Once again, he and his teammates were proving that boys from the 'hood could match, even surpass, the boys from the 'burbs when it comes to using their brains.

With the clock ticking, Brown banished the refrain ringing in his head ("I'm losing. I'm losing.") and focused on the battlefield, thinking, thinking, thinking -- three, then four, then five moves ahead. And yes! There was a way to vanquish his opponent.

So he did, sealing Jackson High's fifth national chess title since 1998.

The come-from-behind victory last month was a remarkable achievement for the inner-city school, which draws its black and Hispanic students from some of Miami's poorest neighborhoods. For a school where only 48 percent of students graduate after four years and only 6 percent of 10th graders can read at grade level, Jackson's chess prowess is a symbol of pride, mental discipline and success.

Chess trophies aren't the first thing most people think of when conjuring images of Miami's Liberty City or Allapattah -- drive-by shootings or street gangs are more like it. Yet Jackson's trophy case is stuffed with more prizes for chess than almost all other sports combined.

Chess teams from such elite schools as Gulliver Prep, where Gov. Jeb Bush sent his children when he lived in Miami-Dade, or J.R. Masterman, which accepts only Philadelphia's best and brightest, know they have a contender on their hands when they draw a Jackson opponent.

"I like to hear them say, `Oh, my goodness, I have a Jackson player,'" Brown said.

Chess is war, and the Jackson team is aptly named: the Generals.

"It's kind of like an underdog Rockeyesque-type thing," said team captain Victor Agosto, 16.

Especially in the beginning. Back before social studies teacher Mario Martinez coached Jackson to eight county championships, five state championships and five national titles, Jackson had the advantage of surprise. Opponents would take one look at team members, some of them sporting baggy shorts, gold teeth and snazzy dreads, and assume they had an easy win.

"The stereotypic chess player was a nerdy, white kid in preppie clothes," Martinez said. "Many had private coaches and tutors, and they thought they would just wipe us out. But we beat them. We broke the mold. A lot of people thought poor kids were dumb. We proved that, given a chance, every kid is capable."

That's Martinez's specialty: giving kids a chance. He spends almost as much energy raising money for the team as he does teaching his players strategy and tactics. For Jackson students, even the $6.50 entry fee for county tournaments can be a burden. Forget about financing a trip to the nationals.

Without the businesses and individuals who chipped in to cover expenses, the April 11-14 trip to Louisville for the U.S. Chess Federation's National High School Chess Championships would have been out of the question for Brown; Agosto; Alan Estrada, 16; and Joseph Lopez, 17.

But to the Jackson team, none of whom had played chess much before high school, Martinez's real talent is believing in theirs.

"He keeps us focused," said Agosto, who was anointed captain, his teammates joke, because of his commanding baritone voice. "He always makes your goals clear: This is what has to be done. Like in the nationals, we were behind, and he said, `This is what you have to do to win.'"

Each team member is mastering the lesson Martinez most wants to impart: The world's most ancient intellectual game is a perfect metaphor for modern life.

"Chess is a way of looking at choices and realizing, `If I do this, then this will happen. If I do that, then that will happen,'" Martinez said. "Choices have consequences. That's critical thinking. That's analytical. And that's life."

And in life, the Jackson Generals learned that sometimes -- just sometimes -- you win. Celebrating their victory at their Louisville hotel, Brown flung his arms around his teammates. He was just a tad misty-eyed.

"I told them, `You all don't know what this means,'" he said. "I accomplished something before I got out of high school."


Maya Bell can be reached at mbell@orlandosentinel.com or 305-810-5003.