants set up displays featuring new merchandise that they planned to stock for the upcoming winter season. Food vendors were present, too, and the atmosphere was festive.

Now, normally on a Saturday afternoon, the Coffee and Cake Checker Club would meet nearby at the Beacon Cafe in the Provident Life Building. But the Downtown Merchant's Association had contacted Sal Westerman, the club's unofficial leader, and asked if the club would meet instead at the festival location from about 10 AM to 3 PM. Sal, being civic minded and knowing his members shared his sentiments, readily agreed.

Club members Larry, Dan, Wayne, Delmer, Young Blaine, Louie the Flash, and Kevin the Spooler all arrived at 9 for setup. Old Frank, Nancy, and Ron arrived a little later.

The idea was that the club would play checkers against all comers. With checkers being such a popular sport, there would likely be a lot of action. The club set some rules. If a festival goer was able to get any combination of two wins and draws against club members, they could challenge Sal, who was reigning State Champion, to a game. If someone was able to win a game from Sal, they would get a five dollar gift certificate from the A. W. Lucas department store. (Keep in mind that in 1955 five dollars was quite a bit of money.)

Soon everything was ready. The checkerboards were set up on a few long folding tables. The club members had taken their seats. Elsewhere the downtown merchants had finished assembling their booths and displays. In the air was the smell of sausages, vegetable soup, fresh coffee, frying donuts, and much more. Right on the dot of 10 AM, a crowd began to form and the atmosphere was festive and happy.

Numerous challengers took on the club members. But the club members were excellent players and only a handful of players from the general public were able to gain the right to challenge Sal, who easily defeated all of them. Sal's challengers did however receive a consolation prize, a coupon good for a an ice cream soda at a downtown soda fountain, a 25 cent value.

The event stayed crowded right through the noon hour and into the afternoon, with the 'boys' continuing their success against all comers.

But then, a little after 2 PM, who appeared but--- Gerry Russell.

Recall from a previous Checker Maven series that Gerry Russell led a coaltion which attempted to get checkers banned from the Bismarck school system, calling checkers both "the devil's work" and "a Communist plot against America." That effort fell flat on its face when Sal thoroughly demolished Mr. Russell in testimony before the school board, which voted not only to continue to support checkers in the school system but to increase its funding.

Mr. Russell claimed to be an expert checker player who had fallen under the evil spell of the game and had only recently "seen the light" and ridded himself of its influence. But paradoxically, after losing his case to Mr. Westerman, he threatened revenge, saying one day he would defeat Sal for the checker championship!

"I have returned," Mr. Russell announced to the 'boys' in a loud voice, "and this will be the beginning of my vengeance. I will defeat you by turning your own evil against you!"

Heads were turning in the direction of the checker tables. The background hubbub of the crowd reduced noticeably as Mr. Russell continued to speak. "I will now take on Bismarck's number one Communist, Mr. Sal Westerman, in a game of checkers!"

It was Dan who spoke up first. In an equally loud voice, he said, "Just a minute, bud. For one thing, we don't take kindly to Sal being insulted or called a Communist. And for another, there are rules around here. You don't get to play Sal until you beat two of us. So just hold your horses and cool off for a moment. When you're ready to mind your manners and stick with the program, you can play a game. You can start with me."

Mr. Russell started to huff and puff and was about to speak when Sal interjected, "Never mind, boys. Let him play me. We'll take care of business without further delay and send this unpleasant fellow on his way."

Now, from Sal, who was ever polite and kind, that was quite a strong statement.

"Well, well, now," said Mr. Russell, "our favorite Commie isn't a chicken. Just a fool thinking he can take me on."

Dan and Louie stood together and moved toward Mr. Russell with their fists clenched. "You can leave right now, buster," Dan said, "or else."

"Oh, two more of the Red brigade, making threats of violence no less! Let me call the cops and see how brave you are then!" said Mr. Russell.

"Boys!" Sal said sharply. "No need for that! Instead let's have Mr. Russell back up his words with performance--- on the checkerboard."

"Okay, Sal,' said Louie, "but no one should talk to you that way."

"I'm 77 years old and I've heard it all," Sal said. "You boys go grab a coffee while I teach Mr. Russell a thing or two about The Grand Old Game."

The boys backed away, but of course by now there was a large crowd gathered around the checker tables. Nearly all of them seemed to support Sal, but there was a handful from Mr. Russell's old anti-checkers coalition.

Mr. Russell took a seat and the game began. Sal had to admit that his opponent played a good game, which reached the following position.

Sal was giving the position some thought when Mr. Russell said, "Come on, you tired old disgrace, make a move or resign. I haven't got all day."

Sal looked up, stared for a moment at Mr. Russell, and made his move.

---

Would you have been able, in Sal's place, to give Mr. Russell a well-deserved comeupance? See if you can and then click on Read More to see the solution and the conclusion of our little story.

[Read More]

It was opening day for the new National Checker League season. Training camps were completed, season tickets sold, myriad print and media articles produced, and there was a general air of excitement. With the scandals of the previous season over and the NCL under new and vibrant leadership, everyone, from coach to player to fan to referee, greeted opening day with eager anticipation.

The same was true for Marvin J. Mavin, team captain of the highly rated Detroit Doublejumpers. There was just one problem. Marvin was feeling ill and feared he had the flu, or worse.

