Donut Hole
by Andrew Sacks
Tang’s Donuts was not
an unusual name for a small coffee and donut shop
on the rather seedy eastern edge of Hollywood,
but the most common activity that transpired
there, night after night, until the weeest hours,
certainly was. It was speed chess, played with a
special chess game timer—played only
in that way—and played for stakes.
I had heard of the place
for years, but ventured down only when I was
confident that my skills at the Royal Game were
ready. Five years of tournament testing and
countless hours of casual blitz (speed chess) had
paid off. I took my chess expertise and a pocket
full of five dollar bills with me one Friday
night around 10:30.
It was called Tang’s,
but about the only hint of the Orient turned out
to be a Chinese calendar: the help was Hispanic,
and the clientele the same, with possibly a
sprinkling of Filipinos. I literally had to order
by gesturing and pointing.
I quickly gravitated, as if
by instinct, to the board of the strongest player.
I watched, interested but patient. I slowly
sipped my weak black coffee.
It was really no contest.
The skilled player was giving time odds, but won
game after game; he was simply too strong for his
opponent. Money changed hands with regularity and
rapidity. Three dollars a crack. But the strong
player was not really that strong—the other
was just hopelessly outclassed. I could show
their big fish what a pitifully small pond he had
been playing in.
The quarters were rather
cramped, and the place became busier and more
boisterous after maybe 45 minutes. As this board
attracted the most general interest, I was
jostled more than once, but maintained the
Styrofoam cup like a seasoned pro.
Finally, of course, there
was a little accident, and the cup tumbled. No
big deal. Not on somebody’s board. Just on
my pants and the floor. My unprofessional
exclamations brought over another spectator.
“It’s ok,”
he said. “Happens a lot.”
I smiled sheepishly, and
returned my glance to the board. Then I realized.
He spoke English, heavy Hispanic accent aside.
“Thank you for saying
that,” I said to him. He smiled in a
friendly manner and motioned me to an empty table.
“You play chess?”
“Very well,” I
said. “I play in tournaments.”
“Aha!” His eyes
lit up. “Speed chess too?”
“Yes. That’s why
I’m here. I’d like to get into a game.”
“Ahh! Wait.” He
smiled warmly and scampered back to the table
where we had met, and whispered something to the
donut shop champ. Whispers went back and forth.
“He’ll play you
soon,” he said upon his return. “Listen,
he speaks no English, but that’s ok. You don’t
mind. Chess is chess, and money is money, eh?”
and we laughed together.
“Listen,” he said,
almost conspiratorially, as he leaned in and
whispered, “if you want to offer a draw, say
‘gana.’”
I must admit I was taken
with my new friend. He was going over and above
for a stranger in a strange land. I thanked him
heartily and returned to my post.
My time soon came, and I
sat down to play. I brimmed with confidence and
held up all ten fingers as a stakes offer. He
smiled. Then he held up ten two times!
Now twenty dollars is a lot
for a blitz game, but why should I show weakness?
Truth to tell, I had only maybe $35.00 on me, so
a loss would clean me out, at those stakes. No. I
was the better player and I suavely accepted.
It was his table, so he
took the white pieces, only a slight edge for him,
and the game was on. Five minutes each.
Now, I don’t want to
say I was nervous, but there was a rather large
crowd closely around us, and I sensed there was
no one pulling for me. Well, maybe except for my
new friend, but there was no opportunity to
search the faces to try to locate him.
The position remained
balanced and time was ticking away. I hit upon
the idea of offering a draw and starting the next
game with both the white pieces and some
increased composure. I wavered just a bit in my
resolve. What if he did not accept? The time
ticked as I considered.
Now it was best to do so.
Surely he would accept in the dead even position,
and I was too short on time now for further
reflection.
“Gana,” I said
firmly, more in the spirit of declaration than
request.
He laughed heartily and the
crowd erupted, a couple of the men slapping him
on the back in congratulation. He reached his
right hand out, but not for a shake—for
payment! I heard whistling and clapping around me.
Nonplussed, I craned my head this way and that in
search of my English-speaking advisor. He was
nowhere in sight.
I did not understand, but I
figured I had to pay and come to grips with it
all later. I handed over some fives and made a
hasty exit.
I got to my apartment and
Googled a Spanish-English online translator.
Then I decided I better
learn a little more Spanish.
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