Primer #5

Regurgitation onto a digital canvas is not what we want. Shakespeare is only re-written, yet the Romeo always dies. Give me a lifting story, a moment of peace, and show me that there is yet good in the world. When the last curtain has fallen, and the lights come back on, good must overcome evil, truth must be restored and shown, and in the silence of the unknown applause, the introspective soul will be found. Entertain me, not with modern rhetoric, but poetic prose, power. I need to see what you see inside the abyss. Every man will crawl to that dark hole and stare into its void, yet we leave a changed or consumed individual. Show me your changed scarred heart, show me your soul…


Amuse me for a moment…

Clan of the Broken Banner -- Pt. 5 "Breathing Room"

My dreams are becoming more real as of late. My ability to discern between fantasy and reality lessens and the lines between the two become blurry. I have woken up many times, wondering if what happened the night before was real. It felt real, I felt conscious, I felt awake, albeit a little drowsy.
It wasn’t long after my previous day dream, the one where the man in alley looked at me and said I wasn’t one of them, whatever that meant, that these surreal dreams started happening. In these dreams, nothing bad happens. I hear a noise in my house and walk around it with my guard up like a south paw boxer. What made it different from normal dreams was that I could feel the carpet on my toes, I could hear the fish thank gurgling, my dad snoring. The detail was too real. Other dreams were more like watching a movie where things happen and the actors are talking directly to the camera.
At first, these dreams were harmless and seemingly pointless. Most were of me wandering around my house, the yard, or my own room. Occasionally I would be at a friend’s house, but they were never up. I would ask my parents the next morning if they heard me walking around the house last night, and they promptly said that they hadn’t.
Was my mind getting the better of me? Was I going mental? Did I have some condition? Thank you universe for the internet and the creation of webmd! The closest thing that I could come up with was a REM sleep behavior disorder. Usually with REM, the muscles becomes slight paralyzed through the brain is as active as it is when you are awake. What ends up happening is that the individual acts out their dream. There body moves as they move in their dream. As I understood, that meant that the person would be seeing one thing in his or her mind, but acting out in the real world.
The exact cause of RBD is unknown, webmd said, except for those who had serious illnesses like Parkinson’s or were coming off of hypnotic-sedative withdrawal (whatever that was) and anti-depressants. I wasn’t on any medication and my health was fine. I was almost certain that I had RBD. Then I got a phone call from my best friend on the other side of town.
Last night, I had another surreal dream that I had gone over to visit him. He had filled his hot tub on the back porch and with my unexpected visit, asked if I would want to join him in a quick dip. I agreed to it, changed into a spare swimsuit he had. While in the hot tub, I know I jabbed at him, asking if he was the one who put the money in it and where he was working. He remarked that the servants, which he often called his parents, had done most of the installation and it would be taken out of their pay.Then I woke up.
“Hey man, what’s up?” I said.
“Not much. Just sayin’ that was pretty awesome of you to stop by last night! We should do stuff like that more often?”
“You mean… the hot tub?”
“Yeah man, that! On a school night too of all things! Gave us time to talk without worrying about homework and junk.”

I hung up the phone.
It wasn’t a dream. It was real. But why did it feel like a dream? I had some control over what I did, but as dreams are, it was unnatural, like being on autopilot except for emergencies.
Something was wrong.

I woke up a second time. My neck and face were covered in sweat. It was still dark outside. I pinched my cheek, and feeling pain, assumed I was awake. The movie “Inception” came to mind and I had wondered what exactly happened. The research on the internet and the phone call from a friend, it was just a dream. I couldn’t recall when I started researching or how I got to the computer. I did remember laying down the night before, but how did I know about RBD?

I opened my laptop and checked my search history. Webmd.com was on the list with a search heading of RBD. I checked my phone. My friend had called me and the call only lasted thirty seconds. There were two other missed calls after that.
I did the only thing any sensible teenage boy would do. I went upstairs and knocked on my parent’s door.

“Mom? Can I talk to you? I think I’m sick.”

