Disclaimer: I don't own anything
On my tenth birthday, my father bought me a chess set. He taught me how to play and I quickly caught on. Every night when he came home from work we would play a game of chess. After a few weeks, I was winning every game. My father soon became frustrated with constantly losing to a ten year old, and he began making excuses after work. He had to wash the car, or he needed to mow the lawn. When he ran out of excuses, he started telling me he'd had a long day and was too tired to play. I realized what he was doing and finally stopped even asking him.
When I entered high school, I learned there was a chess club. I joined immediately. I left two weeks later. The other students were annoyed at constantly losing, and they hated playing against me. They usually opted for a swift death and didn't even try to win, instead letting me have my victory quickly so they could play someone else.
At sixteen I joined MENSA. Many of the other members played chess, and I was thrilled at the chance to finally have a real challenge. Unfortunately, there was no challenge. I kept winning games, and the other members began to get upset with me for making them look like fools. So I stopped playing chess.
Occasionally when I worked in Russia or Antarctica I would challenge another scientist to a game of chess, but I always won. Nobody ever played more than a few games against me.
Then I came to Atlantis. The first time Sheppard and I were in the mess hall after a bad mission, he asked if I played chess. I hesitantly said yes. He told me he'd be right back and left the room. He returned a few minutes later with a chess board. After a few moves, I saw my opening. My chance to win. I didn't take it. I ignored all the good moves that I could have taken and Sheppard won. This was the first time I'd lost a game in over 20 years. It felt great. He offered another game, a chance to redeem myself. I lost again.
We've continued playing chess in our spare time. After every mission gone wrong; sitting in the commissary cradling coffee mugs and hunched over the checkered board. In my lab when I've forgotten to eat and he brings me a dinner tray and the chess board. Sometimes we'll just meet in his quarters, hanging out and playing a game or two. I've never won a single game against him, and he's never noticed. But it works that way. He keeps playing, never giving up.
xxxxx
McKay and I have been playing chess since a few days after we arrived in Atlantis. The first game we played I noticed that he missed an easy move. As I started paying closer attention, I noticed that he'd passed up several good moves. I chalked it up to him being tired from the long mission. Two nights later we played again, and he continued making bad moves. He was letting me win. Of course, he thought he was being very sly about it. He'd never even guess that I'd figured out what he was doing. McKay may be a genius, but there is one thing he absolutely cannot do. Lie. Whether it's denying the fact that he stole the last chocolate power bar from my pack, or telling me that No, he doesn't have a stash of coffee beans in his quarters, or throwing away a game of chess and thinking I don't notice, McKay can't lie to save his life. I don't know why a man with an ego like his would ever intentionally lose a game, but that's what he does every time we play. Three years in Atlantis, playing chess several nights a week, and he's never won a game. But he enjoys our games of chess, and so do I, so I never mention it. So we play, and he looses, and he complains for a chance at best of three or five or seven. And I always agree to another game.