Chess

A lost cause at the chessboard is hard to define, but, like obscenity, I know it when I see it. There comes a point where prolonging the matter is downright indecent, so thank goodness that custom permits us to save our blushes with a timely resignation. Then again, there are a great many chess positions that lurk in the shadows — distasteful, but not beyond redemption. The degenerate defender must thirst after a swindle to salvage a draw (or more!). I confess that so long as some hope remains of a juicy swindle, I can stomach almost any position, no matter how unseemly. The Complete Chess Swindler (New in Chess), a new book by Australian grandmaster and economist David Smerdon, is a thrilling guide to this netherworld of not-quite-resignable positions.

I like a memorial tournament. It’s true that the champions they celebrate may be less skilled than their modern counterparts. That’s to be expected, as players of today stand upon the shoulders of their predecessors. So I tend to picture the world champions as squabbling gods of myth, made vital by their flaws, and memorial tournaments as temples in their honour. Some characters, like the urbane Capablanca or the charismatic Tal, capture the imagination more readily, but they all have a place, as do the demigods such as Chigorin, Keres or Korchnoi, who never reached the summit but are revered in turn. Usually a memorial event bears a national significance too, such as the Capablanca Memorial in Cuba, or the Chigorin Memorial in Russia.

Fifty years ago, the USSR faced a ‘Rest of the World’ team in a match in Belgrade, with the likes of Spassky, Petrosian, Larsen and Fischer doing battle on the top boards. The Soviet team, which included five world champions, managed a narrow 20.5-19.5 victory. In 2020, there are three chess superpowers: the USA, Russia and China. Russia has the deepest pool of talent, and between all three, they boast around half of the world’s top 100 players. Each country occupied a podium spot at the most recent Olympiad in 2018. The Olympiad is normally biannual, but the 2020 edition, due to be held in Russia this summer, has been postponed for a year. An online version of the event has been mooted by Fide, but there has been no official announcement.

‘I haven’t felt this kind of tension in a long while. This was real!’ Those were Magnus Carlsen’s words, after barely scraping through his semi-final match with Ding Liren at the Magnus Carlsen Invitational, which concluded last weekend. The event was hosted on the chess24 website and boasted a $250,000 prize fund. (Carlsen’s company, Play Magnus, merged with chess24 last year). The world champion assembled a formidable line-up, including five players from the recently postponed World Championship Candidates tournament. It is clear that Carlsen finds Ding to be a troublesome opponent. China’s top player has notched up several victories in speed chess, including a memorable triumph in the playoff of last year’s Sinquefield Cup.

‘I am extraordinarily patient — provided I get my own way in the end’. That’s a disposition fit for a chess player, even if it was Margaret Thatcher who said it. Learning when, and how, to mark time is an essential practical skill, so the classic text Endgame Strategy by Shereshevsky dedicates a whole chapter to the motto ‘Do not hurry’. When I won a 163-move, 7.5-hour game against Nigel Short in 2009, I did feel I had got the hang of it. But it’s so much easier to exercise patience when you have plenty of time, like I did. (Thatcher had it easy too — she was locked in some glacial negotiation with the EEC.) How much harder it is to restrain the impulses amid the hurly-burly of a blitz game.

‘I’m just completely collapsing in these games… unbelievable.’ World Champion Magnus Carlsen didn’t hide his anguish after losing a game against Alireza Firouzja, the 16-year-old who went on to defeat him 8.5-7.5 in an online blitz match last week. It was a dream final for the Chess24 website’s ‘Banter Blitz’ knockout tournament. Carlsen is the reigning World Blitz champion in over-the-board play. Firouzja, originally from Iran but now living in France, is an exceptional talent, and a serious candidate to succeed him in the future. He is still inexperienced in elite classical tournaments, and was convincingly beaten by Carlsen at the Tata Steel tournament in January. But in online speed chess, he is already among the world’s best.

‘Old wine in new bottles’ must be the most protean idiom in the English language. I encountered it a few years ago, as a title to an article by the Romanian grandmaster Mihail Marin, who likes to lean upon his deep knowledge of the chess classics to elucidate games played in the modern era. (Recently he published a book of the same name, which grew out of a series of such articles.) That such vintage wisdom might still find favour with contemporary palates is, for Marin, something to celebrate. So I was perplexed to learn that the phrase also refers to the practice of sprucing up something tired and unappetising.

If there were regulatory oversight of chess openings, some would come with a litany of disclaimers. ‘You may lose more than your initial gambit.’ ‘Possible side effects may include dizziness and nausea.’ ‘Use at your own risk.’ Nonetheless, such openings as the King’s Gambit, the Dragon Sicilian, or the Botvinnik Semi-Slav often enjoy a cult following. Their devotees tend to be audacious types, who won’t let a few slings and arrows obscure the prospect of a glorious victory. These openings are exciting to play, and not necessarily bad, but they demand a special energy to handle well. In general, grandmasters prefer more conservative, rugged openings, particularly when they are Black.

Would you slice a book in two? I learned of this peculiar practice in January, and I can’t fault its brutal pragmatism. Undeniably, half of War and Peace is more portable than the whole thing, and perhaps even less intimidating. When you finish the first chunk, you just swap it for the second. Books want to be read, not fetishised. For all that, I recoil from the idea, and I’m not alone. The Candidates tournament in Yekaterinburg, a 14-round epic, was put on hold after just seven, but not due to illness among the players.

We had never met, but David Paravyan, from Russia, has been something of a personal idol since August 2018. My veneration was exclusively based on one game whose dazzling ingenuity was, to my eyes, awesome. Last week he took first place (and a £30,000 prize) at the Gibraltar Masters, one of the most prestigious open tournaments in the world. Paravyan is an accomplished grandmaster, but this was a huge career breakthrough in a field that included the likes of Shakhriyar Mamedyarov and Maxime Vachier-Lagrave. Seven players tied for first place on 7½/10, and Paravyan triumphed in a gruelling series of tiebreak games after the final day’s play. Nevertheless, I cannot resist showing the earlier game which so impressed me.

Looking at the first 12 games of the 2018 Carlsen-Caruana World Championship, which all ended in draws, I saw a statistical blip where others saw an ossified match format and the death of classical chess. But nobody could decry the drama at this year’s Women’s World Championship, in which reigning champion Ju Wenjun from China saw off a fierce challenge from 21-year-old Russian Aleksandra Goryachkina.   The early games saw Goryachkina willing to engage in protracted battles, but it was Ju who got the first win from a tricky queen ending in the fourth game. Undeterred, Goryachkina struck back immediately, and went on to take the lead herself in the eighth game. Ju was rewarded for several bold decisions in the ninth, leaving the scores level.