I’m Quitting Chess

Well, whether it is AI or not makes no difference to me - it is still well-written and obviously a lot of thought went into its construction and wording. Hey, I (until recently) was a software Developer and I used AI to generate some (slightly difficult) code.

Yes, the result was convoluted. Yes, it was a bit bloated and slow and sloppy but guess what? IT RAN just fine! Will it ever replace humans? It already has. Will it replace all humans like the Borg (was that Star Trek)? I don't know.

"The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence" - Charles Bukowski

My response? ... I highly doubt that. :-)

Chess is one of those things that looks calm from the outside. Quiet room, wooden board, pieces that barely make a sound. People think it’s all logic and brainpower, like a math problem that politely waits for you to solve it. That’s a lie. Chess is emotional chaos pretending to be civilized.

The ups are unreal. There’s nothing like the moment when a plan actually works. You see a tactic three moves ahead, you wait, you don’t panic, and then it happens. A fork. A pin. Checkmate. In that moment, everything clicks and you feel sharp, focused, almost untouchable. It’s not loud excitement, but it sticks deeper. It’s the feeling that you earned something with patience instead of luck. You didn’t just win. You understood.

Then there’s improvement. Grinding games, losing a lot, studying positions you messed up, and suddenly realizing you’re not making the same dumb mistakes anymore. You start spotting traps. You stop hanging pieces every five seconds. That slow progress feels better than instant wins because it proves you’re actually growing, not just getting lucky on a good day.

Now the downs. These hit harder.

Nothing hurts like knowing you were winning and still losing. Being up material, feeling confident, and then making one careless move. One. And the whole position collapses. That loss stays in your head way longer than it should. You replay it. You think about what you should’ve done. You get mad at yourself for rushing or getting comfortable. Chess has zero sympathy. It doesn’t care if you were tired, distracted, or “usually better than that.”

There’s also the mental exhaustion. Losing streaks mess with your confidence. You start doubting moves you would normally trust. You play scared. You overthink. The board feels heavier, like every decision has consequences way beyond the game, even though it’s just sixty-four squares and some pieces that don’t care about your feelings.

And yet, people keep coming back. That’s the weird part.

Chess teaches you humility whether you want it or not. You learn that effort matters, but it doesn’t guarantee anything. You learn that losing isn’t the opposite of winning, it’s part of it. Every strong player has been crushed more times than anyone sees. The game forces you to sit with failure and actually learn from it, not just complain and move on.

The ups make you feel capable. The downs make you honest. Together, they shape you.

Chess isn’t just a game about kings and queens. It’s about patience, discipline, and dealing with the fact that your choices matter. Sometimes they pay off. Sometimes they blow up in your face. Either way, the board resets, and you play again. That’s the real lesson, and honestly, that’s why chess sticks with people long after the clock runs out.