Luke McShane

One of the most eye-catching games from the recently concluded Fide Grand Swiss in Riga saw an early sacrifice of queen for knight, bishop and pawn. This exotic balance of material usually favours the queen, based on the rule of thumb that pawn = 1, knight = 3, bishop = 3, rook = 5, queen = 9. But when the minor pieces coordinate well, particularly with rooks alongside, they can be more than a match for the queen. A queen’s greatest strength is her ability to attack, and perhaps fork, any pieces that are not nailed down. So when you jettison your queen for a miscellany of pieces, they had better resemble a florentine more than a fruit salad. It helps when the minor pieces have a clear target of their own. That is the situation that occurred after 14 Be2 (see diagram 1).

Alireza Firouzja, just 18 years old, was the clear winner of the Fide Grand Swiss, which concluded in Latvia last weekend. Originally from Iran but now settled in France, Firouzja already looks like a credible future contender for the world championship, and his victory in the Grand Swiss has earned him a spot in the 2022 Candidates tournament, which will select the next challenger for the world title. The current challenger, Ian Nepomniachtchi, who won the Candidates tournament in April, will face the world champion Magnus Carlsen in Dubai later this month. Play begins on 26 November. England’s David Howell also produced an outstanding performance in Riga, finishing in a tie for fourth place.

If you play chess like a wet rag, sooner or later you will be made to regret it. In Nigel Short’s new book Winning (Quality Chess, 2021), that precept pops up in countless guises, and nobody is above criticism. Peter Leko ‘infamously offended the gods by attempting to draw his way to the title’ in his world championship match against Vladimir Kramnik in 2004. Mikhail Gurevich pursued a ‘craven objective’ in trying to draw his way to qualification at the 1990 Manila Interzonal. (He was undone by Short himself.) Bronstein’s chances against Botvinnik in 1951 perished with his ‘abject capitulation’ in game 23. Russian grandmaster Aleksey Dreev was punished for a ‘wanton act of timidity’.

Anyone who has attended the Varsity chess match knows that an online version just wouldn’t be the same. The annual event is held in great style at the Royal Automobile Club in London’s Pall Mall, and has tradition at its heart. This year’s, the 139th edition, could not be held at the usual time in March, but it took place last weekend, to coincide with the RAC Chess Circle’s Annual Dinner. Since the 2020 edition also took place just weeks before the onset of the first national lockdown, the mighty tradition of the Varsity match remains uninterrupted by the pandemic. (The last year without a contest was during the second world war.

I don’t like losing at chess. It feels bad in the moment, whether my position subsides like a failed pudding, or crashes like a severed tree. It feels bad right afterwards too, staring at a big fat zero on the scorecard. But worst of all is the lingering knot of disgust, because usually one’s mistakes are echoes of shortcomings one knew about already, and there is no hiding from them. The chorus from Radiohead’s ‘Just’ (from The Bends) could as well be an anthem for sulking chess players. You do it to yourself, you do And that’s what really hurts Is you do it to yourself Just you, you and no one else You do it to yourself… But last week I lost a game and felt, well, pretty much fine.

The hero pauses, plays the move, and announces ‘Checkmate!’ The villain crumples in shock. It’s a scene played out countless times on screen, but it so often looks ludicrous. In slow games between skilled players, checkmate on the board is much rarer than resignation. Occasionally, when the denouement is brisk and elegant, it will be played out to a finish. But in those cases, volunteering for the guillotine is a sporting gesture from the vanquished party. More often, the final phase of a chess game isn’t much of a spectacle. Extra piece, mop up some pawns, promote a pawn, hunt down the king, yadda yadda yadda. There’s no harm in playing it out, particularly if you think your opponent might stumble into a stalemate.

Since tennis matches are decided in sets, they are sometimes won by the player who has won fewer games. For example, with a 0-6, 6-4, 6-4 scoreline, 12 wins can beat 14. This statistical quirk goes by the name of Simpson’s paradox, and from a sporting point of view it is quite attractive. Even an abysmal start allows for a comeback. I’m not aware of chess matches ever being scored in this way. But when the Champions Chess Tour kicked off in the early months of the pandemic, the scoring system of the knockout stages was an appealing adaptation of that idea. Knockout matches were, in effect, decided over two ‘sets’, with each set lasting for four rapid games, played over one day.

I sat on the plane to the Isle of Man, leafing through a copy of Nigel Short’s new book, Winning. Since I was about to play a chess tournament, you would imagine that Short’s analysis of eight memorable tournament victories contained insights for my own campaign. Strange to say, that thought hardly crossed my mind. I was on my way to the Manx Liberty Masters, a ten-player all-play-all tournament, held in elegant surroundings in the town hall of the capital, Douglas. Dietmar Kolbus, who also captains the Manx Liberty team in the Four Nations Chess League, took on the demanding dual role of being a player and organiser.

Last year’s Netflix mini-series The Queen’s Gambit hit all the right notes. For the neophytes, it was quirky and intriguing. For those already smitten with the game, it was a rare joy to see that chess-wise, they mostly got the details right. Mostly. One awkward exception was the portrayal of Nona Gaprindashvili, the contemporary women’s World Champion, who held the title from 1962 to 1978. Now 80, she is suing Netflix, claiming false light invasion of privacy and defamation and seeking damages of ‘at least $5 million’. The point of controversy occurs in the final episode, when the heroine Beth Harmon is playing at an elite tournament in Moscow. The commentator intones: ‘The only unusual thing about her, really, is her sex.