It Was Raining Hard In Buckhead

My life has been filled with synchronicity. While driving for Buckhead Safety Cab in the 80’s I was sent to an apartment at o’dark thiry. Some guy walked toward the car and even though it was dark and I had not seen the man in many years I called out his name, “Roger Chrysler.” He stopped dead in his tracks. “Who’s that?” he asked. “Mike Bacon,” was the reply. He began walking as briskly as possible while carrying luggage and skis. He greeted me warmly and we talked on the way to the airport. I asked why he had stopped playing Chess and he said, “I lost my wife, I lost my life, all to become a “B” player!” His wife was extremely pretty. I have no idea how I knew the man with the skis was someone to whom I had given Chess lessons many years earlier.

I had a short, intense relationship with a woman, Cynthia, who worked for an airline. The last time I saw her she ended the relationship by saying, “Michael, I love you, but will you never have any money and I want money, lots of it!”

Fast forward maybe seven years…I’m driving for Buckhead Safety Cab on a rainy night and was about to drop someone off near a call Fish, the dispatcher, was holding. His real name was Bobby Sisti. The first time we met at the office located on East Paces Ferry Road I asked if he were related to former MLBaseball player Sibby Sisti and his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Yes! No one has ever asked me that before. You like Baseball?” he asked. “I LOVE Baseball,” was the reply. This was not the first time I had seen Fish. Over the years I had seen him in the afternoon at the Varsity, smoking his omnipresent long cigarette while carrying on a conversation with someone, anyone. Although the large television was on Fish usually captured my attention because as he talked he would look at me as if he knew me. Fish was pudgy then; later he would become overweight. I often wondered why he was always at the Varsity in the afternoon. He was a fine dispatcher, one of the best with whom I worked at any cab company. He had asked me to notify him when I “dropped.” I dropped the guy, who did not have all of the fare. He said, “Sorry man, that’s all I got, but you can have this.” He handed me an already rolled fatty. “That’s some real good shit, man,” he said. “That’s what they all say…” came the reply. He laughed before handing me a bag containing more of the “real good shit,” before saying, “Hope this covers it.” I put the “fatty” in the ashtray and the baggie in my omnipresent Urban Explorer bag because my cab driving motto was, “I don’t turn down nothing but my collar.” Fish was notified and he gave me an address near Powers Ferry. This is one of the best things that can happen to a cab driver because ordinarily after dropping someone “out of the zone” one would have to dead-head on the return trip. A driver cannot go into any area other than the one his permit allows without the possibility of being arrested for picking up in a forbidden area. Not that cab drivers are the most honest of people, but if you attempt to put any passenger in your taxi illegally, you take your chances and, if caught, you pay the money.

By now the rain was coming down in buckets. I loathed driving in the rain, especially at night, but it was a weekend night which was time to put some profit into the pocket. Once I was driving the cab owned by the night dispatcher, Terry Walker. I picked up a lovely young lady who asked me to pull around to the rear of the apartments so she would not have to walk so far in the rain. Unfortunately the rain had created a gully which I could not see and it caused the rear axle to break. Terry had a wife pregnant with twins and a young daughter. Terry would drive a shift, go home to catch some shut-eye, then dispatch the late night shift while I drove his taxi. The cab being down would hurt him tremendously. When I got back to the office Terry said, “Mike, you know that when you drive for someone else he is responsible for all the repairs. Thing is, Mike, I don’t have the money. Is there any way you can help me with half of it?”

“How much will it cost to have it repaired, Terry?” I asked. He gave me a figure. I took off my L.L. Bean glove leather money belt and took out the full amount, laying it on the desk. “I broke it, Terry, I’ll pay for it. Get us back on the road.” Terry was STUNNED, and so were the other drivers there at the time, including the supervisor. “I’m heading to Aunt Charley’s before heading home. Call me when the repairs are completed.”

I did what was needed at the time. I had no idea what it would mean for the future; it was simply the right thing to do. How could I have possibly known it would garner so much respect from not only the people at BSC but from so many people involved with the taxi business in the city of Atlanta? Later it got back to me that the supervisor, a crusty old curmudgeon named Scotty Pickering, a man who had been awarded every medal possible in World War II, and had a severe drinking problem because of it, said, “Bacon is not only the best cab driver I have ever known, but one of the best people I have known in my life. I’d want him in my foxhole.”

After arriving at the address given me by Fish I pulled up to a mansion where a party was breaking up. I could not get close because of the many vehicles, but saw two people heading toward the cab. I knew immediately one was Cynthia. I do not know how I knew, but I knew. The other person was an older man. You drive a cab and learn quickly to size up EVERYONE! The old guy opened the door, putting Cynthia in first, then he walked around to the other side of the cab. As he did, I turned around and said, “Hello Cynthia.” I’ll never forget the astonished look on her face…Her eyes blazed with incredulity. The older gentleman entered and I asked “Where to?” It was a side street off West Paces Ferry near the Governor’s Mansion. We rode in silence. Almost before we came to a stop at the mansion Cynthia opened the door and bolted toward the front door. “You know each other?” the old guy asked. I thought of a Dylan song before saying, “Twas in another lifetime…” The guy wanted to go after her so he tossed me a bill and got out. It was a C-note. Then he stuck his head back in before closing the door and said, “That was a fifty, right?”

