Will this become an article for <Frogspawn>?

The journal is slow to get going so far:

<On the Origins of the French Defence by Means of Natural Selection> By Jessica Darwin

Anyone who has ever faced <e6> after opening <e4> and has wondered, not without some considerable justification, “did his finger slip or something,” is familiar, whether they ever wanted to be or not, with the “French Defence.”

But what are the actual origins of this irritating chessic practice?

Many believe that this “half move” curiosity arose during a famous Two Year Correspondence match between England and France, in which the French team triumphed in 1836.

In fact, however, the genesis of this opening begins in the <Permian> era, hundreds of years before the famous Correspondence Clash of Titans. The humble frog arose at this point, and was immediately unsure whether to stay in the water <remain on e7> or jump out on to the land for good <e5>. Natural selection, of course, favored the <demi-grenouille>, or “half-frog,” if you will, who opted for half in and half out <e6>.

These half-frogs were less likely to be eaten immediately by either sea or land predators, so they prevailed and exist to this very day, mainly in the South of France and Quebec.

Unfortunately, the “half-frog” evolutionary innovation was only good for basic survival <Draws>, as opposed to other beasts <Kasparovs, for example> that grew into Giant Beasts with Big Teeth who were better suited to press for <0-1 with the Black Pieces>.

The “French Defence,” of course, made yet another pre-1836 appearance, showing up, to the great fortune of The Duke of Wellington, at <Waterloo> in 1815.

Napoleon, who had won so many battles by massing his artillery in the center and blasting the crap out of all who came within range, made his fatal misstep by setting up his batteries on <e6> instead of <e5>, causing all of the cannon balls to land on the 3d rank, leaving the British troops unharmed.

See diagram:

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Believing the British to be "softened up," <Marshall N<Eyal> initiated a premature Cavalry charge on the enemy center... soon to find himself in a thoroughly untenable position:

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Suffice it to say, the French position quickly degenerated, reaching this position by dusk:

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Needless to say, this was the end of Famed Emperor <DomDaniel's> 100 Days...

<No, little baby frogs are found under cabbage leaves by a parthenogenetic tooth fairy.>

Oh... up yours.

I like the idea of a journal that has no identifiable shape whatsoever - very Bataille-esque - 'A dictionary begins when it no longer gives the meaning of words, but their tasks. Thus formless is not only an adjective having a given meaning, but a term that serves to bring things down in the world.'

All right then, I believe I was down for writing about something 'even more poisonous' than cane toads; I've just the thing. Time to weave another wicked Euclidean web of all our favourite themes, and some of our least favourite ones too: chess, swearing, Graham Linehan, the dire current state of British comedy... 'poisonous' is certainly appropriate in more than one way here. Plus, it's super topical, as you'll see. Let me take you back to 27th May, 2006...

It was a mild Saturday afternoon, and I had heard that there was a chess tournament on at the University of London Union near Euston Road, which above all else was free to enter. What better way to spend your time than playing in yet another meaningless round robin in a grotty lecture room? In the corner there was a decidely un-professional looking camera crew who were, it was said at the start, 'filming a promotional film about chess'. Fair play, I thought.

About five minutes in to the first round, one of the other competitors - a black man in his late twenties playing at the board directly behind me - starts causing a fuss. In a very tedious and unfunny way. Chess was 'racist', apparently, because white always goes first. Horribly unimaginative, and horribly irritating too. About a minute into his 'complaint', one of the camera lads stands up, chuckling to himself:

'Hah! Okay, we're not really filming a promotional film about chess, we're actually from a hidden camera show called 'Balls Of Steel...'

A massive E4 grin appeared on his stupid face.

At this point, I could simply not have been angrier. For non-UK viewers, or for those who have fortunately managed to miss the show before, Balls of Steel is the most ghastly, ill-thought out, anti-intellectual heap of dog @#$%e imaginable. It was already my least favourite thing in the entire world. In short, it entails a bunch of thick, thoughtless 'comedians' pulling off increasingly unpleasant stunts, before showing their work to an adoring audience of morons on a Friday night. When I go to Hell, I suspect I'll end up as floor manager for Objective Productions.

Now, despite the fact I've never been so angry in my entire life, I decided to keep quiet, for the time being. I was playing the white side of a Levitsky Attack and the position was somewhat tense. I also figured that, having got their 'hilarious' footage, they'd @#$% off promptly. How wrong I was.