The Doublejumpers opened at home against the Phoenix Paraffin, captained by top ranked player Stella Striker. Marvin expected a competitive game played at the grandmaster level, and he would normally be all for it, except that he wondered if he would be at his best. His head ached, his sinuses were acting up, and he felt feverish with a feeling of intermittment chills punctuated by periods of sweat.

The match was scheduled for 7 PM and practice turnout was at 4:30. Marvin's wife, Priscilla, before her driver picked her up at 7 AM to take her to her CEO's office at Rust Belt Holdings, took one look at Marvin and told him he was staying home tonight.

"For one thing," Priscilla said in the stern voice often used with Marvin, "you might make others sick. What if you have Covid or something? You want to spread contagion? I shouldn't have to tell you that you don't need any more controversy in your career."

Priscilla continued, "But that's not all. What about your health? Don't you think you ought to take care of yourself? You may not like to hear it but you're quite sick right now and the last place you should be is in front of a checkerboard being watched by 50,000 checker fans."

"Aw, gee, Prissy," Marvin said, although it was more like a groan, "you gotta ..."

"Keep quiet and listen!" Priscilla cut in. "I'm not done yet. Lastly, your team counts on you, and you can't tell me you'll be able to play your best in your current condition. You are staying home. Period. I don't want to hear a word from you about it. Now goodbye. My driver is waiting and probably wondering what happened to me."

At that Priscilla headed over to the private elevator in her swanky 5,000 square foot condo and set off for work.

Marvin knew he was sick, but he thought that a morning and an afternoon of rest would be enough to shake off whatever it was he had and still play that evening.

He slept during most of the day. Priscilla, the previous evening, had her private chef prepare a large pot of chicken soup, and Marvin had some of that during his brief waking periods. By about three thirty in the afternoon, Marvin felt that he would be able to play. So, despite Priscilla's admonitions, and definitely risking her ire, Marvin took a hot shower. That made him feel a lot better and so he dressed and went down to the garage, where Priscilla kept her little fleet. Marvin wasn't allowed to drive the Mercedes or the Bentley, and certainly not the Rolls-Royce, but he did have permission to drive the "everyday" Lexus.

During pre-game practice and warm-ups, he felt a little tired but thought he was doing well enough, until the Coach approached him.

Recall from our previous story that the Doublejumpers had once again inadvertently hired a bizarre coach who went by the name California Hummingbird, and ending up firing her on the first day of training camp. While Problem Coach Riddleme filled in for a while, the Doublejumpers managed to recall Sammy Sawizawiz, and he was now Head Coach.

"Marv," Coach Sawizawiz said, "you seem a little off today. Everything okay? You want me to change the lineup and bring in Milo Gru? I know it's opening day and all, but still, if you're not at 100%, maybe I shouldn't play you today."

"Nah, Coach," Marvin replied, "I just kinda took a coupla naps today and it sorta like made me a little sluggish and stuff. I'll be fine."

Coach looked dubious but said, "Okay, fine, but I want 100% from you."

"You got it, Coach," Marvin said.

It was soon time. The players came out on the field, the National Anthem was played, everyone took their places, and the referee blew his whistle and called, "Play checkers!"

Stella Striker of the Paraffin was a top player and Marvin knew he needed to be at his best. Still, he decided to play a safe line and see how the game developed; he hoped to stay within published play for as long as possible and give himself a little extra time to shake off the fogginess he was feeling.

Stella, however, liked sharp play and sharp lines and wasn't afraid to go into new territory. Marvin made a couple of small slips and the game ended up in the following tough position.

Suddenly Coach Sawizawiz was on the field, signalling to the referee for a time out. The referee blew his whistle and a three minute break began.

Coach approached Marvin and said, "That's it." He pointed to the dugout and signaled for number six --- a player popularly known as "Courteous Curt Curtiss" --- to come in as a pinch mover. "You're out, Marvin," Coach said. "You didn't play at anything like your full ability, and in fact you look even more ill than you did before. I'm disappointed that you didn't put your team first and sit this one out as you should have. Go home, and when you get well we'll have a serious discussion about what you did."

Marvin, dejected, left the field and made his way to the showers.

---

Can Courteous Curt, as a pinch mover, pull off a draw in this position? Will Marvin face consequences? How would you have done if called in as a pinch mover? Solve the problem, then click on Read More to see the solution and the rest of this installment.

[Read More]

In Bismarck, North Dakota, it was the Saturday after Labor Day in September 1955, and for long-time resident Sal Westerman that meant one and only one thing. The Coffee and Cake Checker Club would resume meeting at the Beacon Cafe after the club's summer hiatus. A long string of checker filled Saturday afternoons lay ahead.

Sal was in high spirits as he made the ten minute walk from his home on 13th Street over to the Provident Life Building, in which the Beacon Cafe was situated. Sal and the "boys" (all but one of whom were over 50) met at the Beacon and enjoyed wonderful baked treats made by the proprietess, Deana Nagel, accompanied by lots and lots of coffee.

As expected, there was a great turnout for the first meeting of the new season, and by the 1 PM start time the group filled both of the large booths at the back of the cafe. On hand were Larry, Delmer, Wayne, Tom, Louie the Flash, Kevin the Spooler, Dan, Mike, Ron, Young Blaine, and even Old Frank, making an even dozen.

