Last place is not the worst

At a youth centre in Port Said, a chess tournament runs late into the Ramadan nights. Sixteen players enter. One of them loses every game.

It is easy to call him the worst player in the tournament. It is also wrong.

He sat down seven times across from people who were better than him, in a room where anyone could watch the board. He lost in public and came back the next night. That alone puts him ahead of a great many people in Port Said who play well enough at home and would never put their names on the sheet.

And they, in turn, are ahead of everyone who says they would love to learn one day and has never set up a board at all.

Last place is something you have to earn by entering. The real bottom of the table is invisible, because the people on it never sign anything that could be ranked.

This is worth remembering whenever a result is disappointing. A first product that sold three units. A writer with eleven readers. The stall at the market with the fewest visitors. Each of them is on the table now, and each can get better, because there is finally something to get better from.

The people laughing from outside have nothing to improve. They never played.