Chess

‘I began my escape from the communist Czechoslovakia 42 years ago, on Sunday, September 1, 1968. According to Wikipedia, I bought several crates of vodka with my winnings at the Akiba Rubinstein Memorial in the Polish spa of Polanica Zdroj, bribed the border guards and drove to West Germany.’ Thus began an article written by Lubomir Kavalek in the Huffington Post in 2010. How curious to write ‘according to Wikipedia’ about oneself! Was this, I speculate, a gentle hint to the reader that the story might be apocryphal? The Soviet tanks in Prague were decidedly real. Born on 9 August 1943, ‘Lubosh’ Kavalek had studied journalism, and was the reigning chess champion of Czechoslovakia when he defected.

The Hastings International Chess Congress hasn’t skipped a year since the second world war, so I was delighted to learn that the tradition would be honoured by a strong online event which took place earlier this month, featuring a dozen top British players. For the second year running, the event was sponsored by Caplin Systems, makers of financial trading technology. (The Caplin British Online Championships were held last month and won by Michael Adams. Matthew Wadsworth and Matthew Turner secured qualifying spots for Hastings.) Reading that this year’s event would be a centenary caused me some puzzlement, because I was certain that the Hastings centenary took place in 1995 — I was there. My event, the Hastings Challengers, was played on Hastings pier.

In game 1 of his Airthings Masters Final against Radjabov, Aronian’s pawn push 21 e4-e5 (shown in the first diagram) created a tactical explosion. This was rapid chess at its best — stylish and exuberant. And yet, as thrilling as this game was, it was a pity that the players had so little time to navigate the complications. If they had, each player might have unearthed an even deeper idea. In the first diagram, Radjabov had an improvement, as subtle as it is stunning: 21…d3!! 22 Qxd3 fxe3 23 Qg6+ reaches the same position as in the game, with one crucial difference; the missing pawn on f4 benefits Black, for reasons explained in the comment to 26…Bf5. The second diagram shows Aronian’s missed opportunity. The immediate 29 Ng5 allows 29…Qc4+.

It is one of life’s comforts to see a forgotten trinket being dusted off and appreciated afresh. So in chess, I am gently heartened to see a chess opening pass through that same phase of life. The game has its share of magpies, for whom a shiny new opening gambit is irresistible. Their approach has merit — after all, an ambushed opponent is a weakened one. But with time, the defence is remedied, and when the opening begins to look tarnished, it will soon be stuffed in the attic. It might be years, or decades, before it attracts any more attention. Even in the 19th century, some chess fashions had already been and gone, and come back around.

This Christmas, government guidance says that board games are out and quizzes are in. Thus, 12 questions for Christmas. Answers here. 1. The Candidates tournament decides a challenger for the World Championship. Seven rounds were played in Yekaterinburg in March, but scheduling the second half is proving difficult. Which player declared ‘I’m ready to play, so to speak, in a garage, basement, zoo or train station.’ 2. The Queen’s Gambit was watched by 62 million households in its first 28 days, according to Netflix. ‘I thought nothing would beat THE TRIAL OF THE CHICAGO SEVEN but this does’. Which American author tweeted that?

The Magnus Carlsen Chess Tour is back. This time, the series of online events is rebranded as the Champions Chess Tour with a total $1.5 million prize fund. It marks an ambitious step forward for the Play Magnus group, which floated on the Oslo Stock Exchange in October and is currently valued in the ballpark of $100 million. Norwegian companies NRK and TV2 have purchased domestic broadcasting rights for the tour, while a separate deal with Eurosport looks set to attract a fresh audience. Games will be played on the chess24 platform, and the tenth and final event in the series will finish on Sunday 3 October, 2021. It’s a mundane observation that chess tournaments usually end on a Sunday. Usually, participants and organisers have jobs to return to on Monday.

The juicy prospect of improvement constantly dangles above a chess player. Those morsels of knowledge one has acquired whet the appetite for others which lie just out of reach. Even players at peace with their ambient proficiency can’t help but acknowledge that their better games coexist with lousy ones. Once you admit that, it’s a hop, skip and a jump to the idea that replicating the good games might confer improvement. Unless you have the equanimity of a monk, wanting to play well becomes an unshakeable existential burden. Many chess books will promise to boost your results at the board. Usually, it is taken for granted that absorbing the book’s insights will generate the desired improvement.