But then, just after Sal joined the group, there was a new arrival. Now, Sal had known in advance about this, due to a telephone inquiry, but he deliberately hadn't made a prior announcement. "Boys," Sal said, "meet our newest member, Nancy German."

Nancy, reaching the back of the Cafe, gave a big smile. "Pleased to meet you, boys," she said, "and I hope you'll welcome a lady to your group."

There were enthusiatic nods all around. "Delighted to have you," Sal said, "and why don't you tell us about yourself?"

"Well," Nancy said, "I grew up in South Dakota and just moved to Bismarck over the summer to take a new job. I played a lot of checkers down in Pierre and was even on the Pierre municipal team. So when I heard about Sal and the club, naturally I wanted to join. Now, I have to work on Saturday a lot of the time, so I won't be here every week, but I'll do my best, both to show up, participate in problem solving, and try to give you some good games of skittles."

Again all the boys expressed enthusiasm. "Have a seat," Dan said, moving over to make room at the side of one of the booths. We usually start out with Sal giving us a problem to solve."

Nancy took the proferred seat. "Yes, Sal explained that to me over the phone, and how you boys buy treats if you can't solve it and Sal buys if you can. But look, as a newcomer, regardless how it turns out, I'd like to treat today."

Just then, with her usual great timing, the Beacon's proprietess, Deana Nagel, spoke up from behind her service counter. "Fresh apple pie," she said. "I got hold of a batch of really nice apples from a farm just outside of Mandan, across the river."

"Mighty kind of you to offer to buy," Wayne said to Nancy, "and apple pie sounds fantastic, but you really don't have to do that."

"I want to," Nancy replied. "I'd like to show appreciation for you welcoming me to your club and letting me be one of the 'boys'."

There were chuckles from everyone. "Sure," said Louie the Flash, "you can be one of us 'boys' if you wish."

Then Sal said, "Well now, shall we get into it? First problem of the season!"

Sal laid out the following position on a checkerboard on the table in each booth.

"Take a little time," he said, "maybe you're all a bit rusty after the summer layoff."

But the boys--- and Nancy--- were deep into contemplation of the problem.

---

We welcome our readers back to the Beacon Cafe, at least virtually, even though 1955 was quite a while back. Get yourself some of that good virtual cafe coffee, and sit down with the 'boys' to solve the problem. When you're done, click on Read More to see the solution, the brief conclusion of our story, and to get yourself some virtual apple pie made with apples fresh off the tree from Mandan, North Dakota. Sorry ... if you want real coffee and apple pie, you're on your own--- but it sure does sound good.

[Read More]

There had been a lot of changes in the National Checker League since the big scandal in the previous season. The NCL was under new management with a new Commissioner and a new Deputy Commissioner. Several coaches and assistant coaches on various teams, and a number of players as well, had either been dismissed, forced to resign, or outright arrested by law enforcement.

The Detroit Doublejumpers, who had as its Captain our protagonist, Marvin J. Mavin, also had several new coaches and a few new players.

Most notably there was a new Head Coach, as former Head Coach Baba Dudut had been arrested on corruption, racketeering, and other charges. The new coach was Morticia Mumples, who was hired away from the AAA Memphis Mills. She replaced Interim Coach Sammy Sawizawiz who had filled in for a couple of months.

Morticia had a good track record. She had been a professional player, mostly in AAA checkers but with a few years as a substitute in the big leagues. She had coached the Mills to a league championship. Known as a stern taskmaster but also someone who always treated players fairly, she was widely regarded as a good hire.

But something had happened between the close of the season in May and the opening of training camp in August. After signing the contract with the Doublejumpers Morticia disappeared for two months. No one knew where she had gone or what may have happened to her.

Then just before training camp started, she showed up again and was, shall we say, a different person. She called in the sports press and said, "My new name is California Hummingbird. This summer I went on a retreat in a remote mountain monastery in a secret location, which I cannot reveal, but I have seen the light. I will teach the Doublejumpers a whole new approach to the game of checkers, and they too shall see the light and experience bliss and nirvana."

She took no questions from the press. Doublejumper management, when asked, said they would just wait and see. In public, they stated, "Ms. Mumples ... er, Hummingbird ... has a demonstrated record of success and we are counting on her." In private, though, they were rather concerned.

The Doublejumpers always trained at a luxury camp in the appropriately named town of Au Train on Michigan's Upper Peninsula, and traditionally the team boarded a charter bus in Detroit, with the ride to Au Train taking the good part of the day. This year was no different, except that prior to departure, Coach Hummingbird engaged the services of a spiritual practitioner, Swami Sammy Salami, to bless the bus and ask for a safe journey and a successful training month.

Swami Salami chanted in a language he claimed to be Vedic Sanskrit but nearly every phrase sounded something like "oma blah glah nah oma namma ramma gamma"; but since no one on the team had ever studied Sanskrit, they couldn't really say anything.

In any event the bus did arrive safely at the campsite and the players quickly occupied their cabins and then assembled for their inaugural camp dinner. This was normally a festive affair with great food featuring fresh fish and locally sourced produce; there were always a couple of toasts and then the Coach would close the dinner with a talk that set the mood for the month of training.