Primer #4

I suppose that my life’s ambition is be greater than what I see myself as currently. I have been told multiple times that I have a great capacity for many a talent. I have crossed myself in my endeavors to better them. In business, you take time, money, resources, and invest them into a project and expect a return on your investment. Outside of this, or inside of this, are many talents, ones of which I feel flustered over because either, I am not good enough to make a living off of them, or I don’t know how to use them properly. The real question is, why invest time in talents if I will not receive a benefit for them? I need to have joy in the doing. Why do I write books? Because I enjoy it!
It is a love-hate relationship because as I put to pen the words in my head, I am please with the fluidity in which they appear on the page. I am flustered though because even as I write the words, I know they are not good enough to capture the moment, the essence, the emotion, the vision that I have for that story. I see in my mind, how the story should go, the specific, tenuous details that add to the emotion, the raw terrific emotion of the moment, and I know that the words I put down are not good enough. I continue to write over and over and over again, in hopes of achieving that goal, of reaching that summit where I can look back on my work, and say as the Great Creator said, “It is good.”
And even if that event is achieved, who is to say that it will be liked? Who is to say that a living could be made off of it? Who is to say that it will be successful? There are some who had taken NYT bestselling books, and re-submitted them, and been rejected by the same publishers that published them. The truth of the matter is, no one knows what will be successful in the market place. As this is the case, there are only two things that make or break a published book: You! Luck! I will do all that I can to succeed, to be true to the art, the muse, the story in my head, the characters, the powers at be. I will honor the story I write, in hopes that it will honor me with luck. And if I fail, than I blame myself for the lack of success by which the work wrought.

Let ink and pen be had!
Let parchment and tablet be found!
Let the lyric and its sonnet,
and the rose colored word find its way into my hands.
Let it begin,
Lo! the artist awakes
The pen strikes the parchment as a sword to a dragon’s chest
The story unfolds, the muse,
She whispers

Primer #3

Too much to do and not enough time to do it in is a common phrase spoken by many, lived by many, but understood only by few.

When we are given tasks, assignments, projects and homework in school, they tell you it will prepare you for the life journey ahead withe a future employer. We are programmed from our youth up to expect our selves to do everything and have everything be done at the end of the day else we will fail, and we consider ourselves as that specific failure.

Heaven forbid any of us should feel so...

Between individual cultures, needs, environments, perceptions, paradigms, realities, parallel realities, imagined realities, and what actually needs to get done, only one truth remains... proper prioritization to proficient problem solving.

Harvard came out with a style, emphasized by S.R. Covey on 7 Habits, and utilized within the work force. For me, and possibly others, the clash still exists within the soul, the student, the academic that resides in the far recesses of my brain to go our and destroy each task to precision. A sense of urgency develops, a tense feeling tingles across the epidermis each morning, resulting in shivers, shakes, and all together nauseousness at eight.

Before hand it was a grade... now it is a career.

Forthcoming I must be, and realize that unlike formal education, there is one aspect that I have yet to grasp and ascertain, and that is the human element, the soft science, the art of manipulation, randomization, luck, and more importantly, taking time to sip on a preferred beverage of choice.

What may be seen as a most didactic moment, such that if not embraced, would lead to my downfall, evaporates into the hours and a fruit grows. This fruit is a positive result, nurtured with panic, stress, anxiety, more stress, a few gray hairs, and an altogether ol' fashioned American know how.

When the direction is set, and the benefit is seen, proven, and appreciated by one, the rest will follow like sheep to new pasture, or lemmings to their fall.

Take care and mind your step and realize, you only have to open the gate to success, others will follow.

Next time on Primer: The difference between problem solving and goal achieving.

Primer Part 2

I have made a decision in my writing career...


Come to an almost certain conclusion...

And it most definitely involves current circumstances within my professional life



The decision is this: One day, I am going to write a book about how and why MRO management is pertinent from the low level line worker to the CEO.



The almost certain conclusion is that management books (at least ones that I have read) that involve an analogy of some kind (Ice Cream Maker, High 5, Leadership and Self-Deception for example) are (in my opinion) bland as a story.

Perhaps it is the preach-I-ness (I meant to spell it that way) of a fake business, with a fake problem implementing a proposed real solution that works in other businesses and will work in yours.



I am glad that Good to Great concepts work for your management team and that your business (if you have implemented the principles) has experienced a complete 180 in terms of communication and professional development, resulting increase sales, profit, employee retention, market share, product quality and every other metric we hold ourselves to, live and die by.



For the rest of us who may not experience the change in culture or financial direction from a 115 to 280 page booklet on management choices, perhaps the problem isn't knowledge, and perhaps the problem isn't what we think or believe it to be at all.



