Luke McShane

White to play. Mista–Kloza, Poland 1955 (supposedly). Which move does White play to force a quick checkmate? Answers should be emailed to chess@spectator.co.uk by Tuesday 17 November. There is a prize of £20 for the first correct answer out of a hat. Please include a postal address and allow six weeks for prize delivery. Last week’s solution 1 Kd7! If 1…Bg7 2 Nd6 and 3 Ne8 mate. Or if 1…Kg7, 2 Nd6 and Nd6-e8, Nd6xf5 or Ng5-e6 mate.

‘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.