I played my first Blitz game (of chess) yesterday against some stranger in San Diego. I chose “10 minutes” thinking I’d have ten minutes per move. Not ten minutes for all of my moves.
“Train wreck” and “blood bath” are cliches. My opponent was much more precise than either a mechanical collision or a machete wielding villain. After it was over, I opened the chat window and explained that I hadn’t understood the time limit, that I had panicked.
He departed without comment. I’d be lying if I said the rapid discard hadn’t bruised me for a second and a half. Perhaps he doesn’t understand written English, I rationalized.
Here’s an idea: if you’re playing computer games with someone whose language differs from yours, go to Google Translate. Load up “I don’t understand your language. Thank you for the game,” on to your clipboard. Have it ready to paste when/if your opponent attempts conversation (i.e., soul-searching closure). See?
Я не могу читать ваш язык. Спасибо за игру.
Je ne comprends pas votre langue. Merci pour votre match.
I maintain my assertion from the beginning of this series: I am not a masochist. I will practice with the computer some more and read more lessons before I subject myself to another one of those Bitzes. (Stupid Blitz!) (I’m a poor sport, yes; masochist, no.)
Oh, and I’ll be adding some minutes to the clock for my next round.
November — NaBloPoMo — Day Nine