Why I Don't Play Tournament Chess Anymore

At times the empty squares beg me to cover their
nakedness with a piece or expose their center. The king
looks up and frowns because he is unprotected in the
middle and wants to be castled.

The pawn at the bottom of the chain cries that he's
backward and lost. The rook argues that he needs an
open file to fill while the knights complain that they're
useless at the board's edge.

The the bishops pray to be fianchettoed into the long
diagonal and glare at the queen who weeps that she is
tired of endless forays toward an unimpressed enemy and
thinks she is about to be forked by an opposing knight.

Then they break into a chorus of catcalls, labeling
me fish, putz, patzer, and wood-pusher because I should
have spent more time studying Nimzowitsch's system
instead of dawdling over five-minute chess in the park.

And while I'm facing this cacophonous squabble of
dissent, seeing zugzwang in every position, my opponent
watches the clock run down until my red flag falls.
So, you see, it's really a coup d'etat that has forced
my abdication.