Chương 69: Book 3 - Chapter 7 C

The official award ceremony was held the following evening in the Grand Ballroom of The Stanley. The room was draped in velvet, lit by crystal chandeliers and packed with journalists, USCF officials, hotel management and the tournament participants. I wore a black suit, impeccably tailored and carefully protected until now, which helped minimize the visual gap between my nine years and the gravitas of the title I now held.

Continuing the tradition of wearing a black suit like this was part of my carefully tailored public image. It was to become my equivalent of Steve Jobs's turtleneck sweater. Matt stood behind me, a mountain of quiet support. I sat through the lengthy introductory remarks and the presentation of the lower prizes. When my name was called, the applause was deafening, amplified by the flashes of the press corps. I walked confidently to the podium, ignoring the whispers about my size.

The USCF president, a man named Bob who was clearly overwhelmed by the historical nature of the moment, handed me the massive silver trophy—the one that had previously been in Lev Alburt's possession. It was almost as tall as I was. Matt immediately took it from me and set it on the floor. I approached the microphone. The attention of the entire room, and soon, the entire chess world, was focused on me.

"Thank you," I began, my voice clear, even and carefully modulated to project a tone of quiet academic authority.

"I am deeply honored to accept the title of 1985 US Chess Champion. I want to sincerely thank the organizers for providing a venue worthy of this prestigious event and The Stanley Hotel for their unparalleled hospitality." I paused for a moment, adjusting my jacket.

"This tournament was not defined by flash or speed, but by depth. The quality of play from every single master here pushed the boundaries of modern chess theory. In particular, I wish to recognize Grandmaster Lev Alburt for his honorable defense of the title and International Master Boris Kogan for his absolute mastery of defensive structure, which resulted in one of my hardest-earned half-points." I carefully avoided any mention of my age, my past 'Swarm' tactics or any emotional victory.

I spoke only of depth, structure and positional theory, cementing the narrative of the Positional Genius I had crafted.

"To the future champions in this room, remember that chess is not just a game of conflict. It is a profound academic pursuit. I look forward to seeing where this beautiful science goes next." I concluded my formal remarks and nodded. The applause was warmer this time, laced with professional appreciation rather than shock. As I stepped away, a reporter from The New York Times managed to cut through the line of well-wishers.

"Dr Cook, congratulations. This title cements your place as the premier mind in American chess. What is your plan now? Will you immediately begin preparing for the next World Championship cycle?" This was the opening. I turned, giving the reporter a measured look.

"The World Championship cycle is still some time away. My immediate focus is elsewhere. I am scheduled to leave Estes Park tomorrow morning." The reporter scribbled furiously.

"Where are you headed, Doctor?" I gave a slight smile.

"I'm driving to Colorado Springs. I have some commitments at the United States Olympic Training Center. I will be participating in a national-level qualification competition for rifle and air pistol shooting." The effect was instantaneous. The assembled press—a group that had been expecting talk of Soviet systems and opening novelties—froze. The chess world's biggest story had just pivoted to high-level marksmanship. The reporter's pencil snapped.

"Shooting?" he stammered.

"But—the World Championship?"

"Chess is a pursuit of the mind," I responded smoothly.

"Shooting is a pursuit of discipline. Both require absolute concentration and both are necessary for balance. I feel that is a lesson many people would do well to learn." I offered no more details, letting the calculated incongruity of the news sink in. Matt, seizing the moment of confusion, gently steered me away from the podium toward a small side room where we could prepare for our departure. The security team had loaded our minimal luggage into the vehicles.

I slid into the back of the SUV, the massive trophy box wedged between me and Nick, the smallest of security. There was no room for Matt in the back with the boxed trophy. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. I leaned back, watching The Stanley—the setting for both my ultimate victory and my confrontation with my own exhaustion—recede into the sharp, immense blue of the Colorado sky. The chess tournament was merely a completed chapter.

The next game—the pursuit of Olympic gold—would now fully begin. The security team efficiently managed the three-hour drive to Colorado Springs. I was grateful to be checking into a different and better hotel this time. The long winding trips were done. Matt had ensured the private jet would be ready when it was time to go. Best of all, we arrived in time for a nice dinner at the hotel.