Perhaps this young buck see's another problem all together, and maybe, just maybe, it can't be solved with a clever proverb wrapped up in business principles and endorsed by Steven Covey. Perhaps 7 Habits works for you, perhaps it doesn’t.



Not all problems can be solved by business books on fake business and people. Perhaps, as a culture, we are unsure as to what true principles of leadership are or are too afraid to apply them. The point is this: to be successful, we have to look at the actual problem, the actual disease, not the symptoms.



Is your business not being successful because you have too much overhead? Are your products not being sold because the perceived quality in the market place is not where you would like it to be? Are you attacking travel and expense budget control, when the real problem is mudda and re-run on the production floor? Are you focusing on cutting cost, when your target market is way off of a profitable track? Do you have a profitable market base, but your not focusing on cutting costs?



We cannot leave root cause analysis up to the plants and production floors in order to be successful.



Back to my decision. I can write a short business book on management of MRO, preventative maintenance and how it will help an organization, wrap it up in a cute story about a made mega million company learning from a small auto-shop that a next door neighbor runs, and sell a few thousand companies. OR I can write an exceptional story about a real company whose name has been changed and how management of preventative maintenance and MRO contracts resulted in more up time, better quality, and all around better products and margins, leading an organization to greater levels of success...



More to come...

Primer Part 1

I am 26 years old and I know what I want to be when I grow up,


but I don’t know when to grow up

but I know what I should be

Spiritually, mentally, emotionally speaking



I understand my role and duty

Temporal considerations yields only ambiguity



Who I love is clear

What I love is transparent

Where I work is a Monster who is Really Out of control!



I can see where improvements can be made

The process akin to extracting the supernumerary molars without administration of an anesthetic ... while recovering with a glass of sodium chloride diluted in vinegar

and exchanging morphine for a placebo supplement



Hypothesis: man chooses path of least resistance.



To myself I must be just and attempt to fail to disprove the desires of following the path my feet will most likely trod…



God willing

Primer for Prose: Intro

I have learned, that my ability to write, and the way I write is like an old well pump. How deep is this well you ask?

That is irrevelant...

I just like the taste of the water.

For this ol' hand pump to work, it must be primed. Water must be pour down the spicket to allow the sweet fresh water to be drawn up.

Hence the title.

Each day, befor I write, I will put to paper a poem. These poems will be my primer, and will be placed on this blog under a section, or title of "Primer for Prose".

I do not intend for them to be of any value, or by any rate publishable by traditional means, but what I do intend to do is use this as a tool to make the most out of my treasured novels.

Let the priming begin:

Clan of the Broken Banner -- Pt. 4

The kingdom of the three brothers, Rinehart, Aodhan and Amon, ruled well. Their three armies defended their shores from the godless invaders of the east, and the heathen of the south. It was told in all foreign lands that their armies were given a fever and lust for blood as never before seen among any warrior or band. Their determination to serve their king and land, their loyalty to their families and soil, were traits only wished for and sung about.

A decade of peace followed the invasions, and many nations paid tribute to the kingdom and clan of the three brothers. Together, Rinehart and Aodhan journeyed out to conquer more lands, to expand their empire, to amass more wealth, and acquire more subjects under their power. Amon, on the other hand, stayed behind and handled the internal affairs of the kingdom. Here was their greatest fall.

While the two older brothers conquered, Amon was left to the castle to plot. He did not plot with councilors, or under a secret band with signs and passwords, but within the great library. Book after book was read, tome after tome was opened and shut, scroll after scroll unrolled and rolled, candle after candle was melted. He searched for the history of the kingdom, of other kingdoms, of ancient kingdoms, and of politics. His kingdom, the one shared among three brothers, was not the first to occur in its fashion, and the endings were all similar. Brother was pitted against brother, army against army, and not long after the victor slew his own flesh and blood, another kingdom, baited by weakness and fatigue, would lay waste to an inheritance.

There would be no hope to preserve his kingdom, or to save his people, unless he could change history and forge an early peace among the brothers. Ideas swam through his mind of separating the brothers through the power of their conquest, but in each scheme, Amon saw his brothers pitted against each other as to who ruled who. As long as there was power, there would be corruption.