“Right,” was the reply. Then he began trotting after Cynthia, shouting, “Cindy! Cindy!”

I drove down the half moon driveway of his mansion, checking the time, trying to decide whether to head right toward Steak & Shake, or left, back to the ‘Head. After reaching the bottom of the driveway I remembered the fatty,and nabbed it out of the ashtray. I fired it up and took a toke…”Man o’ man,” I’m thinking, “that is some PRIMO SHIT!” Just to make sure my initial judgement was correct, I took another tasty, lung wrentchin’ pull, and it was confirmed; this WAS some FANTASTIC WEED! It was so good I was afraid to take another toke, so I turned on the radio. It was quite for a moment and as I reached for the knob I heard the opening chords of this song:

Psycho Taxi Boy Checkmated

My birthday is tomorrow, or today, depending…Technically, according to legend, I was born at 7 AM, August 21, 1950, in the back seat of a Ford convertible on the way to Emory hospital. The story handed down says my mother’s cousin, Carrie, was in the back seat attempting to keep me from coming by keeping mothers legs together. I was having none of it, and pushed my way into the world.

The next day at the blog begins at 8 PM, so technically it is already August 21, but then, it’s always five o’clock somewhere according to fellow Georgian and country singer Alan Jackson. I have therefore decided to publish a couple of posts that are personal in nature. Without further ado…

Someone did an internet search of yours truly finding my name, Mike Bacon, contained in a blog post. “Is that you?” he inquired. After checking it out, honesty compelled me to reply it was indeed me about whom she had written. If unaccustomed to reading something someone has written about you it can be disconcerting. I write about other people, some of whom like it, some are indifferent, and some do not like it at all. I have always appreciated hearing what others think of me, which seldom happens unless someone wants to give you a piece of their mind.

I met Debbie while driving a cab. As a matter of fact it was an “outlaw” cab because I was in Atlanta and the cab was registered in another county. I was in that particular cab because the folks at Checker Cab Company wanted me to better learn other areas of the metropolitan Atlanta area which would help if I decided to become a dispatcher. Unfortunately, the manager of the company feared I was there to take his job. Long story short, the manager of this particular company, a fat, smarmy type was “in love” with some woman and was apparently embezzling funds to spend on “the love of his life” from the small company which had earlier been purchased by Checker Cab Co. I voiced my suspicions to the supervisor, who happened to be a friend. He told the owners, who did not want to hear it, and I left the company. Later my friend, TDub, informed me an audit had been instituted because of my suspicions and it was found the guy had been, in fact, embezzling funds…

Debbie and I had a short, tempestuous, relationship. Some of my acquaintances thought of her as a “new age” type. She had an apartment in a nice, upscale, area and asked me to move in with her. I was only there a few days because the manager of the property did not want a taxi parked anywhere near the place. Debbie wanted me to talk with the lady in hopes talking with me would dissuade the woman. Even though I told her it would be a waste of time she convinced me to talk with the woman. It was a waste of time, and I moved immediately…

Debbie told me she had been in the import-export business, traveling the world making purchases which she would sell while turning a profit. Upon learning I had been in the sports memorabilia business she said, “So you were in retail, too!”

The last time I saw Debbie she had gotten touch to invite me to her houseboat on Lake Lanier. I was informed she was on the lake as a way of “getting off the grid,” because of a “deal gone wrong.” I did not ask her to elaborate…

After beginning this blog a comment was left by Debbie. We corresponded via email for some time and I learned she had gotten heavily involved with Reikki, and Thai massage. She sent a picture of her and of her house/business in Indiana:

What can I say other than Debbie is a colorful, and quirky, woman…

What follows is from her blog. Rather than providing a link I have decided to print the whole thing. If you decide to read it I would like you to understand something important. The piece is a mixture of fact and fantasy. For the record, I am agnostic. Debbie writes, “I got in the passenger seat alongside Mike…” If one drives a cab in Atlanta it is OK to have a female in the front seat with no passenger(s) in the back ONLY IF THE METER IS OFF! If the meter is on there must be people in the back seat, with the front seat utilized only in that event. This is because there is a law against it, which dates to a time cab drivers would have a woman in the front seat with them who was amenable to administering to the needs of certain passengers, if you get my drift…The police are very strict about enforcing that particular law. In addition, when a cabbie arrived at a “Gentleman’s Club” he was, at the time I drove, given a certain amount of cash per each passenger, which varied at each joint, and the new ones would ‘up the ante’ as a way of having more patrons come through the door. No cab driver would allow ANYONE to sit in a cash seat. So her riding around in my cab while I was on duty NEVER HAPPENED! I will, though, give Debbie “poetic license,” along with the caveat “Creativity comes from the dark side,” a quote from Glenn Frey.

It is written: “Mike claimed that the most lucrative night of the year for Atlanta’s cabbies was the last night of the Southern Baptist convention. After sending their families and attendees away in time for Sunday services back home, a select group of pastors, choir directors, youth leaders and the like stayed on for a little private convening of their own…at the infamous Cheetah strip club.”

