1950 Hallicrafters Shortwave

Goldfarb was in a funk.

Now Goldfarb was often in a funk and both Lewberg and I had learned to keep our heads down until it passed.

The problem this time was that Goldfarb had fallen into a funk right before the club team golf championship and we needed him for his drive. Goldfarb was not a great golfer, but he did hit his driver a long way, and we really needed that.

But now Goldfarb was in a funk.

The funk was not affecting his distance. He was still hitting a crazy long way. But he was not hitting it straight.

Not straight at all.

Lewberg decided it was my fault.

“You and your bloody radios,” he said as Goldfarb hit another boomer into someone’s house.

‘You and your bloody radios’ was a common refrain from Lewberg but today he was not entirely off the mark. I had received a new radio the day before. It was a 1950 Hallicrafters with a clock radio. It was very cheap and a little beat up. The eBay seller had advertised it as working, but that can sometimes mean no more than the radio turns on and makes a terrible hissing noise. Which was the case here. I didn't mind because I had two similar working models and had picked this one for no other reason than I liked the color.

Goldfarb was at the house when I unboxed it, tested it, then put it on the shelf. He didn't help me do any of those things but he was at the house. He won’t say ‘you and your bloody radios,’ but he is often pained by what I spent and will sometimes say, “please tell me you didn't spend more than $50 for this piece of shit.” Which was kinda what I was expecting but this time he said. “We had that radio.”

He said it in a very casual way. As if he was asking me to please pass the cream cheese.

A lot of people will come to the house and the radios will evoke memories. They will say, “we had that radio,” or, “we had a radio just like that.” Once or twice they will be curious enough to hunt down old family pictures and discover that the plastic Motorola radio they thought they had turned out to be wood. Memory plays tricks on you like that sometimes.

But Goldfarb was a scientist and if he said he had that radio, then he had that radio. I waited to see if he would say any more. Goldfarb is not the chatty type and, as Lewberg and I have learned, doesn't really like to talk about the old days that much. For a second, I thought the moment had passed and then he said, “my father and I listened to Spassky-Fischer on that radio. BBC shortwave.”

“Iceland 1972,” I said.

“Yes,” he replied.

This is where it pays to know a little bit about Goldfarb’s history. Because otherwise, you might be left to think that a childhood memory of listening to chess with your father would evoke good memories.

But you would be wrong.

Goldfarb had been a chess prodigy who didn't want to be a chess prodigy. His father didn't care. Goldfarb had told me stories of how he listened to chess games on the radio, following along on his own chess board, and how his father then made him recreate the games by memory. Over and over again until he got it right.

Goldfarb, in defiance of his father, eventually quit chess but, not being able to give up gray matter pursuits entirely, took up backgammon.

It was a tough upbringing but I think he was more or less over it. In fact, both he and I had been playing the chess bots on chess.com lately. I asked him if he wanted to play me and he laughed so hard I thought he might pass out. But we both enjoyed watching YouTube videos from GothamChess, who was a 26-year-old named Levy Rozman, with 3.4 million subscribers, because he made his recaps of chess games, complete with exotic sounding names for openings and defenses, sound like a real sporting event.

So, I don't think it was the radio which put him into a funk. It was just a tiny trigger which put him in the funkdom lane for when the bigger trigger arrived.

And that trigger happened that very night.

Lewberg said we had to carbo load for the big match so the four of us went to an Italian joint we know. Golf is not exactly the tour de France but Lewberg took it pretty seriously so if he wanted to carbo load, who were we to question him?

Also, they made a delicious cacio e pepe. We were into our third bottle of Barolo when two couples took the table next to us on the front patio. I didn't tell Lewberg that three bottles, which would soon become four, was not exactly the best preparation because Lewberg would have just said, “we’re having Italian. Do you want me to drink fucking San Pellegrino? Are we animals?” So, I didn't say anything but Lewberg and Solly, who was our fourth, were the only ones who could really hold their wine. In other words, when the other diners sat down, Goldfarb and I were pretty hammered.

Also, and this is on me, he was already a tiny bit triggered.

So, when the guy said what he said, which is something which over a million people have said in the last year, we should have suspected it might set Goldfarb off.

But I was too drunk.

Solly didn't care.

And Lewberg wasn't drunk enough.

What the guy said was, “oh my god, I loved the Queen’s Gambit”

The Queen’s Gambit, as many of you might know, was a very popular Netflix series about a chess player. It, combined with the pandemic, was partly responsible for the huge chess revival.

Upon hearing the name of the show, Goldfarb swiveled in his chair to face the speaker. We’ve seen this countless of times. This guy thought Goldfarb was about to say oh my god, I loved it too.

