Once upon a time there was a kid that ended up in jail. He was a middle class kid, from a middle class neighborhood, with parents that cared plenty about him, took an interest in his activities, drove to his ballgames to watch him play right field where he hardly ever got much action, and when he did he was in lala land anyway and half the time didn't snap out of it quite quick enough to make the catch. But on those days he was dialed in he did make the play-- once a game when the ball game his way-- he had an arm and could toss the ball home from right field. And every once in a while when he got up to bat he could swat one over the fence-- he even hit a house in the neighborhood once-- but more often he struck out, or popped one up, or walked.
The years passed and his number one big dream never panned out: playing for the yankees. He didn't make varsity, either, and in college didn't bother going out for baseball. He made some good friends though, and got himself a girlfriend and things were going just fine. (We all have to adjust some from our childhood dreams, right? Well, not quite all of us.)
But then things weren't going so fine. And one loud, late, difficult argument with the girlfriend ended physically, and the police were called, and the boyman was hauled in. The twist was-- nobody knew he was there. In jail, you can only call out collect, and cell phones don't accept collect calls. His parents had cellphones. All his buddies only had cell phones. And he was too ashamed to call the one landline he knew-- his grandma's.
In the meantime, he was in jail, and while he was 6'1" and over 200 pounds, he was feeling like one of the smallest guys there. And he was feeling pretty white, too. And privileged-- though not so much at this particular moment. And uncomfortable, and not sure how he was going to keep his head above water in this new environment. Party nights, frat buddies, and college classes were no longer part of his reality.
Back in first and second grade, when he was really still a boy, he logged quite a few hours of online chess. Dad was into chess, you see, and introduced him. And he was taken with the novelty-- the ability to play people halfway around the world who were staying up late playing chess, whereas he'd just had breakfast. He liked the IM feature especially-- maybe even more than the chess. Chatting with people during the games, finding out random things, like age and favorite sports. His opponents weren't always gracious, either, when they found out his age--7-- after he'd beaten them. Though he didn't always win. He was no prodigy, just a kid logging hours on the chess board that liked chatting with opponents in Australia and Germany while he played.
But he got pretty good. He took 2nd place in an elementary K-5 tournament, as a 2nd grader. Then he grew up-- went through middle and high school and into college and pretty much quit playing.
Until jail. There was a board, and the guys played to pass the time. The boyman kibitzed a few games, realized they were no masters, got up the gumption to call "next game." And sat down and beat his opponent, then held the table for the rest of the morning.
Suddenly, the pressure eased up. "Yo, man-- I like this kid! He sure 'nuff can play, that fo sho. He kinda funny, too-- whatcha name, college boy?" He figured the kid's background and predicament without asking.
And with that, the boy did his time. Another kid he befriended made the call once he got out (two days later), parents paid the bail, and he was out. College boy that caught a break, was his name. Not that his predicament ended there, but jail time did...
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