Wednesday afternoon at the USOTC after the competition where I demonstrated another set of perfect scores, I sat in a small conference room at a big table with several other shooters and two organizers, but no coaches. The competition had consisted of five back-to-back rounds, only broken by lunch. I felt tired but good.

"This is the calendar of events, please check that you can make as many as possible. The better you score at these events, the higher your chances of making the national team," we were informed by the first organizer. A young guy in his twenties objected.

"I showed you I can shoot. I bet I did the best out there. I can't afford to keep coming all the way out here to Colorado or across the country every month for more competitions."

"We can certainly help with travel plans, and the number of competitions you attend is completely up to you," said one of the two organizers. The other spoke up.

"But the best performance today was from Dr Cook." The man's face contorted into a deep scowl, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the woman and the other two men at the table.

"Which one of you is Dr Cook?" he asked, ignoring me. I raised my hand.

"That would be me."

"What? I thought you were somebody's kid. How did some kid do better than me?" he sputtered, his voice laced with disbelief. The first organizer responded calmly.

"Dr Cook shot a perfect score in all five competitions today." I gave him a calm smile and a slight nod. The surprise on everyone's face was as entertaining to me as it was to the organizers.

"I'm looking forward to Seoul. I hope to see all of you there too." The chartered Cessna touched down in Tulsa on November 8th to a much warmer 68-degree day. I went down the stairs and headed to the General Aviation Terminal where Mom and Grandma were both waiting for me. I greeted both with hugs, but Grandma was on a mission.

"Where is the new trophy? I saw you on the news with it." I laughed happily, so glad to be home.

"It's coming, Grandma. You can't see it till we get home. It's in a big special box for transport."

"It was almost as big as you are!" she said with excitement.

"It is. Do you have a spot picked out?" I asked her.

"I do," she said giving my Mom a look.

"Mary insisted that your trophies should be in the public area of the family floor. Not hidden away in my apartment," she said, the last with a sniff of disapproval.

"That's fine. I don't get to keep this one anyway. Only the current US Champion gets to keep it."

"Who could beat you?" she asked rhetorically. Matt arrived with a cart and the boxed trophy, security following. We walked out to find two vans, the limo and more security waiting.

"Hi Grandpa," I told him as I climbed into the limo where he was sitting.

"John! Well done. US Chess Champion. That's amazing."

"Thanks Grandpa," I told him. Matt got in next to me and Grandma and Mom followed after ensuring the trophy was safely stowed and buckled in. The big vehicle moved off towards the hotel, but Grandpa clearly had something he wanted to share. Mom and Grandma were giving his excited state amused looks.

"The city gave us permission for the big tornado!"

"What? Really?" I asked.

"That's awesome. Every night, or just the weekends?" He kind of coughed to himself.

"Just one night, New Year's Eve."

"Oh, that'll be nice," I said, grinning at him. He growled a bit at me, as Matt laughed at my teasing. Grandpa continued, "The Fort Worth Blackstone is getting one of those big tornado machines too."

"Oh, did you finally close on that?" I asked him.

"Yes, only eight hundred thousand."

"Good buy. Remember to document everything before you start tearing anything out."

"The crew knows. I even had a group go through with a video camera so that if there's something we have a question about, we can look at the film. We took photos too. But with the video camera you get a better perspective as it pans around the room.

"Good idea. The preservation and restoration team couldn't find any original blueprints or documents?" I asked.

"I've had them searching for a year and the most they have found are a few old photos from inside the building." I leaned close to Grandpa, and he leaned in as well. I whispered, "In the south corner of the lowest basement, there's a steel box buried in the concrete with a copy of the original architectural drawings. It's about eighteen inches in from the walls and about a foot down." His eyes widened, and he gave me the biggest smile.

"Really?"

"Really. Now tell me about the Fort Worth fire tornado—what kind of spectacle will that be?"

"It will be in place for the New Year celebration and the city will let us run it for twenty-four hours, starting at midnight on January first. It will be a part of the city-wide New Year and firework celebration, as well as marking the beginning of the building renovation."

"Great job, Grandpa." Mom was very happy that I didn't make any plans to travel for the next few months. Tulsa University had heard about my lecture series, and invited me to do the same there. That, coupled with my lab work and the odd day trip for a shooting competition, my headlong rush since graduation finally calmed.