Under former coach Baba Dudut and his own predecessors, this was usually a lot of tough talk about hard mental and physical work. But Coach Hummingbird took a much different approach.

"My camp will be gentle," she said, "now that I have achieved enlightenment. We do work hard, but we enjoy the work and we envelop it in a spiritual cloak that shields all the pain and leaves only the bliss of achievement and success. I will teach you mantras to chant. We will recite shlokas from spiritual texts. When we do physical training, we will be one with nature and with the Higher Orders. We will revel in the companionship of teamwork and shared achievement. Each morning we will rise early for chanting and yoga ... "

"Not tactics training?" one team member interrupted. "We always used to ... "

"We will meet our spiritual needs first," replied Coach Hummingbird, "for if our spirits are not balanced, how can we do worldly work?"

There were a number of shaking heads and a few muttered under the breath comments as the dinner adjourned.

The next morning, the Doublejumper team was awakened at 5 AM to the sound of a gong. They were all ushered into one of the practice rooms. Our hero Marvin was heard to remark that "the sun ain't even hardly up yet" but then Coach Hummingbird was speaking.

"I will give each of you a spiritual name," Coach said, "and during our time at training camp you will be known by that name and that name alone. It is your key to the ethereal energies that will help you play better checkers."

Coach went around whispering in the ears of the players, and when she got to Marvin, she gave him a friendly smile and said quietly, "You, Captain Marvin, must be both a leader and a player. Therefore you shall be known as Holistic Harmonic Happy Hope, or 4H for short."

Marvin replied, "4H? Ain't that some kinda farm club?" But Coach just smiled and moved on to the next player.

The players then adjourned for breakfast. Instead of the usual sausages, eggs, pancakes and coffee, breakfast consisted of yogurt, fruit juice, herbal tea, and blackberries. The players grumbled but Coach said, "We consume only spiritual food to nourish the spirit. We must not put harmful substances into our sacred bodies."

Next up was an hour of yoga. This was followed by an hour of meditation. Finally before lunch the players gathered again and were asked to each give a statement about how checkers affected the higher orders of their connection to the Great Wheel of Life. Most of the players mumbled a few phrases, not really knowing what to say. Marvin, for his part, said, "I ain't got no idea about nothing like that."

Lunch consisted of a green salad with no dressing, cubes of boiled tofu, and something Coach called "tea of heaven" which apparently was a brew made from various leaves and twigs.

The afternoon was similar to the morning. Finally, at about 4 PM, Marvin spoke up on behalf of the team.

"Coach, ain't we gonna like, practice checkers and stuff? You know, like checker problems and scrimmage games and openings and endings and ... you know, checker camp sorta things?"

"Oh, 4H," Coach replied, "your inner harmonies are clearly misaligned. In my newly conceived checker camp we don't study checkers in the way you describe. Instead we let our spirits soar, we see them fly over the checkerboard; then the pieces on the board, far below, become energetic nodes through which our inner energies pass. We envision a victory and ... voila! The victory is ours!"

Marvin thought for a minute, "Uh ... yeah ... well ... at least can we have some, like, decent food for dinner?"

Another team member then spoke up. It was the second board starter, Timmy Timbuck. "Coach, when you were coaching in AAA did you do all this sort of stuff?"

"Oh, no," Coach replied. "That was back when I was still known as Morticia Mumples. I had not yet achieved enlightenment. But I have now seen a new and better path to success. I couldn't wait to share it with you players. It will be the New Age of checkers!"

At this point the other coaches--- the Problem Coach, the Opening Coach, the Endgame Coach, and the Strategy Coach--- went off to the side and conferred..

Problem Coach Riddleme, who was normally among the hardest taskmasters in the league, was the one who spoke up.

"Team," he said, "we're taking the bus into town for dinner at a steakhouse. Load up. Wheels roll in five minutes."

The players actually cheered. But Coach Hummingbird, clearly shocked and surprised, attempted to protest. "I'm the Head Coach!" she wailed. "You can't do this without my permission!"

"Wrong," replied Coach Riddleme. "Doublejumper executives, unknown to you, have asked all the other coaches to keep an eye on things and take action if necessary. We have full authority. Sorry, Ms. whatever you call yourself, you're no longer Head Coach."

The team went into town and happily consumed steak and lobster dinners. When they returned to camp, Coach Hummingbird was nowhere to be seen. Later, a note was found in her cabin saying she couldn't work with insensitive non-spiritual clods who had no chance at enlightenment. She would return to the monastery in the secret mountain location to wait the coming of the Great Om-My.

Coach Riddleme announced that he was taking over until another Head Coach could be appointed. But even though it was rather late, he called for an hour of problem solving. "We've got to make up for lost time," he said, "but no worries, you'll have your pancake breakfast in the morning with plenty of coffee. Now here, look at this, it's in two parts."

1.	9-13	22-18
2.	12-16	24-20
3.	8-12	25-22

Black played a potentially losing move at this point and the game continued:

4.	16-19	23x16
5.	12x19	27-23
6.	11-16	20x11
7.	7x16	18-15
8.	4-8	...

Of course there were quite a few more problems and positions to be solved before lights out was finally called, but the players were glad to actually, you know, play checkers.