Evidently I regaled Debbie with tales of cabbie daze. Unfortunately, she is writing a couple of decades after the fact and has obviously misconstrued some things. For instance, I never drove as “Cab load after cab load of these church guys were carried from their fancy midtown hotels to the club all night long.” As a matter of fact my most memorable trip to the infamous Cheetah Club culminated with one of the three passengers in the back seat being ARRESTED. To make matters worse, the drunken fool claimed to be an assistant DA in some small town in South Carolina. I asked them nicely to “tone it down.” Two did, but the fellow in the middle refused to comply even when the other two begged him to be quiet. He ridiculed me for driving a taxi, constantly making disparaging comments. I took more than necessary because no cab driver wants to lose a fare. I was fed up with his verbal abuse so pulled over on Spring street and ordered them out of the cab. The assistant DA began screaming, “YOU DON’T KNOW WHO I AM!” I AM AN ASSISTANT DA!” I replied, “Mister, I don’t give a shit who you are. If you were the Attorney General you would have to abide by MY RULES because it is MY CAB, and when you are in MY CAB I AM THE SUPREME CAB CONTROLLER!!!”

The other two passengers attempted to talk sense to the idiot, but he was out of his mind DRUNK, and refused to listen. They exited the cab, but Mr. Ass DA refused, so I called the dispatcher, who notified the police. Upon arriving the cops wanted to hear what I had to say, which pissed him off IMMENSELY. He continued to talk, saying things like, “Why are you talking to a lowly CAB DRIVER. YOU DON’T KNOW WHO I AM! I AM AN ASSISTANT DA! YOU SHOULD BE TALKING TO ME!”

One of the cops responded, “Sir, I don’t care if you are the Attorney General. I want to talk with the cabbie. If you do not SHUT-UP you are going to JAIL!” This pissed him off even more and he continued his drunken blather, so was slapped in irons and taken to jail. After leaving I got back into MY CAB and started to drive off. The two quiet drunks said, “Hey, you ain’t gonna leave us here on the side of the road are you?” Before hitting the gas I said, “Call a CAB!”

I will admit that during convention time I drove “Cab load after cab load…” to and from strip clubs because that was my JOB. But I never drove “church guys” because it was a well known fact that the church types preferred staying in their rooms to watch porn. Anyone around during that time will tell you the rentals of porn videos was off the charts at every hotel in the city when the religious types came into town. Business was so bad at the strip clubs many of the girls did not come to work and most of those who did were sent home.

With this in mind I give you…

Psycho Taxi Boy on a Terribly Hot Sunday Night with the Southern Baptist Convention

13 January 2017

“Want to go for a ride? We haven’t talked in awhile…”

I recognized that drawl…
Mike Bacon…miscreant, Atlanta Chess Champion cum gypsy cab driver…
Against my better judgment, I said ok.
“Meet me out front in half an hour.”

The uniquely infuriating Mike Bacon aka Psycho Taxi Boy…
Our last big blowup was 5 or 6 months before.
He had insulted me to the limits of my patience…over some alleged
scandalous behavior of church leaders.
Now Michael had no patience for religious types.
I had little myself, but he had brought his point home
in a stunningly dreadful way.

Now, word for word, no one on the planet has a better command
of the English language than a denizen of the American South.
They are easily the most colorful, artful and entertaining of the speakers.
They certainly do the most with the least.
Homespun wit and native intellect merge in a wickedly punchy brew.
Consider the likes of Tom Robbins if you don’t believe me…

Having ferried all manner of people from around the world in his cab
all those years, Michael had an endless supply of quirky stories.
Ever the acute observer of the human condition, driving cab allowed him
to travel the world from the comfort of his front seat…affording him
not only a unique education, but the freedom to compete in chess tournaments and still keep a roof over his head.
We had met in his cab, in fact.
It was Halloween night, but that is another story…

Michael had surmised that I was still somewhat in the chokehold
of old time religion and needed some wising up.
There was nothing defensible in religion, according to Michael.
We debated the topic hotly one more time.
He told me exactly why he had no faith in those hypocrites.
Michael waxed virulent that day and we blasted apart.
I was still stinging from his attack months later…

Mike claimed that the most lucrative night of the year for Atlanta’s cabbies
was the last night of the Southern Baptist convention.
After sending their families and attendees away in time for Sunday services
back home, a select group of pastors, choir directors, youth leaders
and the like stayed on for a little private convening of their own…
at the infamous Cheetah strip club.
Now the only strip club that was open on a Sunday night was the Cheetah.
Cab load after cab load of these church guys were carried from their fancy midtown hotels to the club all night long.
Mike went into shocking and sordid detail, much to my horror and dismay.
He just wouldn’t let up!
Tempers flared!
I didn’t care if I ever saw Michael again!

Then the soft drawl of his voice that late afternoon…
Much as I hated to admit it, I missed him…
his surly, recalcitrant humor, his edgy droll outlook,
not to mention the peculiar metaphysical experiences
that spontaneously erupted whenever we got together…

I got in the passenger seat alongside Mike, unsure of how to reconnect.
He was a little tucked inside, as well.
He drove toward downtown Atlanta in silence.
Then a little cautious chit chat.
Things eased up. It was good spending time with him again.

First stop…one of the most expensive hotels in the heart of midtown.
Three well-dressed gentlemen got into the back seat.
Destination: the Cheetah club.
Mike dutifully dropped them off, wishing them a good night.
Moments later, 2 men emerged from the club with hookers
on their arms.
They drunkenly waved Michael down and squeezed in.
The cab suddenly reeked of alcohol, cigar smoke and cheap perfume.
Repugnant! I rolled my window down.
Destination: the hotel we had just come from.
I squirmed uncomfortably.
There was too much activity in the back seat for me, but Michael was unfazed.

