In which Bwog correspondent CML alights from the stygian sauna that is Woodbridge Residence Hall to nestle himself between the facade of Cardomat and the awning of Oren’s Daily Roast, to document a picaresque evening of rare chess camaraderie.
When you think of chess, you think of bearded Slavs with vodka on their breath, sterile cafeterias filled with five year-olds waiting to go home and play Super Smash Bros., and Garry Kasparov, the Mike Gravel of Russia. And when you think of chess in New York, what probably comes to mind are a few sepia-toned tableaux from ‘Searching for Bobby Fischer’ – bums in Washington Square, tyrannical tutors, kids developing scoliosis from hunching over a board for hours a day, and so on.
But chess in Morningside Heights? Read more…