---

We don't know what you prefer; is it steak and lobster or boiled tofu? The choice is yours and literally a matter of taste. But we'll bet you'll enjoy taking on Coach Riddleme's first checker problem. Reach checker enlightenment by finding the solution and then clicking on Read More to see the solution. Recitation of shlokas is optional.

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It was August, 1955 (it's always 1955 in these stories) and Labor Day weekend was not far off. For Sal Westerman, that was a good thing.

Sal, being definitely on the elderly side, certainly didn't want to wish his life away. Not at all; he tried to make the most of every day. It's just that by the time late summer came around, he was really missing his Saturday afternoon meetings of his Coffee and Cake Checker Club.

The Club indeed did meet every Saturday afternoon, but only from just after Labor Day until just before Memorial Day. Summers in Bismarck, North Dakota, were noticeably short and North Dakotans made the most of warmer weather to be outdoors, whether camping or fishing, tending to their yards, playing softball, or any other summer activity. The club's venue, the Beacon Cafe, even shut down for most of the month of August so its proprietress, Deana Nagel, could travel back to Gackle, N.D., to help out with the harvest on the family farm.

Sal of course had his own ways of keeping busy during summertime, including a lakeside vacation with his wife Sylvia and numerous other things, many of which of course had to do with checkers. But he missed getting together with the "boys" as he called them (all but one of whom were at minimum 50 years old) for afternoons of checker fun.

This year, for some reason, Sal especially missed his club, and even though it would just be a couple more weeks until the "season" began, he felt somewhat depressed. Perhaps more than somewhat.

To begin with, it was a Saturday afternoon, and he was home alone in his study. His wife was visiting her sister Phoebe in Dickinson, N.D., and Sal avoided going along as he and Phoebe did not have, shall we say, a warm relationship. The Beacon Cafe was closed. Sal had tried calling a couple of the boys to meet up for lunch or coffee, but he wasn't able to reach anyone. They were all off on vacation, fishing or camping, or just too busy with yard work or other summertime chores.

Sal thought about going over to the bar at the Patterson Hotel for a beer, but it seemed like too much effort. It was really hot outside and any amount of walking, even to a nearby park, just seemed like too much. Nothing seemed to appeal to him. Summer had been great, but did it have to be so long? Of course, it wasn't long at all but at the moment it seemed that way.

Taking an afternoon nap was always an option, but he realized that if he did he would wake up even more depressed, having done nothing all afternoon. He'd read the last few issues of All Checkers Digest from cover to cover several times. He'd finished that problem book project that he had started with Young Ed from Pennsylvania and was still impatiently waiting for a proof copy. Things just weren't going his way today.

Maybe he could go to a movie. But that would involve walking and besides there was nothing playing that he wanted to see. Watching daytime weekend television was an even worse option. Going to the library? Going out for a hamburger? Too hot. Too hard.

Sal was sitting in his easy chair, unable to get out of his low mood, when the phone rang and startled him. Who could it be? Sylvia didn't call from Dickinson in the afternoon, and he had just heard from her last night.

Sal hurried as quickly as he could up the stairs to the kitchen, where the phone sat on a small table by the wall. He answered on what was probably the fifth ring, hoping he wasn't too late, and hoping even more it wasn't someone trying to sell him insurance.

"Hello?" Sal said after he picked up the receiver.

"Sal?" came the voice on the other end. "It's Ed, in Pennsylvania. Look, this long distance call is kind of expensive, but I had an idea for one more problem to add to our book. Quick, write this down."

Sylvia thoughtfully kept a small notepad and a pencil next to the telephone. Sal picked up the pencil and said, "Go ahead, Young Ed, I'm ready."

Ed quickly stated the position of the pieces and the problem premise. "Try it out and drop me a line," he said, "and tell me if you think it ought to go in the book. I'll run along now before I spend a month's rent on this call. Take care and say hello to Sylvia for me."

The line disconnected. Sal hung up the phone and looked at the notes he had hastily scribbled. The position was really interesting ...

Sal couldn't wait to get back down to his study and set up the problem. His dark mood had vanished in an instant. This was going to be a great day after all!

---

There's nothing like the excitement of a good new checker problem to lift a checker fan's mood. Of course, we hope your mood today isn't a dark one, but dark, light, or in-between, an Ed Atkinson problem is always a treat. This is one of the last of them in our supply. Enjoy it and click on Read More when you're ready to check your solution.

[Read More]

Marvin was flat on his stomach as one FBI agent had a knee in his back while another handcuffed him. Then he was yanked to his feet and quickly searched.

"We're takin' you in," another agent said, "and you're done for. Too bad, too sad about your big checker star salary. You're nothing now, and you'll be even less in prison." Another agent laughed. "Wonder how long he'll last?" he said with a sly grin.

But as Marvin was being led to one of the SUVs, another three black SUVs pulled into the parking lot and more men piled out with guns drawn.

Marvin was quickly shoved into an SUV and the agents took cover behind their vehicles. "FBI!" one of them shouted. "Drop your guns!"

The reply came quickly. "What are you talking about? We're the FBI!" Drop your guns and come out where we can see you!"

The FBI agents looked over the hoods of their SUVs at the new arrivals. They were about to open fire when one of them said in obvious surprise, "Jack? Chris? It's Mike! But what are you guys doing here? Men, hold your fire, they really are FBI!"