Upon return from their three year conquest, Rinehart and Aodhan shared liberally their spoils with their younger brother. Amon accepted their gold, jewels, ornaments and other treasures and invited them to a feast. A spread of goose, stag, boar, and beef was laid upon the table with bread and the season’s freshest crops. An old keg of ale was tapped and the barley brew was divided among them.  

Towards the middle of the feast, when the brothers and their captains were at their second helping of meat, and on their fifth mug of ale, Amon stood and called for attention.

“To my brothers, these spoils be,” he cried. The group applauded and cheered in reply. “But to this end I ask you, are you yet equal in your conquest? Will you still look at each other as one, brother to brother, eye to eye? Or will you subvert this kingdom by allowing pride to take seed within your heart? I see it now within you Rinehart and Aodhan. There is a gleam within your eye that speaks the truth of your soul. The kingdom is already lost, for neither of you will yield to my words.” As he spoke, both brothers stayed focused on him, lowering their heads slightly to take an awkward drink as to not may eye contact with the other. “Let go your foolish pride my brothers. Is not your conquest enough? Is not this spoil enough? Is not the love and adoration of your people enough? Is not the fear and terror of other nations enough? Is not the word of your brother enough to stay your hand against one another? Be still, take heart, and reflect upon the words of our father. If you do not, it will not be before winter's end when this kingdom will fall and its people placed under the rule of another.”

When Amon finished speaking, he sat down. The rest of the feast was had in silence, though an unheard anger brewed against Amon for his words. Neither Rinehart nor Aodhan spoke to defend against what was said against them, for it was truth. They knew it, but did not fear it. 

Clan of the Broken Banner -- Pt. 3

Two weeks later, while I was half engaged in eating a bowl of cereal before I left for school, I had another “daydream”. I imagined myself in downtown Seattle, next to what the locals call, “The Jungle”. It is a public park next to the iconic Smith Tower on Second Street. I had a friend who worked there as a security guard. He shared with me some horrific stories of riots, drugs, rape, and other crimes that happened during the late hours of the night. It was those stories that convinced me to go to college, but I digress.

I imagined that I was a pedestrian, walking down the hill between the Smith Tower and the Jungle, heading towards the Starbucks to get my morning fix. I heard a scream as I walked by the alley behind the Tower and saw a woman on the ground. Her sweater was torn down the back. A huge man stood over her pointing a switchblade at her throat. I ran in to the alleyway.

“Hey, get away from her!” I yelled, sprinting towards the man. The man froze and pointed the knife at me. In my supposed daydream, the man slashed his knife at me. I stepped back and grabbed the man’s wrist, locked it, flipped the man onto his back and then kicked the knife away from him. The woman got up and ran, calling for help.

The man was winded, but reached into his coat and grabbed a gun. Before he could pull the trigger, a UPS driver came out of nowhere, kicked the gun out of the man’s hand. A shot was fired, but missed both of us completely. I stood still, shocked that another would be so kind to assist me in my daydream.

“Grab the gun!” the UPS driver yelled. I grabbed the gun, handed it to the UPS driver, who then pointed it at the man's head. “One bad move and your gone,” he said. The man nodded and put his hands on his head. The UPS Driver motioned for the man to stand, and the man did so. “Turn around,” the UPS driver said. The man turned and the UPS driver pistol whipped him in the back of the head. The man fell unconscious and the UPS driver dissembled the gun in an instant.

“How did you do that?” I asked in my daydream.

"Where are you from?”

“Lynnwood,” I said. 

“What’s your name?”

“Kevin Bargrey. Why?”

“You’re not one of us, are you?

Then the dream ended.

That wasn't how my dreams were supposed to go! This was my daydream. I was supposed to be the hero! I was supposed to be the one asking questions and playing out simple, non detailed plots in my head.

But it wasn't a daydream.

Clan of the Broken Banner -- Pt. 2

749 BC Northern England

A father sat, dying upon his throne, unprepared to name his successor and future king of the people. The eldest of the three, Rinehart Blackbane swore claim to the throne, he being the stronger, older and more experienced of the three in battle. His fighting arm was uncontested in the kingdom. The second brother,  Amon BarGrey,  understanding his elders strength, conceded his claim to the throne, knowing that single handedly he could not defeat his brother. It would take time and planning to take what by intelligence, he deemed his own.

