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A CFC PARABLE IN ONE ACT
Currently playing at the esteemed ChessTalk theatre!
The curtain rises to find a man standing at a podium in an elementary classroom. He is dressed in his Sunday best and is about to address a group of children who have moved their desks to the sides of the room and are sitting in a chaotic jumble on the floor. They fidget while they wait. One little boy reaches way back and feigns punching another boy on the arm and a third boy sticks out his tongue at a girl on the other side of the room. The boy who almost got his arm punched grimaces and looks around for the teacher. No luck. She has gone on her coffee break. He looks sideways at his attacker, his eyes narrowing. Meanwhile, our speaker shuffles his meticulously arranged notes, clears his throat, and with a big smile begins.
Narrator: Once upon a time, there was a plucky little organization called the CCF. Emerging from the economic ashes of the Great Depression, the CCF aimed to speak for the disenfranchised, in particular agrarian and…
We hear whispers from the wings. The narrator turns an ear to the rather urgent offstage goings on.
Narrator: …and…ummm…
The narrator turns away from the children to address the wings.
Narrator: [stage whispers] Look, I can’t concentrate! This gig is hard enough without having to listen to your big, fat… I beg your pardon? Say what?! No. Oh please, don’t make me laugh… No. Seriously?! Does anybody really want to hear about that? [sighs] Fine.
The narrator turns back to his audience, but we continue to hear even more whispers from the wings. Angry, sibilant whispers. Once again, the narrator turns to address the wings.
Narrator: [stage whispers] What are you going on about?! What? No, I didn’t mean “fat” literally. No. No. Yes. No! God no. I like a woman with curves, if you know what I mean. Yes. Yes.
The angry offstage whispers are now murmurs. The narrator smiles greasily and leans casually on the podium. It is obvious that he has momentarily forgotten where he is. The children look on with mouths agape and shining eyes. This is better than they had hoped.
Narrator: [in a normal voice] Look, meet me in my dressing room after the show. I’ll show you my…
Absolutely frantic whisperings from backstage. The narrator turns with a start and sees the children. He smiles uneasily, taking a moment to collect himself, smoothing his hair and adjusting his collar. He reaches under the podium and brings out a different set of notes. He starts again.
Narrator: Once upon a time, there was a plucky little chess organization called the CFC. It had its ups and downs. There were times when it seemed as if it were serving the better interests of Canadian chess. And there were times when it seemed as useless as a knitted condom.
The children perk up.
Narrator: [to himself] Dammit. Not again.
The narrator again reaches under the podium and pulls out a third set of notes. As he puts back the second set, we see written in bold ink on the front page: FOR CFC LIFE MEMBERS ONLY. The narrator scans the new notes.
Narrator: [to himself]…yadda yadda yadda…better interests of Canadian chess. Oh yeah! Here we are. [to the children] And there were times when it seemed as useless as your mother’s meatloaf. Am I right kids?
The children stare at him blankly.
Narrator: [to himself] Tough crowd. [to the children] The CFC is organized in a very special way. There are a group of Governors…
The narrator frowns, takes out a pen from his jacket pocket, and scribbles over a passage in his notes. He writes something and puts away the pen.
Narrator: …a group of Voting Members who are tasked by the vast Canadian chess playing population with meeting its every need. This is a very important job and the Voting Members take their responsibilities very seriously.
Again the narrator frowns and pulls out his pen.
Narrator: About half of the Voting Members take their responsibilities very seriously. [the narrator turns to address the audience, soliloquy-style] The other half could care less. But that’s another story.
The narrator again puts away the pen and then turns back to the children.
Narrator: Anywho… The Voting Members meet several times a year to make decisions about the future of chess in Canada. They get to vote about all sorts of things, including policy and rule changes, but their most important vote is to figure out who amongst them get to be the supreme leaders of the CFC.
It is obvious that the narrator is losing the interest of the children.
Narrator: Yes. You heard me right. People who are not just Voting Members. People who are better than Voting Members. We call them the Executive. And the most important by far of the Executive, of all these supreme leaders, is the President. He is sort of the Captain America of the supreme leaders.
The narrator looks up from his notes.
Narrator: We might call him the Captain Canada of supreme leaders, am I right kids?
One child yawns, another picks his nose. They are becoming increasingly lethargic. The narrator takes a deep breath and continues.
Narrator: Because the CFC is only a democracy in some ways. In other ways the supreme leaders get to make important decisions all on their own. Like when your teacher asks for your input about a class party. You may vote overwhelmingly to watch The 40 Year Old Virgin and have pizza and Pepsi as a snack, but ultimately she gets to decide that you’re going to watch Toy Story for the seventh time and have carrot sticks and orange juice as a snack.
The kids groan and nod knowingly. Brightened by this response, the narrator makes the bold decision to wing it. He puts away his notes and addresses the kids in a more casual manner.
Narrator: I tell you what. Let’s try something different. Do you guys like drama?
The kids nod enthusiastically.