"Dan? Mike? What are you guys doing here?" one of the newly arrived men said. "We were told that Marvin J. Mavin would be here and might be attacked by mobsters. So his wife called the FBI and here we are."

"Well," said Mike, "we had a tip from Mavin's coach that he would be meeting with some conspirators here and we just arrested him based on his Coach's statement."

Marvin, not knowing what to think, said, "Hey, what, are all of you from the FBI?"

"That's right," Jack said, "and it appears there are conflicting stories and something of a mix-up."

"Don't you guys like, you know, talk to each other and stuff?" Marvin said. "So, like, am I still under arrest and stuff?"

"I guess not, at least for now," Jack said, "we'll have to get the stories straight first." Jack removed Marvin's handcuffs but warned him, "You better show up at the FBI building like, right away, and stuff."

It was something of a long night. Marvin gave a statement, as did Priscilla. She had been suspicious about a supposed meeting with the FBI at a location out in the country, and had checked out the Wayward Inn on Google and found it had closed years ago. So she had herself called the FBI and explained the situation.

However it seemed that Coach Baba Dudut had also called the FBI and spun them a story about Marvin being corrupt and going to meet with mobsters. Coach claimed to have intercepted a phone call to that effect. But under questioning his story soon fell apart, and he was held on suspicion of lying to the FBI.

The newspapers got hold of the story, and the FBI's minor embarrassment about uncoordinated action was swept under by the unfolding NCL scandal.

An investigation by several agencies ensued and the results were shocking and far-reaching. And all across the country, and even in Canada, the following scene repeated itself.

# # #

Suddenly the door to the Coach's office burst open and men in tactical gear with weapons at the ready burst in to the shock of the Coach, who was sitting behind his desk busy with paperwork.

"On the floor, now! Hands where we can see them! You're under arrest!"

More men in tactical gear swarmed into the locker room and practice rooms, seeking out individual players and taking them into custody.

But the biggest scene of all played out in Belpre, Ohio, where the NCL Deputy Commissioner was cornered in a stairwell as he tried to flee when he saw the tactical squads exit their vehicles. He tried to put up a fight but one zap from a taser put an end to his struggles, not to mention his career and his freedom.

# # #

Indeed a number of coaches and players from all across the league were arrested, Coach Baba Dudut among the most prominent. The (former) NCL Deputy Commissioner tried to cast aspersions on Axel Homeboy but it seemed the Commissioner had been quite unaware of the goings-on. But the bad publicity forced him to resign, and he was replaced by a Ms. Kimmy Lewis, who appointed Byron Hinman as Deputy Commissioner. Both Ms. Lewis and Mr. Hinman promised complete reform and tight oversight.

And so the greatest scandal in the history of professional checkers came to a highly public and very messy conclusion.

# # #

One night a little while after it was all over, Marvin and Priscilla were relaxing in the living room of Priscilla's condo. A cheery artificial fire was in the faux fireplace. Marvin was enjoying a bottle of beer and a problem in the latest All Checkers Digest. Priscilla had a glass of dessert wine and was reading an issue of the Hostile Takeovers and Malicious Mergers business journal.

Marvin was muttering "I think this one has dual solutions," when Priscilla asked, "So how's the new interim coach?" Coach Baba Dudut had of course been immediately dismissed and was now facing at least ten years in prison.

"Sammy Sawizawiz? He seems like a pretty good guy. He ain't so hard on me like Baba Dudut was. 'Course, he's just interim coach 'til they hire somebody. But I think it's gonna be okay. And the League will make a comeback, you'll see."

"I'm sure it will, dear," Priscilla said, "but all the same, in the future you had still better not be talking to reporters or doing anything foolish. I saved your neck this time but I might not always be able to do so."

"Well, there ain't gonna be ... "

But Marvin saw Priscilla's stern look and knew better than to say anything further.

# # #

Things had gone totally wrong. Cha Cha owed the Bulgarian mob a lot of money and with the match fixing having ended, she had no source of income. It was time to high-tail it out of the country and assume yet another identity.

She thought it was clever how she was able to pull strings from such a distance and manipulate the players and coaches in the NCL. But that fool of a player and his swanky stuck-up wife had ruined it. It was unfair. But at least no one suspected her; operating through the mob, she had kept enough distance to stay in the clear. The guilty had had no contacts beyond the mob, and the authorities had been unable to locate any mob members.

Well, even though she was off to Malaysia, and who knows where after that, they hadn't heard the last from Cha Cha. Not by a longshot.

THE END

---

We hope you enjoyed this 7-part serial and will tune in again for more adventures in the world of Marvin J. Mavin. But meanwhile see if you can solve today's problem. Marvin did hint at something important so do pay heed. When you're ready, click on Read More to see the solution. Or should that be "solutions"?

[Read More]

Sal Westerman, the unoffical leader of the Coffee and Cake Checker Club in Bismarck, North Dakota, was on a two-week vacation with his wife Sylvia. His club didn't meet during the summer months, and Sal and Sylvia sometimes rented a lakeshore cabin and relaxed in a pleasant environment away from the big city.

