by Mark Rubenstein
I started playing Go in the 1970’s. I only knew one other person who played, a friend whom I had taught. I didn’t know much back then, but I was enthralled by the beauty of the game. My friend had a set of stones; I don’t know where he got them, but I thought they were spectacularly cool. I had a waterbed that he thought was cool. So we swapped.
Years went by, my friend moved away, and I put away my prized stones and stopped playing. I picked it up again in the mid 90’s. At some point I lost track of those stones.
Lately I had begun thinking about them, and started looking around the house for them. But I couldn’t find them. I started wondering if I had mis-remembered the swap all those years ago; did I trade the waterbed for the stones, or the other way around?
Then, while rummaging around in the basement looking for something else, I came across two small cardboard boxes. And there they were!
I washed them carefully and have been playing with them these last few weeks. I’ve never seen any stones quite like them. Each one is unique. I love the way they look and feel.
I remember reading once that Go stones are intentionally made slightly larger than the space allotted them on the board, so that the arrangement of stones will always be slightly irregular, never rigid. These are the only stones I’ve ever used that are like that. They fit perfectly on the long axis of the board, but are slightly too big to fit perfectly on the short axis. The result is a pleasing, if somewhat maddening, organic feeling of being jostled about.
This feeling, this organic, exuberant, messy tapestry is completely absent online. I’ve always thought my game suffers online; maybe it’s because it’s too rigid, too impersonal, too clean.
I’m playing well these days. I’ve rekindled my passion for the beauty of Go. And I’m looking forward to the day when we can all meet again over real boards with real stones… and I’ll bring mine.
