mogami
Posts: 12789
Joined: 8/23/2000
From: You can't get here from there
Status: offline
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Hi, I hope I don't bore people by posting these again. They were hidden up in Art of War and might have been missed.
That **** Cat
Not once in over 100 games did that cat ever beat me at chess? (I was a little drunk during the draws) and that cat used to show up at the 'Stein Club' around 0130 and try to take advantage of me. He then would follow me home and try to steal my beer. He had no tail and no meow, (He was a cat mime) was all black (except for a white patch on his neck and one white front paw) No one else ever saw him. He used to climb on top of me when I was sleeping and make strange noises (he used a ball of tin foil) till I woke up and then he would just stare at me like I was supposed to read his mind. I could never get him to stop playing the 'Grob' against me when he had the white pieces. Over and Over and Over the same moves. I of course pulled out no stops when I had the white pieces. He was good at the French defense, but was a **** if I used the Sicilian Dragon (another opening where he made the same moves repeatedly) Finally when he figured out he could not win with skill he started developing annoying habits during a game. He would reach out as if he was going to move a piece but then pull his paw back and stare at me. Stick the paw out and pull it back and stare at me. Like watching paint dry. During my move he would commence licking body parts one should refrain from licking while engaged in a game of chess and then of course he would stare at me some more only now he would have a smile. Scratching the table, have I mentioned scratching the table? Do you know how annoying your opponent suddenly going into a scratching frenzy just when you are contemplating a queen sac is? Drooling, Drooling should be in the rules as a violation of the game. Wet pieces are not fun to play with (not to mention how hard it is to keep notation on a soggy notepad) In hopeless positions he would just sit there...refusing to resign and refusing to move I think he felt losing on time was better then admitting defeat. (he always pretended to be suprised when his flag fell and acted like the clock had saved me from his next move that would have reversed everything and revealed his true chess genius (but if I pretended to fall alseep I could sometimes trick him into moving-he wanted to have me stay asleep and lose on time the dirty sneak) Well to put an end to this story one night about 0130 I was deep into several pitchers of beer playing several differnet games of chess at once (for beer of course) and I did not see when he came in and when I reached his board for my move he hid under the table I moved and went on to next board. Every time I came back he had moved a piece (he did not play the 'Grob' for this one time. Instead he was going for the Kings Indian Attack) Getting close to closing time I still had never seen who I was playing (the board was a locked up close center with lots of behind the lines reshuffing) I got to the board and he had moved his last move back to the square it had came from, the move I had made was based on this last move so I put my piece back, (I was drunk and in a hurry) after three such times as soon as I made my move he lept out from under the table and stood right in the middle of the board and reared up on jis hind legs (like a lion on a coat of arms) He was over joyed he had just gotten a draw by three fold repition and acted like he just beat Karpov (this was back before Kasparov and Deep Big Blue whatever)
Now that I think about it, I miss that **** cat
One night I was headed for the Stein Club after seeing a Braves game at Fulton County Stadium Bobby Horner had hit three homer's but the Braves had still managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory
Is was hot, July or August and I was slightly on the wobbly side from the effect of the beer. I always had a beer for every run the Braves scored during a game, Thirteen is a lot of beer in two hours (and yes they scored thirteen runs and lost). But traditions not up held soon lose their value as tradition so there I was wobbling my way down Peachtree Street somewhere in the vincity of midnight and morning The Stein Club was closed by the time I found what city it had moved to. So now I was going to find that place I slept at. Phew it was twenty blocks further and I had gotten thirsty again. There he was sitting in the window of the Stein Club. I had not seen hide nor hair of him in over a month. Not since the night I had put an empty pitcher over his head and watched him crash around the bar for five minutes before it came off Why would I do such a thing you might ask? OK I'll tell you why the little rascal had nicked a knight from a neighboring game without me noticing it. And when it was my turn and I did my look see I found suddenly I was in quite the bind and in danger of dropping a piece to a combo I had not seen coming. There he sat with that 'I just licked my you know what and your screwed' smile of his. To say I was annoyed would be to entirely understate my mood. It developed that he had a passed pawn and he sac'd his bogus knight to promote it. **** Cat had miscounted the moves however and he missed the part where he was mated the turn he promoted I was in good sprits and prepared to forgive him the anxious moments he had cost me. That is until the folks at the next table noticed their missing knight and saw it on my table next to me.... After that cleared away I grabbed the pitcher and stuck it over his head before I thought about it. Now understand I had never hit, kicked or abused this cat and only rarely swore out load at him and he expressed quite a bit of indignation at the precedence I had just established. After the offending pitcher was removed he glared at me for a few long moments and then departed in a huff
