Chess Memories. Has Stockport become East Cheadle’s bunnies?
The pulsating twist and turn of the events means that my reporting may on this rare occasion fall below its customary high standard of accuracy.
As I recall, on my arrival at our place of many a mighty battle, the visiting players had arrived, and discarded the extra layers of clothing they wore, after learning that members of the last team to play there were still suffering from frost bite.
I consulted my briefing notes. As usual, we were outgunned according to ranking, but not outrageously so. If we all played above our rankings, an unexpected victory would be ours.
But the realist in me warned against optimism ...