Author: Fernando Villegas
Date: 17:53:19 10/28/05
This is the real thing. Warm Wood under your hands. Big, ponderous pieces. A remarkable strong program by Lang. No buttons to press, no mouse to handle, no pressure to exert over the squares. Just moving the pieces from one place to another. The invisible player at the other side understand and answer after his thought with a modest light and a soft, civilized buzz. It could be as playing Morphy in some cozzy London club chamber. You are not, for some hours, facing the eternal screen that we face everyday. You does not listen the perpetual wheez of the fans running under the iron plates of the box. No pop ups of emails warnings. No pop up of firewalls boasting they have stopped an attack in his tracks Nothing but the game. Just the wood, the little red light, the tiny buzz. And just a game with a player strong enought to give you hard battle, but also capable of missplaying, of mistakes, of giving a real chance to play. A game is something to play. And to play is to play chances. Chances to recover from a mistake. Chances to make profits of the other guy mistakes. Bright moves to compensate for the bad ones. Bad moves to remember you, soberly, after the bright move, why you are not a master. The zig zag of fight. The alternatives of good and bad moments. The real thing. I am a happy man after those hours of reality-chess. Ferdinan.
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