Finally they exited the cab, only to be replaced by a clump of men
filling the back seat once more, nervously requesting the Cheetah.
They didn’t seem the type, but looks could be deceiving, I reasoned.
None of them seemed the type, but perhaps I was naïve.

Three pale, overweight drunk guys clambered into the back seat
upon their exit…all sporting wedding bands.
Back to the nice hotel.
The men were foul-mouthed…pretty vile, actually.
I glanced at Mike a few times, wincing at their remarks.
He remained impassive.
‘It is what it is,’ I could almost hear him say.

As the night wore on, the fares were rowdier, more crude.
The same sickening circuit.
Too many scantily-clad women draped over their fat arms.
Then some lines of cocaine were snorted in the back seat.
I was churning inside, wondering how I could escape the cab.
I’d had enough!
The men were nothing short of bestial, despite their fine suits,
expensive watches and other ostentatious trappings of wealth.

I overheard their conversations. There was no escaping it.
I was already mortified, but things were about to get worse…
A snatch of conversation held me riveted.
The men were bragging about their conquests, each one trying to best the others.
That’s when I heard them mocking their wives…their mistresses…
and their congregations.

My blood boiled, my stomach turned…
I realized what night it was…
Sunday night- the infamous last night of the Southern Baptist Convention.
The fine suits, conservative haircuts, wedding bands, their coarse mockery,
the long line of cabs making the non-stop circuit between the Cheetah
and the fine hotels.

“Michael! Please get me out of here!!!”
Michael finished one more run…for emphasis.
Then he pulled to the side of the road so I could retch.
I shook with revulsion…and understanding.
He had exposed the rabble of southern Baptist preachers.


Dedicated to Ms. Debra Robinson

Taxi Taxi


All these streets are never ending
Tie ’em in a knot
Drive me through a red light
Waiting for everyone to stop
Sing to me like Pavarotti
Sing to me of Spain
Take me to you operetta
And make it rain
Taxi, taxi, give me a ride
I’m gonna take you to the other side
Taxi, taxi, turn off your light
I’m gonna ride with you all night
Take me to your meditation
Take me to your door
Show me love’s sweet revelation
Lying on your floor
Hole me in your arms forever
Take me to the end
Drive me to the edge of nowhere
And sing again
You’re as cool as Colorado
And Orpheus on fire
Crash the car into a rainbow
Here with me tonight
All the satellites are shining
In the starry sky
I can feel your arms surround me
Higher and higher
Taxi, taxi, taxi, taxi
Sing to me like Pavarotti
Sing to me
Taxi, taxi, give me a ride
I’m gonna ride with you all night
I’m gonna ride with you all night
I’m gonna ride with you all night
(repeat 2 times)
Taxi, taxi

Apology Due Chris Matthews

Chris Matthews

is the current host of the show Hardball at MSNBC ( I have been watching, reading, and listening, to Chris since he appeared as a regular on The McLaughlin Group ( I have read three of his books, which are excellent:

In a recent post ( I mistakenly made fun of Chris for saying the song, Take It Easy, was a Jackson Browne song. This weekend I finally got around to watching the 2013 documentary, History of the Eagles (, from which I learned Jackson Browne began writing, but had trouble completing the song. In stepped Glenn Frey of the Eagles to finish the song.

‘History of the Eagles’ director Alison Ellwood credits Glenn Frey with reinforcing the honesty of her 2013 documentary.
George Pimentel/GettyImages

I sincerely regret the lack of knowledge shown with the earlier post. One lives and hopefully, learns. Life is like Chess in that one must be honest about mistakes and, hopefully, correct them, so as to not make the same mistake again. It is more than a little obvious I should have researched the origin of the song before firing a hardball salvo at Chris Matthews, whom I admire and respect. This is my attempt at a heartfelt apology due Chris Matthews. It is I who should have run it by Ari Melber before firing the salvo.

Two New Books From Elk and Ruby

In a short time the publishing company of Elk and Ruby ( has made a very good impression, bursting onto the Chess publishing landscape like a burning fireball comet. The two newest books have added much fuel to the fireball.

Sergei Tkachenko has produced another wonderful little tome devoted to Chess compositions, Nikolai Rezvov, from Child Burglar to Grandmaster: A World Champion’s Favorite Composers. The book contains one hundred fantastic compositions and the story of the composer, Nikolai Rezvov. The first couple of dozen pages comprising the introduction begins, “The community of chess composers is rich in personalities. Nikolai Vasilevich Rezvov, Ukrainian chess composition grandmaster and FIDE chess composition international master, lead a most remarkable life!
At the end of 1921 Odessa Izvestia warned: “Hunger is at Odessa’s door. Until now we have been talking about an impending catastrophe. Now it is here, facing us. All the signs for this are visible. Cases of scurvy and even death from starvation are becoming frequent.”

Nikolai’s family suffered more bad news in addition to this social disaster; his father deserted them soon after Nikolai’s birth and his parents divorced. Our hero found himself the sole male in his family. It’s hard to imagine how his mother and grandmother survived such abysmal times with a newborn.

