A man walks up Woodlands Road, a folding table and two chairs wedged under his arms. It is cold and dark, the skeletal branches of trees lining the street create glowing jigsaw shapes in the tenement windows above him. Undisturbed by the chill in a thick, fleece-lined leather jacket and trapper hat, he unfolds the table in front of Pepe’s Piri Piri takeaway, and begins unpacking his rucksack.
“Hello Michael!” sings out a passing woman, placing her hand to her chest. He acknowledges her greeting with a toothy grin, whilst methodically arranging items on the table: a large wooden chess set, a scoreboard written on a scrap of cardboard and a laminated sign bearing a green design of a galloping horse, beneath which is printed ‘Master of Chess’ in serif font.
Finally, he places a microphone in a small stand on the table and extends another beside it, into which he fixes his phone. Now seated, he addresses an unseen audience in a gentle Zimbabwean accent: “Good evening clients! We are here at Woodlands community. Two hours of entertaining — we come here to relax.”
This is Chessmaster Michael.
Michael — who prefers we don’t use his surname — has been a Woodlands Road fixture since 2018, the year I also moved to the area. I was on nodding terms with him then, as I passed by often, though never introduced myself. But tonight I finally do. It’s time to watch the Chessmaster at work.
Or rather, at play because Michael is legally not allowed to work. The 66 year-old is, like many in this city, an asylum seeker waiting for a decision on his application to remain. He’s come up with a novel way of filling the many long hours he has on his hands: challenging passers-by to games of chess on the street.
It was in his native Zimbabwe, aged 13, that Michael first picked up a chess piece. That was 53 years ago. Now, thousands of miles away, he commutes to this stretch of pavement four or five nights a week from his Shettleston flat. Between 8pm –10pm he live-streams the games on TikTok to a small, but engaged, following.
His opponents are often repeat challengers, returning to hone their skills. “Hi Michael,” calls out a young woman approaching us, about 15 minutes in. He introduces me to Tess, a masters student in Serious Games and Virtual Reality at the Glasgow School of Art (registering my confusion, Tess translates this as learning to create educational video games). She takes a seat as he sets up the pieces.
Michael rolls cigarettes for them both, they snap a selfie and the game commences. A few minutes in, Tess lifts her rook to take Michael’s pawn, prompting him to raise his hand and suggest another move, “Because now you have officers commanding the front line.” Michael adapts his game depending on which “community member” he is playing. For those with less experience, like Tess, they are more lessons than contests.
She eyes one of his bishops with her fingers on a pawn. “You have to seize the opportunity,” he advises.
“Is this a trap?” she asks warily.
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