Luke McShane

Magnus Carlsen is the star attraction at this year’s London Chess Classic. The festival, now in its 11th edition, runs from 29 November to 8 December at the Olympia Conference Centre in Kensington. The World Champion will play in the final leg of the Grand Chess Tour, in a four-player knockout event with a $350,000 prize fund which begins on Monday 2 December. He will be joined by Ding Liren, Levon Aronian and Maxime Vachier-Lagrave.   ‘The Classic’ as the festival is affectionately known, features a wide variety of events, including a Fide-rated Open tournament, weekend events, and a ‘Super Blitz Open’ on the final Sunday.

Reimagine democracy. Reimagine capitalism. Reimagine education. For all the reimagining thrown at big ideas, they don’t seem much perturbed. You can reimagine a problem too, but it probably won’t be fruitful. It won’t help you find the end of the Sellotape, or balance the books (unless you worked for Enron).   But some problems really are amenable to a fresh perspective. According to legend, the mathematician Carl Friedrich Gauss was tasked at primary school with adding up the numbers from 1 to 100. The obvious approach is (to quote the King of Hearts from Alice in Wonderland) ‘Begin at the beginning, and go on till you come to the end: then stop.’ Gauss saw the problem in a different light.

When Daniil Dubov advanced his queen’s pawn in Batumi last month, he might as well have chewed the head off a bat and set fire to the board. For diehard chess fans, it was a true rock’n’roll moment, still more transgressive for being done in a team event on behalf of Mother Russia. The 23-year-old had just come from a grotty performance at his previous event. ‘They asked me to calm down and not play some ridiculous lines,’ he said with a grin.   His brazen sacrifice is steeped in history. In 1918, Frank Marshall unleashed the related gambit with 8… d5 against José Raúl Capablanca. Never mind that he was not the first to try it, and that Capablanca won the game: Marshall’s concept was vindicated in the long run.

Black to play. Erwin l’Ami–Luke McShane, Batumi, 2019. The pawn on e6 looks powerful, but White’s king is more vulnerable than it looks. What blow did I land? Answers should be sent to ‘Chess’ at The Spectator by Tuesday 12 November or via email to victoria@spectator.co.uk. 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 f4!!

White to play. Dahl-Kolbus; Isle of Man, 2019. In this game between two Manx players, White had promoted a pawn earlier but finishing off the game is not easy. Here, Dahl found an elegant winning move. Can you do as well? Answers to ‘Chess’ at The Spectator by Tuesday 5 November or via email to victoria@spectator.co.uk. There is a prize of £20 for the winner. Please include a postal address and allow six weeks for prize delivery.   Last week’s solution  Be6+ (e.g.

Black to play. From Stepanov–Romanovsky, Lenin-grad 1926. Stepanov resigned two moves earlier, seeing that he would soon lose his queen. Romanovsky has just one winning move. Which one? Answers to ‘Chess’ at The Spectator by Tuesday 29 October or via email to victoria@spectator.co.uk. 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.

‘Poor indoor air quality hampers cognitive performance significantly’, concluded a recent study in the IZA (Institute of Labour Economics). Of course, ‘fresh air is good for you’ fits squarely in the category of things you knew already, but the research was specifically about chess: ‘An increase in the indoor concentration of fine particulate matter (PM2.5) by 10 µg/m3 increases a player’s probability of making an erroneous move by 26.3 per cent.’ Intriguingly, the effect seems most pronounced when players are in time pressure.   By my reckoning, that makes it pretty easy to induce mild stultification: burning a few incense sticks ought to do it. It’s scarcely credible now, but smoking at the board was once commonplace.

‘Chess is a constant struggle between my desire not to lose and my desire not to think.’ I’m fond of that wry insight, neatly expressed by German grandmaster Jan Gustafsson. For a select few, such as the late, irrepressible Viktor Korchnoi, the desire not to lose burns through life like the Olympic flame. For the rest of us, only youthful naivety makes it easy to summon maximal mental effort. Thereafter, the struggle is perennial, like a pile of dirty plates in the sink; sometimes you can’t bring yourself to care. But letting this notion occur to you too early in life is a career-limiting move for a chess-player.   Upon reaching the final of the World Cup, Teimour Radjabov spoke frankly, reflecting on the tension endured by the players.

‘Visky,’ said the man driving the taxi.   ‘Risky?’   ‘Visky.’   ‘Ah… whisky! Or vodka.’ I grinned as I got out. ‘Maybe see you last year,’ I ventured in bungled Russian.   There was no bottle to hand, but my wounded ego was soothed by the prescription. I’d been freshly eliminated from the World Cup in Siberia in a blitz tiebreak by Daniil Yuffa, an amiable young Russian. Two years ago, Daniil appeared on a Russian talent show (and YouTube). He simultaneously played three games of chess — blindfolded — and accompanied his own spectacle with a classical piano medley. Two days after beating me, he was out too. So it goes.