So I was slightly suprised to find him sitting in the window of the Stein Club at the hour the early morning chill was coming out to say hello. I did not acknowledge him then but simply started for home. He fell in behind me. It is a strange fact but a person can grow used to someone or something even things or people that really get on your nerves after a while. You miss them when their gone even against your will or better judgment. So I found I was rather happy to see him after all. It was several blocks before I looked back and noticed he was limping badly but still keeping up. I stopped and knelt down for a look. He was a wreck. Never a dirty cat he was matted and sooty and for the first time I detected the fact he smelled like a garbage can. He was cut and battered had parts missing from one ear his nose had a slit running for several inches and his right eye was swollen shut. I had never before picked up this cat. He never acted like that was acceptable conduct on my part. He was not a lap or petting cat. It is true he liked to sleep on top of me, but it was not required I pet him. In fact he always waited for me to go to sleep before getting on me. In the winter time I often woke up and there he was under the blanket with his head on the pillow snoring well snoring and purring. While he had no meow he made up for it with snoring and purring. Two beers and he would begin purring uncontrollably for hours. He had no interest in playing with yarn or string or balls except of course his ball. His ball of tin foil that he was never without. It was the size of a golf ball wadded tight and hard. If you threw this ball he would go after it without delay. If I had went to the middle of the Chattahoochi Bridge and thrown it over the side he would have followed after it. If I had thrown it on a railroad track while an express train was passing over it he would have went after it. And there it was in his bleeding mouth. Slightly battered and frayed but no where near as bad as he. So I picked him up just to save myself the guilt of him limping after me He started purring that instant. I stumbled on my foggy way toward home. His breathing sounded like an old set of bag pipes that had not quite finished the last note it would sound before fading into silence forever. I was actually worried he was on the verge of using one of a cats nine lives and I was not certain the amount of them he had left Knowing him as I did I knew whatever had happened to him. He no doubt asked for it. Could have avoided it. But rather choose to suffer it then take an alternate course that required he change his ways. By dawn we were home and I put him on the bed. He went to sleep and I did too. Many hours later I woke up to the load purring and snoring and weight of a cat on my chestI woke him up and we ate. Then I gave him a bath. He submitted tamely and without a fuss and when it was over sat on the mantelpiece and performed that ritual all cats must do of licking every part of their anatomy they can reach. When this was completed he leapt from the mantel to the bed curled up and went to sleep. I had tickets to the ball game. Back then Fulton County Stadium was not like your average ballpark. It was quite common in those days to have a seat where your closest neighbor was further away then Dale Murphy could hit a baseball. Channel 17 was not yet a 'super' station and the Braves were a dozen years from becoming Americas team. cough cough. To give the appearance of attendance Ted Turner his self used to wander around handing out free tickets. They were good seats too right behind home plate, right where the TV cameras would show the world people really did go to ball games in Atlanta. Now I don't like to miss any part of a game. Not a ball not a foul so to avoid this possibly I purchase enough beer to last a while (provided the Braves don't go on a scoring rampage like the prior night when I logged more miles then Marco Polo just fetching beer So around seven o five I was firmly in place in my seat twenty rows up right behind home plate. Six cups of beer arrayed around the chair in easy to reach well thought out locations. A monster box of popcorn and it was 'play ball' time. The game progressed, now the third inning. Phil (Knucksie) Niekro got them out 1-2-3 and I reached for a beer........fur? Someone put fur in my beer. I look down and there's that **** cat. His head is 8 inches inside a 10 inch cup and he is slurping the bottom. Wait my word the cup beside it is already empty. In the time it took for a 1-2-3 inning he had sucked down two full monster ball park (this was the 70's) cups of beer. Admiration and anger competed for control of my emotions. Lucky cat admiration won. I snatched the surviving beer from certain cat slurppdom and everything was fine. (Niekro was pitching great the knuckle ball was floating like the butterfly and the Braves led 2-0) So it was not too difficult to forgive an old friend While I wondered just how he had gotten all the way to Fulton County Stadium the cat picked up his ball of tin foil and hopped up into the seat beside me. There was no one in my row or for several rows (Ted was generous but those lower seats were the few seats that usually had sitters who actually paid to sit in them While everything would have been fine except....What was I saying about Niekros knukleball Oh yes it was Willie Stargell who had said of it "moves like a butterfly with hic ups" The cat now had the hic ups. I ignored it for a spell. Every time I looked over he would look back at me and hic up. He really for once looked sorry. Perhaps it was just embarrassment but. I really was getting a bit beerized and it struck me as slightly funny. Still one does not laugh at ones friends misery. So I moved him to my lap and started to pat him on the back trying to clear his hic ups. They came at an accelerated rate. Then at last they slowed and ceased. The cat looked up. Looked around. And wham over my head he flew and scampered up the aisle and into the dark corridors of deserted Fulton County Stadium. Did I say deserted? I looked up an saw that every one in the seats below me had turned around and was staring at me. The ball players on the field had stopped playing and were all looking up at the giant TV screen. You know the one they show the replay on and sometimes put a camera on a person in the stands. The one everyone watching the game on TV sees. Yes, that one. Then I realized the camera had caught me sitting there with my hand going up and down on my lap. And that strange face I had assumed while trying to help the hic ups depart that **** cat. My ears were still on fire several hours later when I entered my beloved Stein Club.... A place where if the world was ending and a Braves game was being shown on TV (and Ted knew better then to black out a game, one way or another you were going to see the Braves) The Braves would be on TV at the Stein Club. The hoots, the shrieks, the laughing.
24 years have past. I take the by pass around Atlanta now. (I take the by pass around Georgia now) Still I hear the up roar and on still nights my ears will burn and the hooting still echo like the soft little beeps you get during a hearing test only not peep beep or tweet but hoot hoot HOOT But I do miss that **** cat
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 I'm not retreating, I'm attacking in a different direction!
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