I love checkers. I play at the club at my home town in Iowa, Lindyville, and I'm the club champ. Sometimes I go to one of the bigger cities like Dubuque or Cedar Rapids or even Des Moines. I don't do badly at their clubs, either. I play for Lindyville in the Calhoun County Checker League and we do pretty well. We even finished in the top three at State one year.

So you can imagine I was pretty excited when my company chose me to go to the National Meat Packers Convention in Denver at the end of July. There were some major clubs in Denver, and I thought I'd take a couple of days of vacation and go early, check out the scene, and have a sort of mini checker vacation.

Being summer the Denver Dennies (their National Checker League team) wouldn't be playing but I heard some of their players practiced at the better clubs; maybe I'd get lucky and meet one of them or even get a game.

The convention ran Thursday through mid-day on Saturday, so I figured I'd go on Monday and check out clubs on Tuesday and Wednesday. I'd go home on Sunday and would have Saturday night for a couple of last rounds.

Now, I'm a pretty simple guy in my late thirties. My wife and I live in a modest home in Lindyville, and I commute to work in a nearby town. We don't have any kids and our pleasures are simple. I play checkers and my wife has her social circles in winter and gardening in the summer. Things run at kind of a predictable pace for us, and that makes me a little apprehensive when going to a big city, and all the more so to a metropolis like Denver. But still, I was excited to go.

The day arrived and my trip went smoothly. My wife drove me to Des Moines Airport, which is about 90 minutes away, and my United Airlines flight was on time.

That Denver airport sure is big and it's really far from the city. But I got to my hotel fine, and I was ready for a couple of days of checkers. I had looked up the clubs ahead of time and emailed them. Most of them answered and said I'd be welcome. So I spent the next two days visiting a couple of the mid-level clubs and getting some good games. I did pretty well overall, and on Wednesday night, the night before the convention was to begin, one of the players, a younger fellow named Travis who actually played for the Dennies, mentioned that if I had any more time, I might visit a club he knew where a lot of expert players were to be found. It was by invitation only, but if I said at the door that Travis from the Dennies sent me, they'd let me in. The club was actually in Golden, a Denver suburb but still part of the metro area.

I told Travis I had Saturday evening free and he said great, the Golden club usually had a good Saturday night turnout. I thanked him and said I'd certainly go there after the convention. But Travis did give me a brief word of warning, which at the moment didn't quite register. "The club is ... um ... different," he said, "so don't be too shocked."

The convention was held in downtown Denver in the Convention Center and it was really big. It was pitched at independent meat packers of all sizes and from all parts of the country. I learned a lot, met a lot of people, and it was well worth my time and my company's money. But I was anxious to get through it and get to that club Travis mentioned..

Well, the convention did close up after lunch on Saturday, leaving me plenty of time to get a little rest and a quick dinner, and then take a cab out to Golden.

The club looked fabulous from the outside. It was in an older building that had been well maintained and looked like something built perhaps in the late 1800s. I told the doorman that Travis had invited me and he immediately let me in.

No sooner was I through the door than I was enveloped in what seemed like clouds of cigarette and cigar smoke. I coughed and within seconds my eyes started to water.

Now, I'm not used to that sort of thing. Neither my wife nor I smoke, and there's no smoking where I work, nor is it permitted in public places and certainly not at my checker club or any of the other clubs I've frequented.

I went back and asked the doorman about it, as I thought Colorado had no-smoking laws at least as strict as those in Iowa. But he informed me that this was a private club, not open to the general public, and so smoking was legal.

I ventured further into the club. It was divided into a number of small playing rooms with a couple of checker tables in each one. The rooms were luxuriously appointed. I couldn't imagine how much a membership must cost and felt lucky to have snagged an invitation. But the smoke was pervasive and despite my wanting to play some games with highly ranked players, I didn't know quite how long I could last.

Everyone, and I mean everyone who was playing was smoking. I went from room to room and it was the same everywhere. Besides, nearly all the players were women. Now I knew women played checkers but I never really thought about women playing checkers and smoking at the same time. It wasn't like this back in Iowa.

A couple of women didn't have a current opponent and beckoned to me, but I kept going from room to room hoping to find somewhere at least partially free of smoke.

Finally I went into what must have been the last room in the club. Another young lady was sitting at a board. Of course she had a cigarette in one hand. "Want a game?" she said. "I've got a few minutes before my usual playing partner gets here."

"Uh, well, " I said, "I was trying to find somewhere where there wasn't anyone smoking, and possibly a male opponent."

