The Evans Gambit and the Anatomy of Humiliation - A True Story Of Mine

Back in high school, I knew exactly one proper opening: the Evans Gambit. And frankly, I felt like I didn’t need anything else. After a two-year break from tournaments, a good friend talked me into playing the regional championship for my age group. I figured — why not? Shake off the rust, feel the tension of battle again.

Round One: Laughter in the Face

I had the white pieces. Naturally — Evans. But by move ten or so, I was already in serious trouble. Not quite lost yet, but clearly worse. I’d blundered a pawn, then another, and a third soon followed. No real compensation. My opponent had castled; I was floundering without any plan.

And then came the slap.

He stood up and summoned his buddies — a pack of loudmouthed apes. They gathered behind me, pointing, giggling, whispering loud enough for me to hear. Not even trying to hide it. They were mocking my opening, mocking my position, mocking me.

But justice has strange rhythms.

He got careless. I picked off a pawn. Then another. We entered an endgame. I clawed back, and in the end — a draw. Not a glorious result on paper, but to me it felt like a moral victory. I saw the doubt in his eyes. The fear of a win gone wrong.

The Interlude: Studying in the Shadows

The break between rounds was long enough for me to go home. In truth, I hadn’t just taken a two-year break from tournaments — I hadn’t touched a chessboard in that time, nor looked at a single line of theory. My love for the game had gone dormant, buried under other distractions. That morning’s game was my first in years.

But now, something had stirred.

I sat alone in my room, the score sheet from the morning beside me, and reopened the one chess book I owned — Chess, the Game of Millions by Dragoslav Andrić. I replayed the earlier disaster, understood where I’d gone wrong, and methodically reviewed the chapters on the Evans Gambit. Slowly, the old warmth returned. Lines I had once known came back to me. My hands remembered the plans before my mind did.

I wasn’t fully back — not yet — but the engine had turned over. And it was running hot.

Round Two: Retribution Without Words

I checked the pairings. White again. I took my seat and waited.

He arrived.

Popović.

The sniveling, smirking sidekick from the morning. One of the loudest behind my back. And now — directly in front of me.

Perfect.

The Crime Scene Unfolds

Evans Gambit again, of course.

In move five, unlike his friend from the morning who had played his bishop to a5, Popović played Bc5. My book had warned: that’s slightly weaker, because it allows d4 with tempo on the bishop. He tried to muddy the waters by giving a check. I blocked with my knight, pieces came off — but I kept the bishop pair. A small, satisfying strategic edge.

Then came move nine. He played Ne7 instead of the more natural Nf6, clearly aiming to avoid giving me tempo later with an attack on that knight. But he hadn’t considered the key difference: the e7 knight doesn’t control h5.

I stared at the board. If he had played Nf6, I wouldn’t even be looking at this line. But this — this opened a door.

Ng5. Threatening things. Hinting at a Fried Liver, perhaps. His kingside was weakening. If he castled now, I had Qh5, hitting h7 and preparing to overload f7, which would soon be attacked three times and defended only twice.

I played Ng5. He castled — too quickly.

Qh5. The queen struck like a whip.

He should’ve played d5. We’d have been equal. But now the waters were rising. He had to play h6, and he did, but it was too late. I followed up with Nf7 — hitting the queen, threatening a discovered check.

He fidgeted. He stalled. He sweated. And in the end, he moved his king.

And that was it.

The rest was execution. He could’ve tried taking the knight with his rook — but I’ll leave that as a challenge to you, dear readers. Find the winning continuation for White in that line. The first three who post the correct sequence in the comments get 65% off (19$*0,35=6,65$) on three of my training sessions.

I said nothing after the game. No gloating, no smile. But inside? Oh, I savored it. The same gang that mocked me now walked by in stunned silence, watching their brave little friend get dismantled in less than 20 moves.

Vae victis.