Now, what constitutes a big city may vary according to your location, but in 1955 (the year in which all of these stories take place), Bismarck was considered a big city, at least for central North Dakota. The population would soon cross the 25,000 mark and for North Dakotans that was big.

The lake cabin was near Garrison, North Dakota, which had a population of 1,800 at best. It was just large enough for Sal and Sylvia to pick up groceries and supplies to take to the cabin.

Sal spent mornings fishing on the lake in a little rowboat provided by the cabin owners, and afternoons sitting outside with a checker magazine or two. Sylvia went for nature walks, did some sewing, and prepared rustic meals in the cabin's very basic kitchen.

Sal had noted, however, that about midway in their stay, a visitor would be coming from Pennsylvania. That would be Young Ed, who had already made a name for himself as a master problem composer and who corresponded regularly with Sal. Now, recall that in our last episode, Sal had started on a "secret" summer project to create a book of problems composed by Ed. Many of the problems were already selected and Young Ed and Sal planned to work together for a day or two to finalize the book. Young Ed couldn't stay very long as he needed to continue on to the West Coast to visit with relatives before returning to Pennsylvania at the end of his vacation from work.

Young Ed would be arriving in Bismarck by train and would take the daily bus up to Garrison. He wouldn't hear of Sal and Sylvia driving back to town to pick him up; it was more than enough that they meet him at the Garrison bus stop.

The day of Young Ed's arrival came. Sylvia didn't want Sal to drive as his eyesight was no longer the best, so she drove and Sal rode along. Young Ed had just gotten off the bus when the Westermans arrived. Even though they had never before met in person, Sal and Young Ed recognized each other at once.

"So good to meet you at last!" Sal said, giving Young Ed a warm handshake.

"Same here," Young Ed replied.

"Have a good trip?" Sylvia asked.

"I like the train," Young Ed said, adding, "I never did care for those noisy airplanes."

It was now late afternoon and Sylvia suggested they stop at a cafe before going back to the cabin. The Fisherman's Cafe was their favorite, and over an early dinner, Young Ed and Sal--- naturally--- talked checkers while Sylvia pretended polite interest.

The ensuing evening and nearly all of the following day was filled with checker work as Sal and Young Ed occupied the kitchen table and reviewed problems, draft writeups, and so on, only leaving the table when chased by Sylvia.

"I've got to put lunch out," she'd say, "unless you both want to starve. Go for a walk in the woods or go out on the boat for an hour or so!"

Young Ed and Sal would then good-naturedly set their work aside and get some fresh air.

The following day, just before noon, Young Ed and Sal pronounced their work done. The book was ready for the mimeograph machine. Sal agreed to do the final typing when he got back to Bismarck, and then send the manuscript to Young Ed, who would see about geting it duplicated and into distribution.

Sylvia made a last lunch of fresh fish she had picked up in town early that morning. Then it was time to take Young Ed to catch his bus back to Bismarck, where that evening his train for the West Coast would depart.

Young Ed and Sal didn't know exactly when they would meet again, but Sal said fondly, "We'll surely keep in touch and I'll get that manuscript to you before summer is over."

"Thanks for everything, Sal," Young Ed said, "and thanks, Sylvia, for your kind hospitality."

Then within minutes Young Ed was on his bus and off on the next stage of his trip.

"A nice young man," Sylvia said, "I'm sure he's going to have a great career and leave a wonderful legacy.

The years would prove Sylvia right.

---

Certain liberties were taken with this story. "Young Ed" is of course a fictional version of Ed Atkinson, but in 1955 the real Ed would have been very young indeed and certainly not traveling across the country. Other details, such as daily bus service to Bismarck, are also invented.

But what is certainly not invented is that Ed indeed left us a wonderful legacy, filled with sparkling checker problems and entertaining checker lore. Ed is surely missed, and we hope that our own "secret project" to publish a small volume of his problems, can come to eventual fruition.

Here's one of our last remaining Ed Atkinson compositions.

Ed's problems are always a delight. When you've worked out this one, click on Read More to check your solution.

[Read More]

On the phone that night, Marvin and Priscilla talked about events.

"You did the right thing, dear, by winning your game. Don't get caught up in whatever's going on. You're better than that," Priscilla said.

"Uh, yeah, but I'm kinda scared," Marvin replied, "I mean ... I like just got outta the hospital and stuff."

"I once heard someone say that the definition of 'courage' is being afraid and still doing the right thing. That's you, Marvin ... you have courage. And don't worry, I can hire a security detail to look after you if you wish."

"Nah," Marvin said, "I don't think the mob or whoever it is would try the same stunt twice. Kinda too obvious."

"Maybe, maybe not. But you're my husband and I'll be the one to decide if you need a security team."

"More like my boss," Marvin muttered, although, perhaps for the best, Priscilla didn't hear him.

# # #

Marvin won his game the next night and the Doublejumpers swept the series as the oddsmakers had predicted. The team had a day off after coming home, before their next series with the Baltimore Breeches.

The off day, though, merely meant that the Doublejumpers didn't plan an evening match. There was still afternoon practice; Coach Baba Dudut didn't believe in the team having too much leisure and ran drills and scrimmages at every opportunity. It was towards the end of practice that Coach asked Marvin to come to his office.

"Sit down," Coach said as Marvin entered, indicating a chair on the opposite side of Coach's desk. Coach's tone was noticeably less sharp with Marvin than usual, and Marvin picked up on it right away.