Nikolai Vasilevich told the author of this book that he was feeding his family by the age of four!

A garrison was located next to the port, protecting the port’s warehouses and equipment. Odessa lads would often run down to the port to watch the cargo ships. The soldiers acted kindly towards these ubiquitous urchins and even fed them porridge. Nikolai would bring some of this precious sustenance home for his mother and grandmother.

Well, it wasn’t only for trips to the port that these Odessite waifs were famous. Their lack of height and innate savviness enabled them to slip through small windows of rich apartments and open the doors for the older hands. This was a particular game of “noble thieves” for which Odessa, let’s face it, had long been famous! It’s not hard to guess what the “endgame” of this romantic way of life would have been for young Nikolai had it not been for one fateful encounter at the age of five or six!

After creeping his way into an apartment belonging to a local jeweler following a tip-off, Nikolai found himself caught in a trap. The owner who had sensed trouble ahead, had stayed at home and caught the young cat-burglar. The logical reaction would have been to grab this Oliver Twist by the scruff of his neck and haul him off to the police. However, the jeweler acted differently. He offered this failed burglar’s mother a deal to take him on as an apprentice and teach him the subtleties of the jewelry trade. A risky and unusual step, frankly! Moreover, in order to dispel any thoughts the urchin may have had about returning to his thieving past, the jeweler, a passionate chess lover, taught his young charge the rules of the game. And that is how the child burglar Nikolai Rezvov crawled through the window into the world of chess!”

The introduction ends, “In over half a century, Rezvov created around 450 compositions encompassing all known types. Many of these are true classics!”

For instance:

1st team championship of Ukraine, 1965
(edited by S. Tkachenko, 2017)
1st place

White to move and draw

Mikhail Zinar’s Difficult Pawn Endings: A World Champion’s Favorite Composers.

From the introduction:

“One spring weekend the lad was walking in the Yuri Gagarin(!) Park in Simferopol and dreaming of his future glorious pilot studies. The world of aviation incurred a terrible loss and the kingdom of Caissa experienced a fantastic gain when Zinar stumbled upon an open pavilion in the park with people playing chess!

Chess! This became Zinar’s life obsession. In just half a year he made the journey from absolute beginner to first category player (1800 plus). After that, it was onwards and upwards. With the wish to focus entirely on chess, our hero changed jobs in 1974. This wasn’t a fair exchange! Only an incurable romantic would agree to give up a position of aviation mechanic with free accommodation in a dormitory and a salary of 130 rubles per month (a very decent amount in those days) in favor of a salary of 90 rubles per month and no accommodation as a coach at a children’s chess club! The chess atmosphere now literally encircled our hero 24/7. Locking the doors at night after the last chess club member had left the premises, Zinar would move tables together, pull a mattress and bed linen from the cupboard and settle down for the night. The following morning the same procedure would take place in reverse…”

The book contains one hundred pawn endings, each a thing of beauty.

M. Zinar
Chess in the USSR, 1981
1st special prize

White to move and win

Author: Trump is Russia’s asset in the White House

Author: Trump is Russia’s asset in the White House

In his new book “the house of Trump, House of Putin,” Craig Unger alleges the Russian government targeted and even compromised Trump using real estate and the Russian mafia. Unger joins Lawrence.

John Brennan: President Trump’s Claims of No Collusion Are Hogwash

Russia accused of testing a ‘killer satellite’ in orbit

Mysterious Satellite Sparks Concerns That Russia Has Developed A Space Weapon

Russian strategic bombers deploy near Alaska

Chinese bombers likely training for US strikes: Pentagon

GM Stukopin vs Rajendra US Open Bishop’s Opening

GM Andrey Stukopin (2681)

vs Avinash Rajendra (2151)

US Open 4 day schedule round 5

1 e4 e5 2 Bc4 Nf6 3 Nc3 (This move allows 3…Nxe4 4 Nxe4 d5. For that reason I preferred 3 d3, and so does Stockfish)

3…Nc6 (Both Stcokfish and Komodo play 3…Bc5)

4 d3 (The Dragon plays this, but the Fish prefers 4 Nf3) 4…Na5 (Fishy would play 4…Bc5) 5. Qf3 (The only move I ever played was 5 Bb3. Allowing the bishop to be taken on c4 in fifteen minutes games showed me a better way. Komodo and Houdini agree. I do not about bringing the Queen out this early, especially to a square best suited for the knight. It boils down to which pawn structure you prefer, this one:

Or this:

5…c6 (SF plays this or 5…d5)

6 Nge2 Be7 (SF plays this but both Komodo and Houey prefer 6…b5) 7. h3 (Stockfish would play either 7…Ng3 or a4, both of which would be a TN)

7…d6 (SF says 7…b5) 8 g4 (This is a TN. There is total agreement between the Big Four, The Fish; The Dragon; The Escape Artist; and Yours Truly, 8 a4 is the best move. For 8 0-0 see Murtagh vs Mannion below)

8…Nxc4 9 dxc4 Be6 10 b3 h6 11 Bb2 Qa5 12 O-O-O O-O-O (one does not often see a B.O. where both sides castle long) 13 Kb1 Kb8 14 Qg2 g5 15 Ng3 Ka8 16 Qf3 d5 17 Nf5

