on the shore of the ultimate sea

A four-month-old Saker Falcon, originally uploaded by nparish.

Here are a few photos I’ve got from a recent falconry talk at Orvis’ Manhattan store.

In the hopes of one day proving competitive with an acquaintance who’s so far plastered me on the chessboard (D., give me another month), I’ve been playing quite a bit more chess than usual, and, as a corollary, reading books on strategy and following weekly chess columns in newspapers. Compare, if you will, two tellings of this week’s scandal, French grandmaster Vlad Tkachiev’s drunkenness during the Calcutta Open:

The first, from New York Post chess columnist (and grandmaster himself) Andy Soltis:

Snooze and You Lose: A Russian-born grandmaster scandalized an international tournament in India this month by passing out drunk during a game.

And this got the chess world arguing about a technical point:

Was it ethical to wake him up?

Vladislav Tkachiev, ranked 58th in the world, fell asleep during his third-round game at the Calcutta Open. His opponent, Praveen Kumar, didn’t want to win the game on forfeiture and asked tournament arbiter R. Anantharam to wake up Tkachiev.

But after more moves, the 35-year-old Tkachiev fell asleep again. Other players took turns waking him, but to no avail. After his allotted 90 minutes had expired, Tkachiev had played only 11 moves and was declared lost.

After photos of the sleeping grandmaster appeared in Indian newspapers, Anantharam came in for a torrent of Internet criticism for allowing the farce to get that far.

But he said he was just following world chess federation rules. “The scene of many players coming to his board and watching him sleeping was a disturbance to the nearby boards,” he wrote.

Nonsense, responded GM Nigel Short. Tkachiev should have been woken up only to remove him from the playing hall where he was “causing widespread public embarrassment.”

What an idiot, right?

However, take another look, from the Financial Times‘ Leonard Barden (no slouch himself):

The Kalkota (Calcutta) Open this week made news headlines when the French champion Vlad Tkachiev appeared comatosely drunk at the board and lost his third round game on time.

Attitudes have changed. In 1935 Alexander Alekhine was the worse for drink in some world title games, while in 1949 Sweden’s No 1 Gideon Stahlberg drank a cognac at the board before sacrificing a knight for a winning attack.

The shocked reaction to the Tkachiev episode was in line with a current zealous environment where a master can lose on time if a few seconds late for the start of play. Tkachiev soon recovered and the drunk game was his only loss in seven rounds.

(Emphasis mine.)

Quite the difference between the two, eh? One has a drunken player disrupting the entire tournament with his enduring shambolic behavior, the other noting arbiters can end a match if it’s a matter of “a few seconds” before the start. Nevertheless, knowing he went on to win the rest of his matches makes quite a difference in the quality of the story.

Further, Barden writes in the Guardian: “In Tkachiev’s case, jetlag was probably a factor as he flew to India with hardly a break after winning the French championship, and the drunk game was his only defeat in Kolkata.”

This isn’t the first time Tkachiev has made headlines, and certainly won’t be the last. It will probably be the only time I resort to a chess media compare and contrast here, though.

Papa Clem, originally uploaded by qtfeather2000.

I’m going with Papa Clem today and keying him in exactas with a couple of favorites.

I like that he’s improving, coming off a gutsy win at the Arkansas Derby, and has a pretty decent Beyer Speed Figure (4th highest). I threw away a couple horses because they hadn’t raced on dirt (ahem, Pioneerof The Nile). Churchill’s reporting (via Twitter) the track’s sloppy today. I’m eager to see what happens with those horses used to more uniform surfaces.

But what the hell do I know? My Derby record is 0-for-8. I’m mainly in it for the fine, fine juleps. Big ole hat tip to the Post’s Anthony Affrunti, who recommended I check out Clem and wound up picking him in Friday’s paper, along with Hold Me Back and big-ass underdog Flying Private.

Here’s a great photo of Papa Clem from earlier this year at Santa Anita taken by flickr’s qtfeather2000, who’s got a ton more great horse shots. Hopefully we’ll have one of Clem in roses to post tonight.

Today’s news

Originally uploaded by nparish.

If this is someone’s idea of a joke, it’s damn funny:

“World Markets Plunge on News of Ledger Death, Brady Cast

The news that Tom Brady was seen wearing a cast, followed by the death of Heath Ledger wreaked havoc on foreign markets and Wall Street. ”

Sports books generally aren’t very good. At least for the sort of people who prefer reading to sports. But Jeff MacGregor nailed the crossover in his most recent, Sunday Money. It was by far my favorite sports read last year, and if you’re looking for an introduction to NASCAR you’d be hard pressed to find a better primer.

Stevie’s just trying to fit in.

Please allow me to preface the following with an explanation of my baseball talent:

Previous to this “pseudo-professional” (Rocker’s words) at-bat, the most recently I’d picked up a bat was during a cameo appearance on “No Comment,” the Fordham student paper’s club softball team. I went 2-3 against the yearbook team in a pathetic effort by the Ram squad.

I played little league until I was twelve or so, mostly as catcher. I couldn’t engage the game long enough to play infield, as my coaches and parents learned one fateful day when I was stationed at third. I guess my attention wavered, and a liner that should have been an easy out hit me square in the forehead. Knocked out cold. The last thing I remember was hearing the bat and looking up at the ball flying toward my face. When I came to, with my dad and the coaches around, the first thing the coach said was “Well, that’s why they call it the hot corner.”

So my history makes this all the more improbable, exciting, and, well, awesome. I’d like to thank the inventors of Lasik, who allowed me to take the batter’s box without Rec Specs for the first time in my career, as well as Deadspin’s Will Leitch. Will took the photo, offered words of encouragement, and, well, a least common denominator. I mean, what would the world be coming to if print guys are outhit by bloggers?

The Czechs are out of the gold medal hunt. John Davidson said they looked drained, and during the 7-3 loss “they were just not there, and the Swedes were.”

The rest of the Rangers were back on the ice Wednesday night, looking chipper.

In the most lively game I’ve ever seen in the NCAA’s oldest Division I gym, Fordham let a lead slip away — a feeling most fans are altogether accustomed to.

Credit Marcus Bennett, who stung the entire place with nasty outside shooting, and of course Mark White, for the inspiration.

But signs point to the program turning the corner, and I can see Fat Joe sitting courtside in the near future if the Rams make a run for the Tourney. During my tenure, Joey Crack filmed a video in the gym; he’d back a snazzy team.

Olympic levity reigned Thursday in the Rangers’ locker room, with traditional displays of patriotism from Jaromir Jagr and the Czechs supplemented by a career day by little Loki Darius Kasparaitis.

A few sentences into a statement about getting the start tonight in front of a hometown Toronto crowd, Kevin Weekes looked toward the door near the training room and cracked up. There, peeking around the corner, was a 2′ x 3′ portrait of himself, shirtless with a steely Zoolander gaze. It danced back and forth in the doorway, then the holder revealed himself as Darius.

After a few minutes of prancing around the dressing room with the portrait in front of him, peppered with comments of how handsome he was, Kaspar put the likeness in Weekes’ locker. A genuine laugh riot. But it wasn’t done.

Dominic Moore was off to the side, doing a television interview, which was probably already disrupted. But that didn’t stop Kaspar from again securing the portrait and doing the same little dance behind the camera while Dom looked over his shoulder with a mix of annoyance and suppressed amusement.

So what? Well, after tonight these guys leave their first-place perch temporarily and go their separate ways. And Ranger fans, not having tasted cohesion like this, being so unused to a smooth-running team unit that can score and win, have got to be concerned if they can pick up where they left off.