27 August 2003
(Or, The Art of Winning Games Without Actually Cheating.)
This is an incredible book, only just squeaking over 100 pages with the appendices, and absolutely hilarious. Deception, skullduggery, and general caddishness in games is particular fascination of mine (c.f. Pooley’s employment of ‘the psychology’ in a game of Allotment Golf, from The Brentford Triangle ). It seems to be a peculiarly British phenomenon, desperation to win at something irrelevant — but without wanting to rely on such fickle things as form, practice, and ability.
There’s so much quotable material, but here are three particular gems. The first is a footnote about whistling, and this is stressed, while playing yourself. The aim is not to distract the opponent when they are in play, but when you are.
It may be worth recalling that Elgar himself, when playing croquet against fellow-musicians, made use of the Horn motiv from the Ring.
He would whistle this correctly except for the second note, substituting for A some inappropriate variant, often a slightly flattened D sharp, sliding up to it from the opening note of the phrase.
A voice from the past indeed. Yet have any of our modern experts in the music ploy really improved on this phrase, devised before Gamesmanship was formulated or even described?
The Theory and Practice of Gamesmanship: The Game Itself: Sportsmanship Play: footnote
Now we move onto what’s almost an appeal to authority.
In a Key Friendly, or any particular match which you are particularly anxious to win, the best general approach (Rule IV) is the expression of anxiety to play today, because of the match tomorrow. Construct a story that you are playing A. J. du C. Masterman* . Or perhaps the name should be A. C. Swinburne (your opponent will feel he has vaguely heard of this name). Go on to say (if the game is golf) — ‘Do you mind if I practise using my Number One iron today?’ — no need to use it or even have one — ‘as I want to know whether to take it tomorrow’ . Take one practise shot after having picked up your ball, at a lost hole. Seek the advice of opponent. Ask him ‘What he would do if he found himself playing against a really long driver, like A. C. Swinburne.’
* ‘Names impress according to the square of their initials.’
The Theory and Practice of Gamesmanship: The Game Itself: ‘My Tomorrow’s Match’
Unfortunately the story of G. Odoreida, ‘the first to enclose the Complete Records of Cricket in the cover of Bradshaw’s Railway Guide’ and a man who became capable of batting ambidextrously, switching hands between deliveries to tire out the fielders, is too long to transcribe here.
What isn’t, though, is Potter’s Opening, a peculiar chess manoeuvre. This is part of the sub-art of ‘losemanship’ — strangely not the most absurd use of -manship suffix — a focal point of gamesmanship, is the ability to turn an opponent’s winning vein into a losing streak.
[…] It consists of making three moves at random and then resigning. The dialogue runs as follows:
- Self
- Good. Excellent. [Opponent has just made this third move.] I must resign, of course.
- Opponent
- Resign?
- Self
- Well…you’re bound to take my Bishop after sixteen moves, unless…unless…And even then I lose my Castle three moves later.
- Opponent
- Oh, yes.
- Self
- Unless you sacrifice there, which, of course, you wouldn’t.
- Opponent
- No.
- Self
- Nice game.
- Opponent
- Yes.
- Self
- Pretty situation…very pretty situation. Do you mind if I take a note of it? The Chess News usually publishes any stuff I send them.
It is no exaggeration to say that this gambit, boldly carried out against the expert, heightens the reputation of the gamesman more effectively than the most courageous attempt to fight a losing battle.
The Theory and Practice of Gamesmanship: Game By Game: Chess: Potter’s Opening
Magnificent.