Put yourself in the shoes of Aryan Gholami, the teenage master from Iran who was paired with an Israeli opponent in Sweden in January 2019. It’s a blitz tournament, so you’re due to begin in minutes. For political reasons, your country expects that you will refuse to play the game, and there may be repercussions if you do play it. Gholami duly forfeited the game. His ‘virtue’ of omission was celebrated back in Iran, where he was photographed with Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei and General Qasem Soleimani (the latter was killed in a drone strike earlier this year). Recent years have seen a spate of incidents in which Iranian players boycotted their games with Israelis. It is a paradox that this regrettable practice attests to a flourishing chess scene in Iran.

Writing in January, I described internet bullet chess, where the players have one minute for all their moves, as ‘popular, addictive and pointless’. Bullet games are shallow and unwholesome because if you stop to think, you lose the game on time. Never mind a junk food tax: taxing bullet chess is the real social imperative — or indeed banning it. Blitz chess, where the players have three or five minutes per move, is a much healthier proposition. The pleasure of a well-played blitz game goes beyond a mere adrenalin rush and the experience might well be beneficial — as part of a balanced diet, of course. Were he alive, I presume that Mikhail Botvinnik, the Soviet world champion, would take exception even with that.

I own a few chess books that could serve as a murder weapon, but none so hefty as Chess: 5334 Problems, Combinations and Games. Nicknamed ‘The Brick’ by its fans, its thousand-odd pages forgo instructional text in favour of an escalating procession of puzzles, mostly mates in 1, 2 or 3 moves. These illustrate the most important patterns in chess, which form the vocabulary of any skilled player. This is a primer with a pedigree: the book was written by Laszlo Polgar, the father of the famous Polgar sisters, who believed that geniuses are made, not born. The manifest effort of compilation demands commensurate exertion from the reader.

‘It’s chess. We’re all prima donnas.’ You can hear it spoken with a wink in the Netflix miniseries The Queen’s Gambit, released two weeks ago in seven episodes of about an hour. My heart swelled to hear the game’s essence so appreciated: of course nothing else matters when you’re playing chess. So yes, we are prima donnas, thank you, and roundly indulged by this fine TV series, which is based upon the novel of the same name by Walter Tevis, published in 1983. (My edition includes an endorsement from Lionel Shriver on the cover.) Anya Taylor-Joy is mesmeric in the role of Beth Harmon, the novel’s troubled hero.

Geometry shmometry. The pirouette of a knight may be pleasing to the eye, but sometimes what I really crave is a demolition. I don’t mean a smash-and-grab king hunt. I want to see a crumbling edifice, a colossal concrete barrier wilting beneath a torrent of water, as in The Dam Busters. On the chessboard, diagonal chains of pawns are our barriers: daunting, manmade and ostensibly impermeable. Aron Nimzowitsch theorised in My System that pawn chains should be attacked at their base. Sound strategy, but when the base lies beyond reach, a more drastic bombardment can be called for, such as that which occurred in a recent game between two computers. Leela Chess Zero has been hunkering down since the opening, and Stockfish has lain siege. We join the game at move 150(!

It’s over. Magnus Carlsen’s undefeated streak in classical chess has finally come to an end, after 125 games. It is hard to exaggerate what an unlikely accomplishment this is: Carlsen faced top-flight opposition in almost every game, winning 42 and drawing 83. He was beaten by the Polish grandmaster Jan-Krzysztof Duda at the Altibox Norway Chess tournament (played over the board!) earlier this month. Carlsen’s preceding loss came against Shakhriyar Mamedyarov during a difficult period in late 2018. Back then, the talk of the town was Ding Liren’s progress toward what became a 100-game unbeaten streak, while Carlsen’s confidence looked at a low ebb. With gritted teeth, he defended his world championship title against Caruana.