17…Bb4 (17…Bxf5 must be considered. After 18 Qxf5 d4 looks strong. It is always nice to have a protected passed pawn, especially when it cuts into the heart of your opponents position)

18 exd5 cxd5 19 Ng7 Be7 20 cxd5 Nxd5 (The black dark square bishop will be exchanged. With 20…Bxd5 21 Nxd5 Nxd5 the General of the black pieces avoids the doubled pawns. Taking with the knight first actually loses a pawn. Turn out the lights…)

21 Nxe6 fxe6 22 Nxd5 exd5 23 Bxe5 Rhf8 24 Qg3 Bf6 25 Rhe1 Bxe5 26 Rxe5 Qc5 27 Qe3 Qc6 28 Qd4 Rc8 29 Rd2 Rf3 30 Rxd5 Rxh3 (Not that there was much hope, but black could have played 30…Rff8 and prolonged the game) 31 Rc5 Qe8 32 Rxc8+ Qxc8 33 Qf6 Rh1+ 34 Kb2 Re1 35 Rd8 Qxd8 36 Qxd8# 1-0

Dermot Murtagh (1889) vs Stephen R Mannion (2333)

Monarch Assurance 13th 2004


1. e4 e5 2. Bc4 Nf6 3. d3 Nc6 4. Nc3 Na5 5. Qf3 c6 6. Nge2 d6 7. h3 Be7 8. O-O Nxc4 9. dxc4 Be6 10. b3 O-O 11. Rd1 Qc7 12. a4 Ne8 13. Ng3 g6 14. Bh6 Ng7 15. Nf5 Nxf5 16. exf5 Bxf5 17. Bxf8 Rxf8 18. Rd2 Be6 19. Re1 f5 20. Qe3 b6 21. f4 Bf6 22. Ne2 Re8 23. Red1 exf4 24. Nxf4 Bf7 25. Qf3 Be5 26. Kh1 Kg7 27. Re2 Rd8 28. Nd3 Bf6 29. Nf4 Qc8 30. Rde1 Be5 31. Nd3 Bc3 32. Rd1 Re8 33. Nf4 Be5 34. Nd3 Bf6 35. Rxe8 Qxe8 36. Re1 Qd7 37. Nf4 Be5 38. Nd3 Bc3 39. Nc5 dxc5 40. Qxc3+ Qd4 41. Qxd4+ cxd4 42. Re7 a6 43. Rc7 b5 44. Rxc6 bxc4 45. bxc4 a5 46. c5 Be8 47. Rd6 Kf7 48. c6 Ke7 49. c7 Bd7 50. Rxd4 g5 51. c4 g4 52. hxg4 fxg4 53.c5 h5 54. c6 1-0

Luka Paichadze (2581) vs Eltaj Safarli (2639)

19th ch-EUR Indiv 2018

C24 Bishop’s opening, Berlin defence

1. e4 e5 2. Bc4 Nf6 3. d3 Nc6 4. Nc3 Na5 5. Qf3 Nxc4 6. dxc4 Bb4 7. Ne2 d6 8. O-O c6 9. a3 Bc5 10. b4 Bb6 11. Qd3 Be6 12. Na4 Bc7 13. Nec3 O-O 14. Rd1 Qe7 15. Bg5 h6 16. Bxf6 Qxf6 17. Rd2 a6 18. c5 Rad8 19. Qe2 dxc5 20. Nxc5 Rxd2 21. Qxd2 Rd8 22. Qe2 Bc8 23. Rd1 a5 24. Rxd8+ Qxd8 25. Qd3 Qe7 26. h3 Kh7 27. Qd2 axb4 28. axb4 Bb6 29. N3a4 Ba7 30. Nd3 Qd6 31. Nac5 b6 32. Nb3 Ba6 33. Qc3 f6 34. Nd2 Bxd3 35. cxd3 b5 36. Nb3 Qe6 37. Nc5 Qa2 38. g3 Bb6 39. Kg2 Qa7 40. d4 exd4 41. Qxd4 Bxc5 42. bxc5 Qb8 43. Qd6 Qe8 44. Qd3 Qe5 45. f4 Qxc5 46. e5+ Kg8 47. Qd8+ Kh7 48. Qd3+ 1/2-1/2

Krzysztof Jakubowski (2502) vs Krzysztof Bulski (2416)

