Your First Chess Tournament

A Parent Cheat Sheet

Before You Walk In

It looks like a few quiet games of chess. It is not. Tournaments are long, focused, and surprisingly intense. Kids get tired. Emotions run high. This is all normal.

Stay nearby. Games can end quickly or take ages. Your child will look for you.

Inside the Hall

It is very quiet. No cheering, reacting, coaching, or eye contact. Spectators watch from a distance and communicate mainly by standing very still.

The Rules That Catch Everyone Out

Touch move

If a piece is touched, it must be moved unless your child says j’adoube first. There are no take backs.

The clock

After every move, the clock must be pressed. Forgetting costs time. Thinking too long loses games. The clock is part of the game.

Notation

Moves must be written down. Handwriting will be questionable. This improves later.

What to Bring

Snacks, water, a warm top, and something to do between rounds. Venues vary. Delays happen. Comfort helps everyone.

Parents and Arbiters

Pairings go up on walls. Rounds rarely start on time. Patience is useful.

Arbiters are there to help and keep things fair. Be friendly. It is a small chess community.

After the Game

Wins may get shrugs. Losses may feel dramatic. Both are normal.

Resist the urge to analyse immediately. Often the best support is food, quiet, and a hug.

The Big Picture

Your job is not to fix mistakes or results.
Your job is to get your child to the next round calm, fed, and ready.

Welcome to youth chess.
It is quieter than you expect.
And a lot more serious than it looks ♟️

Our Actual First Tournament

North District School Trials 2024 – U9 Boys

2 February 2024

This was our first-ever chess tournament.

My wife and I looked at each other that morning and agreed: an hour, maybe two. In and out. A few moves, a handshake, a juice box, and home before lunch.

On this logic, we brought our three-year-old along too.

This was our first mistake.

The First Warning Signs

The first disturbance in the Force came when we arrived and noticed that everyone else had brought their own chairs. Camping chairs. Along with snacks. And cooler boxes. And what looked suspiciously like full-day catering plans.

We had optimism. And a toddler.

Then came the pairings.

What on earth is a pairing?
(No fear — this is Googlelandia.)

Ah. It tells you who your child is playing, where they're sitting, and what colour they're playing.

Okay. Okay. Got it.

I did not, in fact, have it.

Round One: The Ritual

We find the table. Plop him down. Hugs. Kisses. Photos. This is history being made.

We finally notice the opponent. A small, calm human named Mr Beaukes.

We snarl internally.
He doesn't notice.

His dad places him at the board. I pull in my belly and give my best "I'm from the hood" nod. His dad responds with something equally primal.

At this point, the arbiter appears and kicks us all out.

(More on arbiters later. For now: think "bouncer with a clipboard.")

Life Outside the Hall

The parents retreat. The plebs (us) sit on the grass.

Before my joints can relax — and before they make that familiar, soul-crushing creaking sound — I see him.

Mr Johnson is done.

Out he comes. Tears. Snot. The full emotional liquidation event.

I was not prepared for this.

Panic mode. No more hood energy. Only hugs.

We open a Google Note and write down the opponent's name.

We don't lose. We learn. We will return.

That was the gist of my speech. As a chess parent, always have a few of these ready — for wins and losses.
You may thank me later. Cash is fine.

The Long, Long Wait

We assumed that since our game ended quickly, we were on track for the original one-hour plan.

We were wrong.

Some of these kids play every single minute. They extract value from time increments like hedge fund managers. Games go on. And on. And on.

We end up at the tuckshop.

There are roughly 100 people in the queue.

Out of guilt (or maybe a premature victory lap), we buy whatever the kids want.

This was a catastrophic strategy.

First tournament snack bill: R600.
Oi.

Toddler Logistics & Existential Questions

We pace the grounds with the toddler, asking ourselves:

How many more hours?

Should we split forces?

Does one parent take half the team home?

Do we rotate shifts like a pit crew?

We do none of this.

We both stay.

Perspective Arrives (Quietly)

By the end of the day, our son has lost two out of five games.

The first child he lost to finished second overall.
The other child attends Welgemoed Primary School — the same school as the overall winner.

(More on that later too.)

Context. It arrives late, but it arrives.

The Exit

We leave immediately after our son's final match.

Six hours after the day started.

Others are still playing.

Only later do we find out there were medals for the top finishers.

Bleh.

Next time.

And That Was Our First Tournament

We arrived naive.
We left tired, poorer, slightly wiser, and completely hooked.

Welcome to competitive youth chess.

It's quieter than you think.
And it absolutely does not end in an hour.