Emulate -- DO What the GREATS Did. Read GM chess books, rehearse opening traps and brevities, replay annotated GM games, and study endings (Authors like I.A. Horowitz, Frank James Marshall, Emanuel Lasker, Edward Lasker, Siegbert Tarrasch, Yuri Averbakh, David Hooper, Jose Capablanca, Irving Chernev, Eugene A. Znosko-Borovsky, Aron Nimzowitsch, Paul Keres, Reuben Fine, Max Euwe, Edmar Mednis, Mikhail Botvinnik, etc.); it worked for Fredthebear. If you're a queen's gambit player, perhaps Cecil J.S. Purdy, Milton Finkelstein, Capablanca, Harry Nelson Pillsbury, and Dr. Euwe's series should get more focus.

Do NOT sacrifice w/out good reason! There has to be a strong, sustainable follow-up. Give every piece a job, build up the position, then explode! Great players (and good players too) sacrifice to bust up the position, and then pour reinforcements into the void. Combinations are the heart of chess!

"Get there firstest with the mostest." -- Nathan Bedford Forrest

Thank you Jabot, Gabbo, and Robert Samuels.

from the simpleton poet:

Roses are red.
Violets are blue.

Chess is creative.
And a journey too.

Good in the morning.
Or just before bed.

Play cheater_1, with engine.
Or OTB, all in your head.

* GoY's 40 Favs: Game Collection: GoY's favorite games

Bearly Thinking: https://www.etsy.com/listing/972054...

* Glass-like Gambit for Black: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CAI...

* Overloaded! Game Collection: OVERLOADED!

* Famous Chess Photos: https://tr.pinterest.com/pin/585256...

* Starting Out: French Defense: Game Collection: Starting out : The French

* Gambits against the French Defense:
Game Collection: alapin gambit -alapin diemer gambit + reti gam

* Here's a link to common Checkmate Patterns:
http://gambiter.com/chess/Checkmate...

* Here's a link to some fabulous chess brilliancies: https://www.chess.com/article/view/...

* Mr. Harvey's Puzzle Challenge: https://wtharvey.com/

* Women: https://www.thefamouspeople.com/wom...

* Best Games of 2018: Game Collection: Best Games of 2018

* Glossary: https://www.peoriachess.com/Glossar...

* Opening Tree: https://www.shredderchess.com/onlin...

Paul Revere's Ride
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - 1807-1882

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five:
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, "If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch
Of the North-Church-tower, as a signal-light,— One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country-folk to be up and to arm."

Then he said "Good night!" and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war:
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon, like a prison-bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street
Wanders and watches with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed to the tower of the church,
Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry-chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,—
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town,
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
In their night-encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
Where the river widens to meet the bay,—
A line of black, that bends and floats
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride,
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse's side,
Now gazed on the landscape far and near,
Then impetuous stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry-tower of the old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height,
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns!

A hurry of hoofs in a village-street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed that flies fearless and fleet: That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders, that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock,
And the barking of the farmer's dog,
And felt the damp of the river-fog,
That rises when the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadows brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket-ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read,
How the British Regulars fired and fled,—
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard-wall,
Chasing the red-coats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,—
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

The thought crossed my gentle mind that CGs needs some additional avatar variance of figures like Emory and Andrew Tate, Tani Adewumi, James Black Jr., Ambakisye Osayaba, Tom "Murph" Murphy, and Pontus Carlsson, Taahir Levi, Praggy and Pentala Harikrishna, Nihal Sarin, Adhiban Baskaran, Manuel Aaron, and Juan Carlos González Zamora, María Teresa Mora Iturralde, Daniela De la Parra, Alejandra Guerrero Rodríguez, Azarya Jodi Setyaki, Medina Warda Aulia, Errol Tiwari, Elshan Moradiabadi, Joey Razo, Collette McGruder, Diamond Shakoor, Phiona Mutesi, Jessica Hyatt, Jean-Pierre and Koneru Humpy, Tania Sachdev, Rout Padmini and Hou Yifan and Zhao Xue, Medhat Moheb, Yao Ming and Awonder Liang, Jeffery Xiong and Liem Le, Li Chao and the like. Our avatars are rather lily silly; not everybody looks like Smith, Jones, Thomas, or Mikhail.

On the other hand, we definitely need some redheads too (Anna Rudolf, Isla Fisher, Jude Acers, Prince Harry, Ed Sheeran)!! I'd say at least a dozen redheads, some with and without beards. Some Canadians too!

This poem is dedicated to all
Caissa members who are the Silent Majority.

The Silent Majority

Spoke the silent pawn to the opposing queen:
Your master is a filthy man and also very mean.
He does naught but curse and foulmouth my gentle master. Your king ought to punish him real fast if not faster. because we are all tired of his filthy ranting and raving. We want to play chess which is our gift and inborn craving. But if he is allowed to continue to act like a filthy prick, we'll catch him and drown him in the cesspool with frick. Replied the queen smilingly though in a very loud voice: Fear not silent majority because that is also our choice. So it came about,that one could hear in the deep of night an inhuman scream of the filthy man who died slowly of fright.