2010 Polish Championship

C28 Vienna game

1. e4 e5 2. Nc3 Nf6 3. Bc4 Nc6 4. d3 Na5 5. Qf3 c6 6. Nge2 Be7 7. h3 Nxc4 8. dxc4 d6 9. b3 Be6 10. O-O O-O 11. Rd1 Ne8 12. Ng3 g6 13. Bh6 Ng7 14. c5 f6 15. cxd6 Bxd6 16. Nf5 gxf5 17. Bxg7 Kxg7 18. exf5 Bf7 19. Qd3 Bd5 20. Nxd5 cxd5 21. Qxd5 Be7 22. Qxb7 Qe8 23. Rd7 Rf7 24. Rad1 a5 25. c4 Qc8 26. Qd5 Ra6 27. Rd3 Kf8 28. Qb5 e4 29. Rd1 Rc6 30. Qxa5 Rc5 31. Qb6 Kg7 32. R7d5 Bf8 33. Qe6 Rxd5 34. Qxd5 Re7 35. c5 Re5 36. Qd7+ Qxd7 37. Rxd7+ Be7 38. b4 Kf7 39. a4 e3 40. fxe3 Rxe3 41. Kf1 Ke8 42. Rb7 Rb3 43. Rb5 Kd7 44. a5 Bd8 45. a6 Ra3 46. Rb7+ Kc6 47. Rb8 Bc7 48. Rc8 Kd7 49. Rh8 Rxa6 50. Rxh7+ Kd8 51. b5 Ra1+ 52. Ke2 Rc1 53. b6 Be5 54. b7 Rxc5 55. g4 Rb5 56. h4 Ke8 57. g5 fxg5 58. hxg5 Bd6 59. g6 Be5 60. Kd3 Rb4 61. f6 Bxf6 62. Rc7 Be5 63. g7 Bxg7 64. Rxg7 Kd8 65. Kc3 Rb1 66. Kc4 Rb2 67. Kc5 Rb1 68. Kc6 Rc1+ 69. Kb6 Rb1+ 70. Ka7 Ra1+ 71. Kb8 Ra2 72. Rg4 Rd2 73. Ra4 1-0

Wei Yi (2625) vs Xiu Deshun (2571)

2014 Chinese Championship


1. e4 e5 2. Bc4 Nf6 3. Nc3 Nc6 4. d3 Na5 5. Qf3 d6 6. h3 Be7 7. Nge2 c6 8. a4 Nxc4 9. dxc4 Be6 10. b3 d5 11. exd5 cxd5 12. cxd5 Bxd5 13. Qg3 O-O 14. O-O Ne4 15. Qxe5 Nxc3 16. Nxc3 Bc6 17. Rd1 Bf6 18. Qc5 Qc8 19. Bb2 Bxg2 20. Qxc8 Rfxc8 21. Kxg2 Bxc3 22. Bxc3 Rxc3 23. Rd7 Rxc2 24. Rad1 h6 25. Rxb7 a5 26. Rdd7 Ra6 27. Rxf7 Rg6+ 28. Kh2 Rc1 29. Rf3 Rgg1 30. Rb5 Rh1+ 31. Kg3 Rhg1+ 32. Kf4 Rg6 33. Rxa5 Rb6 34. Rd5 Rb4+ 35. Ke5 Kh7 36. Rb5 Rxb5+ 37. axb5 Rc5+ 38. Kd4 Rxb5 39. Kc4 Rb8 40. b4 1-0

Wesley So (2531) vs Tigran Mamikonian (2257)

Yerevan 2007


1. e4 e5 2. Bc4 Nf6 3. d3 Nc6 4. Nc3 Na5 5. Qf3 Nxc4 6. dxc4 d6 7. h3 Be7 8.Nge2 O-O 9. O-O c6 10. Rd1 Be6 11. b3 Qc7 12. a4 Rad8 13. Ng3 Kh8 14. Nf5 Bxf5 15. Qxf5 g6 16. Qf3 Ng8 17. Qe3 a6 18. Bb2 Qc8 19. Ne2 Qe6 20. Nf4 Qc8 21. Nd3 f6 22. f4 Rfe8 23. Rf1 Bf8 24. Qg3 Bg7 25. fxe5 dxe5 26. Rf3 c5 27. a5 Qc6 28. Re1 Qc7 29. Bc3 Ne7 30. Qf2 Nc6 31. Qxc5 Qd7 32. Qf2 Qe7 33. h4 h5 34. Rf1 Kh7 35. Kh1 Nd4 36. Bxd4 Rxd4 37. Nf4 Rxe4 38. Nd5 Qd7 39. Nxf6+ Bxf6 40. Rxf6 Re7 41. Rf7+ Kh6 42. Rf8 Kh7 43. Qf7+ Rxf7 44. R1xf7+ Qxf7 45. Rxf7+ Kh6 46. Rxb7 Rxh4+ 47. Kg1 Rd4 48. c5 Rd5 49. b4 Kg5 50. c6 Rd4 51. c7 Rc4 52. b5 1-0

Chris Mathews Has Seven Women On His Mind

During one of the segments on the MSNBC program Hardball, the host, Chris Mathews, mentioned something about a song by “Jackson Browne with the line about seven women.”

Chris, my man, you need to run song lyrics by Ari Melber before mentioning it on air. The song in question is:

Take It Easy


Produced by Glyn Johns

Album: Eagles

Well, I’m running down the road
Tryin’ to loosen my load
I’ve got seven women on
My mind

Four that wanna own me
Two that wanna stone me
One says she’s a friend of mine

Take It easy, take it easy
Don’t let the sound of your own wheels
Drive you crazy
Lighten up while you still can
Don’t even try to understand
Just find a place to make your stand
And take it easy

Well, I’m a standing on a corner
In Winslow, Arizona
And such a fine sight to see
It’s a girl, my Lord, in a flatbed
Ford slowin’ down to take a look at me

Come on, baby, don’t say maybe
I gotta know if your sweet love is
Gonna save me
We may lose and we may win though
We will never be here again
So open up, I’m climbin’ in
So take it easy

Well I’m running down the road trying to loosen
My load, got a world of trouble on my mind
Lookin’ for a lover who won’t blow my
Cover, she’s so hard to find

Take it easy, take it easy
Don’t let the sound of your own
Wheels make you crazy
Come on baby, don’t say maybe
I gotta know if your sweet love is
Gonna save me, oh oh oh
Oh we got it easy
We oughta take it easy

Trump Plays Whack-A-Mole Seventeen Hours a Day

POTUS: “What kind of lawyer would tape a client?”