We are what we do. Alas, in its zeal to suppress the virus, this government would have many people doing not very much. Since March, many musicians, actors, sportspeople and more have had precious few opportunities to perform. In his 2008 book Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell claimed that the hundreds of live performances played by the Beatles in Hamburg 1960-1962 were a key ingredient in their later success. If he is right, 2020 marks a daunting setback for countless aspiring artists. Government handouts can mitigate the long-term damage to their careers, but they cannot possibly make them whole. Chess is in the same boat: it’s a communal activity where performance and practice are central.

I can’t tell you why the Armenian grandmaster Tigran Petrosian was found guilty of cheating last month, because I don’t know. The event was the 2020 PRO Chess League, an online team event organised by Chess.com. Petrosian (not to be confused with his namesake, who was World Champion in the 1960s) was playing for the Armenia Eagles, who appeared to overcome the St Louis Archbishops by 9.5-6.5 in a David and Goliath final. Petrosian’s 3.5/4 score against the mighty Archbishops’ squad (including wins against Fabiano Caruana, Wesley So and Leinier Dominguez) was exceptional. After his games were investigated and the results overturned, the title (and $20,000 first prize) was re-awarded to the team from St Louis.

It is nigh on seven months since I sat opposite a flesh and blood opponent, so I expected to feel unusual playing my first games in the Schachbundesliga, Germany’s team competition. I had no special concern on grounds of health. German case numbers look (relatively) low, the playing hall was cavernous, to facilitate social distancing, and the organisation was slick. Rather, I feared that the trappings of Covid might tarnish the atmosphere. There was talk of mass testing before the event began. Plexiglass screens divided the board, and players wore masks as they paced around. Handshakes were out, hand sanitiser was in — tiny bottles wherever you looked. There was no coffee. No coffee! What gritty reportage might one dispatch from this brave new world? Nothing of the sort.

Send in haste, repent at leisure. It is a cruel certainty that you will sooner or later text your intimate thoughts to the wrong person, or hit ‘reply all’ by accident. The second you spot this, your heart will leap into your mouth. That sensation is much like how a mouse slip feels during an online game of chess, when you move a piece and release it on the wrong square. If the universe is merciful, it hardly matters and the game goes on. In the worst case, you’re done for: it’s time to resign. Internet chess provides another way to shoot yourself in the foot. To make a ‘pre-move’, you draw an arrow on the board to indicate a move before it’s your turn. As long as your move is legal, it will be played regardless of what your opponent does.

Nothing courts us so nimbly as technology. Perhaps the chess computers have already won you over — I am dazzled by the riches they have revealed. For a jaw-dropping sense of wonder, try playing over a forced mate in 549 moves. Still, many yearn for a simpler time. A time when the mysteries of chess were plentiful, but studying the game ‘by hand’ yielded steady nourishment. A time when chess engines had not yet tempted us with their very own tree of the knowledge of good and evil. These days, that tangle of variations and verdicts is irresistible, but who can look at their own play without a sense of shame? Meanwhile, professional players must work harder than ever to harvest fresh ideas.

It was as baffling to me as quantum entanglement. Every time the Algerian player on the Zoom call shared his screen, my own screen share would stop working. That we were playing in separate matches was beside the point — this was online chess under something like exam conditions, and the software glitch left me briefly in breach of the rules. For 20 years, I have treated online chess as a delightful form of escapism, where wine is welcome, clothes are optional, and my queen can be freely sacrificed in the pursuit of glory. So it was a strange experience, representing England in the Online Olympiad last month. Suddenly there were cameras and protocols and responsibility. All this feels normal in the tournament hall, but not when seated in front of my laptop.

Man plans, God laughs. Fide, the international federation, organised an Online Olympiad, with 163 teams taking part. We got a global internet outage during the final. The disruption hit the Indian players at a critical stage, in the second of two matches against Russia. (The first was tied 3-3). India were soon to be trailing 2.5-1.5, but had realistic hopes to even the score on the two remaining boards. But when those two players lost their connection to the website where the games were played, their time elapsed and they lost. The Indians lodged an appeal, but the appeals committee couldn’t reach a unanimous verdict. It fell to Fide president Arkady Dvorkovich to settle the matter. Dvorkovich is Russian, so an impartial ruling was impossible.