The third brother, Aodhan Whitehand was like his elder in strength, and though not as experienced in battle, felt that the kingdom should be divided amongst them, and that together, with an alliance, they could defend their rightful kingdoms.

But power is not shared lightly…

Before the king died, he called his three sons to him. “My sons, my sons, I soon go to meet the gods, and you are left with my kingdom.” Aodhan and Rinehart smiled while Amon shrugged. “But this kingdom shall not be given to one of you, but to the three, to Rinehart, the north, to Amon, from western shore to eastern shore, to Aodhan, the south. These three kingdoms will be unified equally by all three and you will be known as the clan of the three brothers.” He motioned to a servant who stood vigil next to his throne. The servant held a red pennant with three knots. “These knots represent you and your kingdom. As long as you are unified, your success will be limitless, but if one of you falls, then does the kingdom. Rule wisely.”

The debate concerning the successor was decided and the three brothers accepted it graciously.

Two weeks after the kings funeral, the three brothers counseled in their great hall about what portions of the castle would belong to whom, what resources would be traded amongst the three new kingdoms and the division of military to each kingdom.

As they were debating, and old sorcerer walked into their hall. He was a short, scraggly man, with missing teeth and stiff tangled hair. Rinehart stood and approached the man.

“What do you want? You were not invited to this council.”

“I may not have been invited by you, but I was invited.” Rinehart looked at each of his brothers, who shook their heads, signaling that neither of them had invited the man. “By your father…”

“But he has been dead two weeks. How is it he invited you.” Both Amon and Aodhan shook their heads at each other smiled. Aodhan was the first to speak up.

“He was invited to this council prior to our father’s passing. He is meant to be here.”  

Rinehart pretended to understand, but it was clear by his blank expression that he failed to grasp his father’s foresight.

“Your father was blessed with a gift given to him from the gods, one that I am going to pass to you three, and it shall be the last gift that is ever given to this world.”

“And what is this gift sorcerer?” Amon asked skeptically.

“It is the power to control others. It was what gave your father his overwhelming success in battle, and if used wisely, will defend your kingdom from the many afflictions that are to come.  But there is a choice within this gift. You may choose to control another completely, or control a populous partially, driving their desires, passions, and motives, but not their actions. Imagine leading an entire army without fear.”

“I wish to control many,” Rinehart said.

“As do I,” Aodhan followed.

“And you Amon, what is your choice?” the sorcerer asked.

Amon smiled.

“I choose one.” 

Narnia is Southwest Minnesota : A Haiku about Spring

It’s always winter


Never Christmas in Marshall

April snowstorms stink

Clan of the Broken Banner -- Pt. 1

I’m not crazy.

I have always had, or believed I had, this ability to see an event take place far away, as it was happening. Yesterday, for example, on my walk home from school,  I was supposedly caught in a day dream as my parental unit would say, and imagined what it would be like if a cougar came straight at me. In the middle of Lynnwood, this is highly unlikely and slightly dark, but I suppose that is all part of my “condition”.

 I imagined in my mind, taking a large piece of concrete that came free from a part of the sidewalk, and waving it at the cougar. When the feline would come too close, I’d bash its head in. I took this further in my day dream and imagined that I was in the woods, with my dog, if I had a dog, camping, and a cougar crossed my path. I would take out my trusty knife, if I had one, and perform the same menacing gestures towards the puma, warding it off.

When I got home, KOMO 4 at 4 was broadcasting a story of a boy who had saved his father from a mountain lion with nothing more than a hunting knife and a very loud voice. I would learn later that this was no coincidence; that my “condition” as my therapist called it, the quasi-schizophrenia, wasn't a condition, but a gift, and that my future was sealed to one of the greatest battles humanity would take part in, but never remember.  

I’m not crazy. 

Three Buckets of Better Business

Three Buckets of Better Business


Profits, people, and process these three buckets be

All blocking the path, between success and reality

Profits are needed, for business to succeed

But is impeded by the lack of customers, with wants and needs

Who are blocked by process, the bureaucracy of it all

Which can be removed by profits, and so we are at a stall

The old business model, is broken and useless

The financial and demand plans, its own hangman’s nooses

A new philosophy of problem solving, a paradigm shift

Is what will give our EBIT, its much needed lift

His Red Cape

Robert, my son has one thing he will not be parted from. His most favorite article of clothing is his red superman cape. He wears it everywhere; to school, to day-care, to church, to breakfast, to dinner, to his friend’s house, to grandma’s house, to the bath, to bed. His fascination for All-American Boy Scout, the Man in Blue, the Last Son of Krypton, goes beyond the point of boy-hood obsession, and verges on the precipice of schizophrenia.