The girl laughed. "Are you kidding?" she said. "You got a problem with women or something? This club is a woman's club. We invite men sometimes but only as a favor to them. And anyhow, everybody here smokes. We're fans of Willie Ryan."

"Fans of Willie Ryan? What's that got to do with ... "

"Look over there." She motioned to a plaque on the wall. It was engraved with a quote from, of course, Willie Ryan.

"A good smoke is an indispensible compliment to a good social game of checkers" --- Willie Ryan

"Sure," I said, "but I know that quote and later on Willie says smoking doesn't do anybody any good."

"Well, Willie smoked and we smoke. Now are you going to play or what? Look, this is an elite club, maybe the best in town. I don't know who invited you but if you're not going to play, why are you here?"

I was having trouble breathing and I'm sure my clothes were permanently fouled with cigarette smoke. But she was right. I came to play.

"I'll play," I said. "You're right, that's why I came here."

"Okay, put up your hundred." So saying she laid a no-doubt smoke saturated hundred dollar bill on the table.

"I never play for ... "

"Spare me the wimpy excuses. We don't play for less than a C-note around here. Unless you think you're really good and want to play for more?"

I was half minded to turn around and walk out. But I knew I was a good player and maybe this gal needed a lesson. Yes, I know, I was being overconfident and, regrettably, misogynistic.

I put my hundred on the table and took a seat. The woman brought out a clock and lit a fresh cigarette. "Ten minutes per side," she said, "no time increment." That meant all of the moves in the game had to be made within ten minutes, and no extra time was added when you made a move. It was fast, cutthroat play with no holds barred and no quarter given.

The game began. I noticed that when it was her move, her cigarette would dangle from the fingers of her right hand. When it was my move, she would take big puffs and blow smoke in my direction. After a while, I asked her to quit doing that. "It's how we do things around here, little man," she replied, "and if you don't like it you can always resign."

With a ten minute time limit we were both playing fast. I'll admit she was good. Very good. The game got to the position shown below.

It was my move, and there were just over two minutes left on my clock. She, on the other hand, had almost five minutes left.

She lit yet another cigarette. She blew more clouds of smoke. My eyes were so irritated they wanted to close. Through the haze, I tried to focus.

"Maybe you need a shot of oxygen," she razzed. But somehow, I had decided upon my move.

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The smoke is thick. The opponent is tough. A substantial amount of money is at stake. What would you do here? The problem is actually quite easy and experienced players will solve it in well under a minute. Have a go at it and then click on Read More to see the solution and the rest of the story.

Solution and Conclusion

I played 18-22 and she laughed out loud. She replied at once with 19-15 and I knew I had lost. There was no point in continuing; the game would have gone 26-31 15-18 22-26 14-17 and I would be completely lost. I resigned and hastily stood up.

"You're not too bad, actually, except for that last really stupid move," she said as she took the money from the table and pocketed it. "You could have had a draw by playing a line so obvious even a novice could have seen it. But whatever you were thinking, if you were even thinking at all, it didn't work."

She demonstrated the following play.

26-31 19x26 31x22 32x23 18x27 to a draw.

Then she said, "You know what your problem is? You're a guy and you took at look at me and said, she's just a gal and a smoker besides and I can fool her with unsound play. I don't know where you come from but in this club, women are number one and rule the roost. Even if they smoke. Don't underestimate us or one day it will cost you something a lot more than a hundred bucks. Are you married?"

I said that I was.

"Well, doesn't say much about your wife's judgment," she said, "but to each her own."

This remark made me pretty angry, but I didn't see any point in replying. I got out of there as quickly as I could, and when I got back to the hotel, I took a long hot shower and tried to steam the smoke out of my clothes.

But all the while I wondered: What did I learn today? It was a mixed message. Certainly, one part of it was to never again underestimate a woman checker player, or a woman in general. Another was not to judge a book by its cover. But there was a question of sportsmanship, too, and I didn't think that the club, as elite as it might be, ranked very high in that category.

So I was left with some philosophical questions. What does "elite" really mean? What does it mean to be number one and rule the roost? And does eliteness come at the price of being tempted into arrogance and condescension?

The next morning, I was glad to fly home to Iowa, where at least for me, things were a lot simpler.

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Today's position was derived from a submittal by regular Toronto based contributors Lloyd and "Gosh Josh" Gordon. We expect that our story will be met with mixed reactions as it really stands on both sides of a philosophical divide. Do let us know what you think.