Lawrence O’Donnell: “To which the only reasonable reply is, what kind of an idiot would have a lawyer who would tape a client?”

Lawrence O’Donnell Predicts The Humiliating Way Donald Trump’s Presidency May End
It involves the Secret Service.

By Lee Moran

“The man (Lebron James) is trying to help at risk children by opening doors for them is being attacked by the man who put children at risk by locking them in cages.” – Stephanie Ruhle


Stunning Criticism Of LeBron James And The Funding For The I Promise School

BY Jerry Barca

“For a President who plays more whack-A-Mole

than 3D Chess

color me skeptical.”Nichole Wallace sitting in for Rachel Maddow on TRMS, 7/31/18

Putting this post together caused me to reflect upon an incident which occurred too long ago. My youngest sister and I were talking about favorite actors with our Mother. She mentioned something about Rock Hudson and Lynnette said, “You know he was gay, right?” Mother’s response was, “Well what’s wrong with being happy?” Lynnette and I looked at each other before laughing. “What is it?” out Mother asked. When Lynnette was finally able to respond, she said, “Mother, gay means homosexual.”

“Oh my goodness,” Mother said. “When did they change it?” “Why did they change it?” More laughter followed…

Definition’s change, so I headed to the internet to learn if there were other definitions of Whack-A-Mole. There were:


Definition – What does Whack-A-Mole mean?

IT professionals and others might use the term “whack-a-mole” to describe a process where a pervasive problem keeps recurring after it is supposedly fixed, or any situation where some type of undesirable outcome is recurring. This term is based on a metaphor where an arcade game called Whac-A-Mole invites players to hit a series of pop-up animals with a mallet.

Top definition


While jerking off a man, with the free hand you hit the tip of the cock with an open palm as if you are playing the popular carnival game “whack-a-mole”.
I’m so pissed at Tommy for flirting with that fat broad at the bar. When we go home I’m going to jerk him off “whack-a-mole” style.
#jerk off#jack off#jackoff#beat off#choking the chicken#toss off#wack off#whack off#beat the meat
by WeezieCletusBBH May 02, 2009


whack a mole

to sit on a turd that has begun to crown in an effort not to shit oneself.
yesterday i had to play whack a mole at work, i was all alone and the damn customer wouldnt leave.
by elac the great October 07, 2011



to ejaculate, jack off
I was playing whack-a-mole last night to that Ciara video
by big ang May 03, 2005


Whack a Mole

Whack a mole is an exciting game that requires one male and at least three females. The females bend over with their pants at their knees, from this they proceed to pop turtle heads out of their assholes. As soon as a turtle head pops out the male is responsible for “whacking the mole” with his cock. This game is preferably done with freaky Asian girls.
Dude what did you do last night? Owe just played whack a mole with the chinese student association.
#poop dick#freaky asian#three some#cock#mole#turtle head
by hans vienermen November 11, 2009



While fucking doggy-style, right as the guy is about to cum the girl smacks him in the nuts through her legs and shouts “Whack-a-mole!”
Guy: I’m gonna cum, baby!

Girl: Whack-a-mole!


Girl: I love you.
#whack-a-molin#doggy-style#dirty sanchez#hot karl#rusty trombone
by Jive Bandit August 11, 2010


whack-a-mole drugs

A whack-a-mole consists of taking a huge mole (tobacco and weed in a bong bowl) and breathing the smoke into a balloon filled with whippit vapor (nitrous oxide) and inhaling/exhaling into the balloon until you’re forced to breathe oxygen.
“Wow did you see that bro last night? Dude took too many whack-a-moles and yakked and then passed out….holy shit man.”
#weed#bong#whippit#nitrous#laughing gas#hardcore#tobacco#balloons#fucked up#marijuana#crack cocaine sometimes
by winterfell August 19, 2011


whackamole sex

the art of using ones penis to stimulate their partner’s clitoris as if playing a game of whack-a-mole with a mallet.

Jane absolutely hated when Dick would play whackamole on her in bed.
by gr8s8n August 17, 2003

Trump Keeps The House White

White House struggles to name a single senior African-American working in the West Wing

Kellyanne Conway,

a senior adviser to President Trump, could not name a single senior official working today in the West Wing who is African-American.

by Kristen Welker / Aug.12.2018 / 7:11 PM ET

WASHINGTON — Seven months after Omarosa Manigault Newman

departed the Trump administration under a cloud, the White House struggled on Sunday to identify any African-American serving in a senior role in the West Wing.

After two days of questions to communications officials from NBC News, White House Press Secretary Sarah Sanders said Sunday that Henry Childs II, a Commerce Department official on loan to the White House’s Office of Public Liaison since May, is carrying out many of the duties Manigault Newman had as an assistant to the president and director of communications for that office.

Separately, Kellyanne Conway, a senior adviser to President Donald Trump, could not name a single senior official working today in the West Wing who is African-American. Pressed by ABC News Chief White House Correspondent Jonathan Karl in an interview on “This Week,” Conway at first pointed to Housing and Urban Development Secretary Ben Carson, who does not work at the White House.