'Er yeah, you lot don't mind if we do that again, to get all the angles right?'

I was not prepared to keep quiet any longer.

'Or you could just @#$% off, and let us play in peace'. 'What's that mate?'
'I said that you could just @#$% off and let us play' 'What's your problem then?'
'I @#$%ing despise your programme, it's poisonous and epitomises all that is currently wrong with television.'

There was a confused silence. The black man tried to make a joke out of it:

'Hah, yeah, er... 'poisonous'... poisonous to the mind.' Realising that this didn't actually make sense, he tried one of the oldest tricks in the book:

'Okay, everyone give a big round of applause for Morgan...'

'Oh don't try to publicly humiliate me, you @#$%ing tiresome @#$%.'

I turned back to my game - still my main concern - and played some dreary knight move. There was around a minute's respite, as the 'Balls' team talked amongst themselves. I thought they might actually leave. No such luck....

'All right, let's roll again...'

At which point the black man starts doing the exact same tedious routine. I offered a draw to my opponent, who immediately accepted, and stormed out of the room in John Wayne-esque fashion, accidentally knocking a chair over in the process.

I spent about twenty minutes fuming on the steps of ULU, after which one of the show's runners came out to find me. I said some rather unpleasant things to her too, which I felt a bit guilty about as she was just like a Nazi guard, only following orders and all that. And after a bit of nudging she agreed that she thought the whole show was @#$% too. By the time I had calmed down - and this is probably about forty minutes on now - they were STILL retaking the scene - real 'Balls Of Steel' there. I mean, what's the bloody point of doing a hidden camera show if you're only going to retake it to your exact specifications? It's the sort of idea Jeremy Beadle would have canned in about twenty seconds, frankly. As Graham Linehan said later after he posted about all this on his blog, 'not only is it nasty @#$%*&!#, it's not even authentic nasty @#$%*&!#'.

Yes...

1.Ke2?
The cannibal emerges from its cave.

2.Kd3?!
The monster aims lecherously at the queenside.

3.Kc4!?
The Grand Illusionist cocks a snook at the English by occupying their favorire square.

4.Kd5
Deception! The Old Fox changes direction.

5.Ke6!
The former dictator displays all of his old power.

6.Kf7!!
Majestic - the Emperor sweeps towards triumph.

7.Ke8!!!!!
All hail the divine Emperor! His awesome strategy, surely beyond mortal wit, is revealed -- after an <incroyable> zigzagging Long March, the Emperor seizes the home square of the enemy monarch -- checkmating, stalemating, queening, and zugzwanging in a single deft move. Bow before the divine genius Bonaparte!

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I was wondering what would happen when it came to sign-the-release time, until you pointed out it's simpler for them to pixillate the frumious.

I was once filmed using Ireland's first condom machine by a dodgy German TV crew... as a favour for them, in a Student Union building. Very uneventful. Until they started on the retakes, giving them time to round up some stooges to sing 'Faith of our Fathers' in the background and create an impression of Der Irische Kondom-Blitzkrieg, mit Gottmusik. Or whatever. It does tend to irritate one, being coopted into somebody else's cheap, ratty, delusional, populist, stereotypical, greedy, dimwitted vision thing.

Do you by any chance recall a Batsford chess book for kids, called <The Adventures of Dan the Pawn>? If I remember right, there were complaints about its 'racial stereotyping' because the single game it contained was a White win.

Between one thing and another here, it seems the Frogspawn house style is taking shape... from soul to poison soul...

But -- as a general rule -- everybody winds up on somebody's ignore list.

Go on then, let's go full circle...

'I'm looking inside your brain,
And Christ, it's a cluttered mess;
I love you, I must confess'

It's now clear to paleochessologists that the French Def represents the original lineage. The freakish move 1...e5 is a sort of chessic giraffe, its long neck pulled out of shape by aeons of in-breeding. And stretching after illusory juicy pawns in the treetops.

Touché.

Dan the Pawn: yep, cool cover. Wonder if they'd let me use it aa an avatar when the Eye wears out (yes, it *does* make you go blind...)

Speaking of avatars: I assume yours is customised, pimp-my-pawn style? It doesn't seem to be typical of the images on offer, not that I've ever actually succeeded in decrypting its component parts...