Here's a poem I found in a posting to the rec.games.chess newsgroup. It matches pretty well the kind of situation I found myself in too often before giving up OTB chess and diving into correspondence chess.
There once was a fish, who splashed in the sea, his heart was in Zugszwang, his mind was en prise. Down the exchange, but on the attack, damn the torpedoes!, he went for the sac. A pawn, then a bishop, a rook and a knight. It was a glorious moment and a beautiful sight. His slack-jawed opponent just drooled in a trance, God couldn't save him, he hadn't a chance. King on the fifth, a forced mate in three his humbled stone silence, was my ecstasy. And then something happened that I'll never forget, when he offered his hand and our bloodshot eyes met. Three little words, even now make me gag, a polite little whisper: "Sorry, your flag".
William Larsen Utica, New York
(appeared in February 1995 issue of "Chess Life")
last changed May 20, 2018;
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