What is your favorite chess story?

In the 19th century there were often no time limits. Games could last for days and the players had to stay together until the end.

During a game , one of the players couldn't stand this anymore , and begged his opponent to move after three hours of waiting. All he got was a surprised response : "Sir , are you sure it's my turn?"

A variant of this has to do with Morphy who started crying while he was waiting for Paulsen's move.

OHH Hoho! The following is a true story:

I was 24, drinking alcoholically at the time, and went camping with parents in Colorado, U.S.A. with my parents. They locked up the beer, and I wanted to drink and play chess...so I told them I'd be back in an hour to go talk a walk. I found what I was looking for ...an old man drinking by himself, looking bored.

We talked for a min, and got to playing chess and drinking his Remy Martin with coffee/sugar/lemon to chase the $150 bottle with.

Time flew by (as it does when your playing fun games with good competition), we were getting quite drunk, and he asked me to watch his tent while he got another bottle in town. 

Old Russian man gets back, and he shows me his combat shot gun ( for some reason it has a scope and laser, haha), very nice tactical piece. He's hammered at this point, and offers to bet me my cheap $20 travel board if he wins, and his shotgun if I win.

We played a heartfelt, passionate game with many drunken blunders on both sides, and eventually he resigns. He gives me the shotgun as promised, and I start stumbling back to my parent RV, get lost, and find myself walking into the campsite occupied by a group of Mormons around 11 pm.

There were about 10 of them, and we're talking about issues with gluten, and not enough food service people understand and accommodate gluten sensitive folk. I sat down in an empty chair with my new shotgun, and the Mormons quickly became quiet. 

I tried to break the ice, and spoke thunderously, to nobody in particular.

"Yeah, I remember it use to be the blacks. People would always give the new black folk shit because they were different."

Frowns spoke for themselves, and I could feel the tension building within these folks;  I didn't doubt they were upset, alarmed and perhaps even a little scared regarding my presence.  

I continued, " Now it's not the blacks, it's the gluten gang too! I wish people would just leave good folk like you alone, and quit judging your breadless lifestyle!" I finished my drunken ramble, asking if anyone had some gluten free liquor I could have.

"Excuse me sir", asked an older man, "I'm a little confused as to who you are. Do any of us know you?"

"Well, I'm a decent chess player sober, and I've been trying to figure out who I am for the last 24 years. As to being acquainted with any of you former, or latter day saint; well, I don't remember what you John Smith fans go by nowadays...well I don't know any of you yet, but I'm getting to be familiar!"

I was asked to leave, and after falling down a couple times, I sashayed my way out of their camp, wishing them a gluten-free day on my way out.

I eventually found my way to parents, where there was a sheriff waiting. My parents were hysterical that I had been gone so long..it was 3 am. The sheriff was concerned about the shotgun I had, so we drove around until we found him, and returned the piece once he had come too.

The moral of the story: Me and alcohol don't mix, and some old Russian men get passionate over the game to the point of wagering tactical shotguns against their skill.

Two weeks later I experienced my first blowjob while playing chess on my PC. I lost the game, but will always remember how enjoyable that particular advance variation Caro-Kann was. That, however, is another story, and the details are not for sharing, haha!

RUBENSTEIN always was known to play 1.PQ4 (d4) so for a joke at a tournament some players nailed his Q pawn to the chess board . Sorry but you guys already told my best stories :-(

Bogolyubov,believed that he could defeat any chess player at any time. but in a strong international event. After five consecutive losses, a reporter approached him. "Bogolyubov, what has happened to you?" "Vell, is a tragic story," replied the great Bogolyubov."Before the first round, my wife and I had a terrible fight. I simply could not concentrate. "Before the second round, my wife and I made up, and she cooked me a most fantastic meal. But it sat in my stomach like a rock."The night before the third round, there was a terrible commotion on the street outside our hotel room. I simply got no sleep. "And during the fourth round, my opponent arrived wearing a leather jacket. Imagine! Every time he makes move, it makes a terrible sound. I could not focus." There was a short pause, and the reporter asked in curiosity: "So, what happened in round five?"

Bogolyubov replied: "Vell, even a great player can lose one game!"