Somewhat surprised, Marvin took the proferred seat. "Wassup, Coach?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh, I just wanted to go over something with you, is all," Coach said.

"Uh, sure ... " Marvin answered.

"Well, you see, you've been telling me some kind of odd things that you've observed, and you also told me about this supposed visit from Cliff Arachnida, the National Checker League Deputy Commissioner."

"It ain't 'supposed', Coach, he really did ... "

"Oh, sure, sure I believe you. Certainly I do. It's just a little ... oh, never mind, let's just say 'disturbing' is all."

"You ain't kiddin'," Marvin said.

"Well, you also mentioned some issues with fifth board substitutions and lost matches. Now, I don't let players question my decisions or put me in a bad light. But I will admit to a couple of surprises in those matches. And then you mentioned a couple of other similar things happening around the league."

"Just tryin' to bring stuff up, Coach, when, you know ... "

"Oh I get it, Marvin," Coach interrupted, "but I had to think for a while. It's really easy to get paranoid and jump to conclusions. A lot of trouble can come from false accusations."

Marvin sat upright. "I ain't accusin' nobody of nothin'," he said, "but I sorta thought I oughta tell you and stuff ... "

"Yes, yes, I get it ... and 'stuff'," Coach said, "and I think we can do something about it, without you risking another attack."

Now, Coach had never said or even suggested that the attack on Marvin had anything to do with the strange events in the NCL and on the Doublejumper team. But after the visit from Cliff, who said Marvin won too much, and Coach's reaction saying Marvin needed to look out for himself and maybe not win the second game against Kansas City, the conclusion was obvious ... Coach was definitely connecting the dots for Marvin, even if unintentionally.

"So anyhow," Coach went on, "after you won that game that you were, um, advised to lose, at least according to your story, I wondered just how safe you were ... assuming everything you said is true, which I've taken as a working assumption, at least until I learn otherwise."

If this is a vote of confidence, Marvin thought, it's a pretty weak one. But before Marvin could say anything, Coach continued, "Anyhow, I've taken some action."

"Action?"

"Right. I've been in touch with the FBI to alert them to a possible connection among all these events. Now, the Detroit police didn't get anywhere with your assault and they've already moved on, without trying to put two and two together. But the FBI is quite interested. So I've set up a meeting with them."

"You're going to meet with them?"

"No, Marvin, you are. You can give them the whole story and let them ask questions. I think it's the best way to get to the bottom of this."

Coach steepled his fingers, paused for a moment, and looked Marvin straight in the eyes.

"Unless, of course, you want to change your story." Coach smiled. The smile was neither warm nor friendly.

"No, I ain't gonna change nothing," Marvin said, clearly on the verge of anger. "I told the truth and that's the honest truth--- I mean, about telling the truth."

"And stuff," Coach concluded. "Well, look, given events, you might be at risk. Maybe one of the mobs is involved and is keeping an eye on you. If they saw you go to the FBI offices they might want to ... shall we say ... put a stop to anything further, if you get my meaning."

Marvin did. "So what then?" he asked.

"There's a place outside of town where you're to meet. It will look like you just went for a drive in the country and stopped at an inn for ... well, a beer or something."

"But I don't drink and drive."

Coach looked annoyed. "Okay then, you stopped for a glass of milk and some warm cookies. Whatever. Now, will you do it or will you chicken out at this late stage? Or have you been lying all along?"

Now Marvin was angry again. He stood up. "I ain't no chicken and I ain't no liar," he said forcefully, "and you might be the Coach and stuff but you ain't got no right to say it. Yeah, I'll do it. Lemme know the details."

Marvin turned to go but Coach said, "Hold on there, Marvey-Boy." He took a sheet of paper from his desk and held it out. "Take this. Full instructions. You go after tomorrow night's game."

# # #

Before going home, Marvin read over Coach's instructions. He was to go to a tavern some 20 miles outside of Detroit, out in the country, immediately after his game in the match with Boston, which would probably end by about 10 PM. He was expected at the tavern around 11, where an FBI team would meet with him.

"Should be okay," Marvin thought, but he decided to discuss it with Priscilla when he got home.

Priscilla was also a little unsure, but said, "I think you should go ahead with it. Coach wouldn't set you up with the FBI unless he wanted to see this through."

Now, Marvin and Priscilla knew each other quite well, and Marvin detected something in Priscilla's voice and phrasing. He just couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was more to what she was saying than she actually let on.

"All right, then," Marvin said, and the discussion ended much more quickly than he had expected it would.

# # #

The next evening came around. Marvin, on first board, was to play the Boston star Billy "Baked Beans" Benjamin. The game began but Marvin, thinking of what lay ahead that night, had some trouble focusing.

The game reached the following position, with Marvin to play. Marvin, not doing so well this evening, was a piece down but might be able to find a draw.

Marvin glanced at his watch. It was already nearly 10 PM. He would have to wrap this up and get going.

So, he quickly made his move.

---

Marvin has a lot on his mind; hopefully you are not yourself in anything like the kind of situation he finds himself in. Then you can focus on the position and see if you can pull off a draw. Give it a try, then click on Read More for the rest of this month's installment and the solution to the problem.

[Read More]