Last week at the supermarket, my boy was sitting in the shopping cart as I was deciding which brand of spaghetti sauce to purchase. While I was debating if spaghetti should even be on the menu for that week, my boy put his hands up to his eyes like binoculars, and looked around.

“Mom, that lady gonna spill the cereal,” he said to me.

“You can’t see through walls,” I said nonchalantly, because I had said it a thousand times. Not one second after I said that, there was spill, a large one, in the aisle next to mine. I rushed over and saw an old woman lying down on the ground, the whole shelf of cereal fallen about her.

Captain Crunch mixed with Honey Nut Cheerios, shredded wheat mixed with all brands of chocolate covered breakfast delights, and in the midst of the General Mills medley, the woman lay on her back, unconscious. I called for help and before long, and checked for a heart rate. Long story short, the woman had a heart attack, was sent to the hospital and lived.

While on the way home from the grocery story, my son, placed his hands to his ears and looked out the window.

“Mom, the 7-11 is getting’ robbed by bad guys,” he said. I just shook my head.

“You’re hearing things. The 7-11 is fine,” I said.

“No mom, it’s getting robbed by bad guys. Wait, they’re gone now.”

That night, as I put my son to bed, I turned on the news. Sure enough, the woman in the grocery store made the local headline news at ten, and after that story, was the 7-11, and how it was robbed.

“Coincidence,” I told myself. I heard the fridge opening. Thinking it was my son, I walked to the kitchen to put him back to sleep.

Two men in ski masks with guns were helping themselves to the gallon of milk that I just bought. I looked at them too scared to move. They pointed theire guns at me and told me to sit in the chair. One of them grabbed my hair and pulled my head back.

“Hey!” I heard my son call out from the staircase. I looked, seeing him in his superman cape, glaring at the two intruders.

“Go back to bed Robert, Mommy is going to be fine!” I cried to him. One of the robbers snickered and ran after him. I screamed. Robert scrunched his face, put his fists on his hips and puffed out his chest. As the robber grabbed him, Robert spat in his face and then punched the robber between the eyes. The robber lost balance and fell backwards down the steps. Robert ran down and looked at the other intruder.

“You let her go!” he yelled, still maintaining his strong will. In a split second, the intruder pointed the gun at Robert and fired. I screamed, but Robert still stood, unharmed. I couldn’t watch. I clamped my eyes shut as the burglar emptied the clip into Robert. When I opened my eyes, Robert still stood, his fists on his side.

“What!” the burglar whispered.

“Let… her… go!” Robert said, calmly. The burglar did, and ran out the front door.

Robert, my son has one thing he will not be parted from. His most favorite article of clothing, his red superman cape… and that’s fine by me.

Arrogance and Naïveté : Generation Me

When you are finished reading, start reading again from the bottom up.

Arrogance:


They are endorsing them for skills never witnessed

They are listing skills that experience has never shared

College graduate, worked at a burger joint, skills of training and management

All they did was take cash at the window

Instruct the manager on how to make more burgers

Places fancy words behind it

The only passion was getting out, getting ahead, getting up,

Climbing, upward, higher and higher,

The rungs of the ladder, the backs of those who made a difference

Not knocking the foundation, but the entitlement of title and six figures

Perhaps the six figures should include the two digits after the decimal point

People with decades of experience, seeking new talent, new passion,

The experience will come is what is said,

The knowledge will come is what is said,

The salary will come, they hear,

The promotions will come they hear,

Trust the aged, and experience, the way will be clear,

Though they have never been to the top

They’ve seen it happen

Too much introspection, not enough retrospection

Perhaps there is underemployment

Perhaps too many jobs were passed by

Perhaps it is desperation

Perhaps it is realization

Realizing that they can only lead if they know where they are going

They can only know where you are going if they have vision

The only vision they see is success

They don’t know how to get there

And they don’t know the rules

Walking into the middle of a monopoly game

And they have brought chess pieces and a deck of cards

While checking the king in free parking

And cornering his queen on “Go”

And then claiming they’ve won

They haven’t won anything

Naïveté