Not Drowning, Mothering is, it turns out, a rather popular Australian blog chronicling the adventures of "one woman, three children, a husband & an unreasonably angry cat" - and its author seriously hates chess.
And, at least some of her reasons for doing so are undoubtedly true. "Chess is upsetting" - true. "Chess is time-consuming" - yup. Clocking up years over here. "Chess is boring" - sometimes, certainly. On the other hand, "Chess is thinly-disguised classist propaganda" and "Chess is misogynistic" I'm less convinced about, whilst "Chess is a game of strategy" is debatable. Still, nonetheless, most people don't voluntarily dedicate hours of their spare time to something upsetting, time-consuming and intermittently boring. And I do. We do.
Readers, the question of today is as follows. Why do we do this thing called chess to ourselves?