A Magical Game
A MAGICAL GAME One of the things I hate the most to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon is to play wizard's chess. "Why would you hate to play chess?" Asked some while the other asked, "why would you even play chess?" When you have a friend as persuasive as mine, you would rather play chess (even if you suck at it, like me) than listen to all his brambles about Buddha being a Babylonian conspirator. It was long ago when it started, the ritual of Sunday Squares ( that's a chess puzzle issued weekly in the columns of the daily prophet.) Though I don't remember when we started playing it, I clearly remember considering his "conspiracy theories" over the chess classes he offered. My friend had a Wizard's Chess set hand-carved out of Mahogany and White Oak by his great grandfather, handed down to him as a gift for turning 12. It was the most ornate chess set I have ever seen, with detailing nothing as I have ever seen. The pawns were tiny soldiers in ...