The High Road by Terry Fallis

started. Laughter all round. “Happy New Year to you all and I thank you for coming out on what is traditionally a holiday. This hastily called election just doesn’t give us much flexibility on timing.”
    He went on to cover the major points of his principled approach to representing the riding by putting the interests of the nation ahead of all else. But he was preaching to the converted, and it didn’t really matter what he said. They loved him and very nearly derailed his talk by interrupting every third sentence or so with a spontaneous outburst of applause.
    Then Angus sprung the red ribbon idea on them. And on us. Muriel and I had been wondering how we were going to produce lawn signs when we really hadn’t raised any money yet. Angus solved that problem for us towards the end of his remarks.
    “I’ve been thinking a lot about how campaigns are usually run. At the end of the race, our local landfill is the recipient of thousands of cardboard or, worse, plastic lawn signs. I’m not happyabout that and I venture to say that you probably aren’t either. So here’s how we’re going to handle it. We will manufacture no lawn signs. None. If any of you, or any other voters, care to express public support for my candidacy, you have only to tie a red ribbon on your car, or to the tree in your front lawn, or to something in your front window. Just a simple display of red will suffice. Let’s change the way things are done.”
    In the last campaign I had brazenly spun our lack of lawn signs as an environmental initiative. At the time, only the most naïve had bought what I was selling. But four months later it turns out it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
    With only fifty or so members in attendance, the vote didn’t take long and Angus was acclaimed as the Liberal candidate. It was official. Of course, a Liberal winning in this riding, even Angus McLintock, was still the longest of long shots. No political pundits in their right mind would ever predict a second Liberal victory. The fluke Liberal win last time was such a shock to the local political system that re-electing Angus carried hole-in-one odds. But here we were.
    As Angus and I extricated ourselves from the meeting, a group of boisterous women from the Riverfront Seniors’ Residence started to chant “Angus! Angus! Angus! Angus!” They needed only pompoms to consummate the surreal scene. I doubt many other candidates in the country had their own squad of octogenarian cheerleaders. I think Angus was touched by the show of support.
    After dinner, I left Lindsay to work on her Master’s thesis as I headed up the path, intent on taking at least one game from Angus.
    I had my regular Coke while Angus sipped a third of a tumbler of Lagavulin. I could smell its strong iodine-tinged aroma from my side of the board. Angus had already dismantled me in two games but I was holding my own in game three. I was playing white and had managed to sacrifice a bishop to set up a knight fork that claimed his queen. His queen for my bishop and knightwas a solid return on my investment.
    “Well played, laddie!” he thundered. “I must realign my thinkin’ if you’re able to plan and execute a stratagem of that calibre.”
    I tried to remain calm but when you take a superior opponent’s queen, it’s cause for celebration. I kept it low key and broke into a disco classic, complete with dancing hands and very rhythmic shoulders.
    I crooned “That’s the Way I Like It,” complete with all the jubilant “uh-huhs.” It just wasn’t the same without the mirror ball, but nevertheless it was quite satisfying.
    “If you’re going to do that each time you win one of my pieces, I cannae promise you safe passage back to the boathouse.”
    “Don’t worry, I don’t imagine I’ll get the chance to do that very often,” I conceded. “Besides, I’ve had many compliments on that number over the years.”
    Thirty-two minutes later I finally took him down, confining his