CON'T ON FOLLOWING POST
Currently playing at the esteemed ChessTalk theatre!
The curtain rises to find a man standing at a podium in an elementary classroom. He is dressed in his Sunday best and is about to address a group of children who have moved their desks to the sides of the room and are sitting in a chaotic jumble on the floor. They fidget while they wait. One little boy reaches way back and feigns punching another boy on the arm and a third boy sticks out his tongue at a girl on the other side of the room. The boy who almost got his arm punched grimaces and looks around for the teacher. No luck. She has gone on her coffee break. He looks sideways at his attacker, his eyes narrowing. Meanwhile, our speaker shuffles his meticulously arranged notes, clears his throat, and with a big smile begins.
Narrator: Once upon a time, there was a plucky little organization called the CCF. Emerging from the economic ashes of the Great Depression, the CCF aimed to speak for the disenfranchised, in particular agrarian and…
We hear whispers from the wings. The narrator turns an ear to the rather urgent offstage goings on.
Narrator: …and…ummm…
The narrator turns away from the children to address the wings.
Narrator: [stage whispers] Look, I can’t concentrate! This gig is hard enough without having to listen to your big, fat… I beg your pardon? Say what?! No. Oh please, don’t make me laugh… No. Seriously?! Does anybody really want to hear about that? [sighs] Fine.
The narrator turns back to his audience, but we continue to hear even more whispers from the wings. Angry, sibilant whispers. Once again, the narrator turns to address the wings.
Narrator: [stage whispers] What are you going on about?! What? No, I didn’t mean “fat” literally. No. No. Yes. No! God no. I like a woman with curves, if you know what I mean. Yes. Yes.
The angry offstage whispers are now murmurs. The narrator smiles greasily and leans casually on the podium. It is obvious that he has momentarily forgotten where he is. The children look on with mouths agape and shining eyes. This is better than they had hoped.
Narrator: [in a normal voice] Look, meet me in my dressing room after the show. I’ll show you my…
Absolutely frantic whisperings from backstage. The narrator turns with a start and sees the children. He smiles uneasily, taking a moment to collect himself, smoothing his hair and adjusting his collar. He reaches under the podium and brings out a different set of notes. He starts again.
Narrator: Once upon a time, there was a plucky little chess organization called the CFC. It had its ups and downs. There were times when it seemed as if it were serving the better interests of Canadian chess. And there were times when it seemed as useless as a knitted condom.
The children perk up.
Narrator: [to himself] Dammit. Not again.
The narrator again reaches under the podium and pulls out a third set of notes. As he puts back the second set, we see written in bold ink on the front page: FOR CFC LIFE MEMBERS ONLY. The narrator scans the new notes.
Narrator: [to himself]…yadda yadda yadda…better interests of Canadian chess. Oh yeah! Here we are. [to the children] And there were times when it seemed as useless as your mother’s meatloaf. Am I right kids?
The children stare at him blankly.
Narrator: [to himself] Tough crowd. [to the children] The CFC is organized in a very special way. There are a group of Governors…
The narrator frowns, takes out a pen from his jacket pocket, and scribbles over a passage in his notes. He writes something and puts away the pen.
Narrator: …a group of Voting Members who are tasked by the vast Canadian chess playing population with meeting its every need. This is a very important job and the Voting Members take their responsibilities very seriously.
Again the narrator frowns and pulls out his pen.
Narrator: About half of the Voting Members take their responsibilities very seriously. [the narrator turns to address the audience, soliloquy-style] The other half could care less. But that’s another story.
The narrator again puts away the pen and then turns back to the children.
Narrator: Anywho… The Voting Members meet several times a year to make decisions about the future of chess in Canada. They get to vote about all sorts of things, including policy and rule changes, but their most important vote is to figure out who amongst them get to be the supreme leaders of the CFC.
It is obvious that the narrator is losing the interest of the children.
Narrator: Yes. You heard me right. People who are not just Voting Members. People who are better than Voting Members. We call them the Executive. And the most important by far of the Executive, of all these supreme leaders, is the President. He is sort of the Captain America of the supreme leaders.
The narrator looks up from his notes.
Narrator: We might call him the Captain Canada of supreme leaders, am I right kids?
One child yawns, another picks his nose. They are becoming increasingly lethargic. The narrator takes a deep breath and continues.
Narrator: Because the CFC is only a democracy in some ways. In other ways the supreme leaders get to make important decisions all on their own. Like when your teacher asks for your input about a class party. You may vote overwhelmingly to watch The 40 Year Old Virgin and have pizza and Pepsi as a snack, but ultimately she gets to decide that you’re going to watch Toy Story for the seventh time and have carrot sticks and orange juice as a snack.
The kids groan and nod knowingly. Brightened by this response, the narrator makes the bold decision to wing it. He puts away his notes and addresses the kids in a more casual manner.
Narrator: I tell you what. Let’s try something different. Do you guys like drama?
The kids nod enthusiastically.
CON'T ON FOLLOWING POST
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