Promotion Allows Winning Novelties The soul of chess

I have black and white, but wear no clothes, I fall in lines, as everyone knows. With a single push, a chain reaction starts, Connecting numbers, playing many parts. What am I?

I have many masters, both highborn and low A king, a page, and others you'd know Some would shred me and grab my long neck Who would turn me into a wreck

You can fiddle it, it's not a device. Bent or straight, it depends how you hold it. Don't fiddle in public, it's impolite. As you grow you stop sucking on it.

I fold in half to fit just right, and rest within your pocket tight. I hold your cash and cards with care, a daily thing you always bear.