Chess hustling Mongolian style

Monday evening, I finally went to the main square to meet the chess hustlers. As some followers of this blog may know, I have been a serious chess player for most of my life: I am ranked in the 93rd percentile of tournament chess players in the United States, and my international (FIDE) rating would rank me as 43rd among all Mongolians. Of course, as I know from my experiences in Washington Square, this may mean very little when it comes to the hurly-burly of chess games in the raucous atmosphere of a public park.

As I approached the park, I was immediately solicited for a game. I sat down, played, and won.  This prompted a challenge from another player, who suggested we play for 1000 tugregs (about $.75). While I was playing, I was also solicited for a checkers game, which I played simultaneously and lost (I am not that great a checkers player). At first, I thought my opponent was not going to pay me, then, he did present me with two small bills, which I put into my pocket without counting. Later, I found out they were only 100 tugregs. 

After a break,  (Nancy and I were on our way to run an errand)  I came back and played a few more games. The games were watched by at least 10 people, who crowded around the board, kibitzed in Mongolian, and brushed against me while I was playing. After winning two games, I played the most obnoxious kibitzer: he was probably a reasonable player, but his continual chatter was something of a distraction and I lost, to the delight of the crowd. I then played another game, which was not for money; but while I was playing, another individual set up a board and challenged me to a game for 1000 tugregs. 

I won the nonmonetary game, and while I was still playing the money game, an individual who spoke a little English introduced his friend, who wanted to play a "serious game" for 2000 tugregs. I accepted, and was now playing two games again. The player who wanted to play a serious game was a reasonably good player; he ultimately won when I blundered, we shook hands graciously, I of course paid him, and we both expressed the hope of playing again. The other opponent started moving very slowly, but eventually had a game that was completely and totally lost. He then indicated that it was too late to finish (he should have resigned and paid up). 

I would have thought that I would never starve in a place like Mongolia, where chess is big. However, I did not count on the way in which chess hustling is conducted, and the shenanigans to avoid paying when one loses.