Now, Goldfarb has never said ‘oh my god’ in his life.

Also, he absolutely hated The Queen’s Gambit even though the chess world universally said it was the most realistic depiction of chess ever on TV or film.

But Goldfarb didn't say he hated it. Instead, in a very calm tone which belied his volcanic mood, asked, “do you know what a Queen’s Gambit is?”

The guy was a bit confused but not confused enough not to realize this was not going to go well. Still, he had enough composure to say “you know, the Netflix series.”

Goldfarb, remaining seemingly calm, said, “yes, but the name of a series is based on a very famous, perhaps the most famous, chess opening. I’m just asking if you know what that opening is.”

The guy shook his head no.

“Did you all watch the series?” he asked the others.

Goldfarb had so far not raised his voice. Had not used foul language. But even a fool could see that the blood and Barolo were boiling. He didn't wait for a response.

“Do any of you know what the queen’s gambit is?”

They shook their heads.

“Nine episodes,” Goldfarb calmly turned to me and said, “nine?”

And I said “I think so.” I wasn't really sure what we were talking about.

“Nine episodes and nobody is curious to know what the queen’s gambit opening is?”

The tirade that followed their collective head shaking was a thing of beauty. The waiter ushered us out about midway through. We heard the rest of it in the car. Goldfarb was partial to the phrase “Ignorant cretins.” He used that one a lot.

“Ignorant cretins wouldn't know a knight fork if it got shoved up their asses.”

“Ignorant cretins wouldn't recognize the Petrov Defense if Petrov himself was taking a shit in their bathroom.”

That kind of thing.

Then Goldfarb got quiet.

When we got back to the house I got a laugh out of him by saying

“Ignorant cretins don't even understand you have to decline the gambit."

So, we thought maybe he was alright. Until he started hitting into the trees.

“Goldfarb is in a funk,” Lewberg said as he sipped his Ketel and cran.

“Me and my bloody radios,” I said with a smile beating him to it. We had finished fourth.

Behind the Garfinkel foursome. It was an embarrassment. Garfinkel was shit.

Lewberg said he didn't think he would be able to golf again for a week.

“Queen’s gambit,” he said.

“Ignorant cretins,” I replied.

“We could take him to a basketball game,” he said. “Knicks coming to town.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I replied. “Did you read that the Heat revoked Sovlar’s 10-year naming deal for the stadium?”

“Yeah. Sorry Pappy.” Lewberg was being kind. I had lost my shirt on a Sovlar crypto based NFT.

“Sovlar,” I said. “Ignorant cretins.”

“Naming rights,” said Lewberg. “World has gone crazy.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Although,” then I smiled, “it actually would be kinda funny. And Goldfarb would love it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Naming rights.”

“You want to name the Heat stadium after Goldfarb? Pappy, you’re rich. But not that rich.”

“Not the stadium.”

“Then what?”

“A chess opening. I want to name a chess opening after Goldfarb.”

And Lewberg. Good old Lewberg. He did not disappoint. Because then Lewberg said, “I think I've got a guy.”

Now Lewberg did not have a guy. He had the guy. Zakarian.

Of the Zakarian Defense.

He was living, barely eking out an existence, this a former Armenian grandmaster, playing patzers for small change in Miami Beach. Twenty bucks to have your picture taken with the old Armenian. It was a travesty.

Lewberg and I offered him $10,000 for the naming rights. Lewberg was going to pay the whole thing himself with his NFT winnings. Unlike me, he got out early.

Zakarian agreed without batting an eyelash. He took the 10 grand, signed the papers, and then even charged me $20 for the picture we took.

The Zakarian Defense was now the Goldfarb Defense.

That part was easy.

Then we had to hire a lawyer to slap injunctions on the chess streamers who, by force of habit or stubbornness, refused to make the change.

I spoke to GothamChess himself and he assured me that he would adopt the new name.

The hardest part was fixing the Hallicrafters. It was a bitch to find the right part.

With my new transmitter, I could now transmit the YouTube video through the radio.

I invited Goldfarb over to listen. Lewberg came too.

The move comes very early in the game.

Rozman (aka GothamChess) described it very casually, “Not surprising to see Carlsen play the Goldfarb Defense here. That is what he often plays with the black pieces.”

No reaction from Goldfarb.

So, I played it again.

Still no reaction.

Lewberg and I looked at each other. Lewberg shrugged his shoulder.

I said, “Goldfarb, anything you want to say?”

And Goldfarb said, “everyone knows he should have played the Petrov in this situation. The guy is a patzer.”

Then he smiled.

Next day Goldfarb hit the ball long and straight.

The End