Anand – Gelfand…a lament.

… in itself the title of world champion does not give any significant advantages, if it is not acknowledged by the entire chess world, and a champion who does not have the chess world behind him is, in my view, a laughing-stock.  -  Emanuel Lasker

A week on from the conclusion of the Anand – Gelfand match I thought I’d pen a few thoughts on the matter… .

What we saw in Moscow was not a great advert for chess. Though Anand was the winner, Gelfand was not the loser…professional chess was and to a lesser extent F.I.D.E too. Gelfand, in fact, returned home as something of a hero http://chessbase.com/newsdetail.asp?newsid=8205, and Anand went into the record books.

The Drawn Games -what did they signify?

In the context of the modern game, the strings of eventless draws represented a paradox. On one level they did not signify anything, and on another told us everything we needed to know. Computer-aided preparation dominated affairs so greatly that few ideas were generated over the board. We saw a lot of defensive play but nothing bold or adventurous. Anand, especially at the London Chess Classic last year, (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GbGTDQ-P49E) defends the role of computers & preparation in the modern game, suggesting that they stimulate creativity as much as they take it away, so I was particularly disappointed by the long periods in the match where little effort was made to go outside preparation. We did see novelties early in the games but they were nearly always within drawish lines. Both players chose to play it safe for professional reasons; Anand is better at faster times controls and had a natural advantage going into the play-offs, plus he had a title to defend, Gelfand was the underdog and wanted to keep it tight in the beginning, and then push later in the match. The drawn games confirmed that the players were too similar in approach and style. The chess was subsequently lifeless, mechanical, and bereft of artistry…and in an art museum of all places! Nigel Short said on the first day that he particularly enjoyed reading the quotation in the museum by Marcel Duchamp that while ‘Not all artists are chess players, all chess players are artists’. The match that unfolded in Moscow was a counter-argument to such a claim.

Botvinnik once claimed that clash of individual style is of paramount importance for great matches. As the match unfolded I became more and more convinced of how right he was, and how the modern game lacks the characters of his generation. I kept asking myself if an Anand V Carlsen match up would have made much difference. If Botvinnik is correct in the sense that clash of style ranks more highly than quality of play, then probably not. For this reason, Anand’s match against Topalov is likely to stand out is the most inspiring match. Though Topalov was not his strongest opponent, they differed in style sufficiently to generate enough exciting chess.

Anand’s Loss -a surprise of sorts.

Fischer once said that he didn’t believe in psychology, he believed in good moves but before Anand played Qb8 in his loss to Gelfand, even an amateur psychologist could see he was giving off multiple signs of distress. He seemed to know he was in trouble early on, much passive play followed with a victory which seemed all too easy for Gelfand.

Gelfand’s Loss -a record breaker.

The history books tell us that the fastest loss ever in a world championship match wasn’t Euwe’s in the revenge return match against Alekhine http://www.chessbase.com/newsdetail.asp?newsid=8181 but it was Zukertort’s 1886 loss to Steinitz, as pointed out by flamboyant GM Danny King http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TeAq7fzF2AQ&feature=player_embedded until the game in question that is. It’s easy to say what should have happened in retrospect, so I won’t say that Gelfand should have been more cautious but why did he choose the provocative Nh5, and go head-to head in this game?

It’s difficult to be sure but I wonder if he let his heart rule his head? He may have had a slight surge in confidence from taking the lead and thought that the match was there for the taking. In this post-match interview, http://chessbase.com/newsdetail.asp?newsid=8208, Anand does concede that he felt he was in trouble at that point, perhaps then, Gelfand sensed this and acted. Given that chess teaches you to control your emotions rather than act upon them, he shouldn’t have made a decision on that basis, if I am right that is. He should have remembered that Anand is a better tactician and been more cautious. The very strange thing about this game, which is the first time I have ever seen it live in a match of such stature is that Gelfand didn’t see that Qf6 was a blunder at any point.

The last few moves were played quickly but he should have told himself that world champions do not drop rooks early in the game, and that something MUST be afoot. A critical moment had clearly arrived, why couldn’t he act accordingly? I didn’t buy into the talk concerning this trap, it is a neat trap, Fritz blundered straight into along with Gelfand, but that’s hardly the point. Gelfand had enough experience to know he should have taken a very big step back. Watching it live I saw him arch over the board and go into a think. He saw a combination which he thought was winning, only to resign minutes later. The look on his face as he resigned said it all, he had been completely caught out. He didn’t see Qf2 but he really should have questioned the ease with which he was about to win the rook. How many candidate moves were chosen here? Yes Qf2 was hard to spot but this irrelevant. He did not give himself enough time to find it by half. His play was out of character a little, something slight had changed inside him. Perhaps it was merely pressure alone, perhaps his desire to become the world champion increased a notch after taking the lead, just enough to cause a change in approach which he himself was not quite ready for. The balanced play we had become accustomed to seemed to go straight out of the window in this game.

The play off’s -a sad end.

I don’t want to comment because I don’t believe that matches of that calibre should be reduced to rapid chess. Obviously Vishy took the lead, and also obviously, Boris had the chance to equalize. The only notable feature of them was that Vishy showed that he is clearly better at a faster time control.

The aftermath -welcome to Russia.

Leaving the disappointment of the chess aside, the media centre and live feeds were certainly….different? I was a little surprised to find that play was broken up by frequent adverts and long lectures on Russian art. As a lover of chess, I would have liked the option of watching the lectures at my own time, rather than be forced to sit through them. A number of crucial points were missed throughout the match, and much play was lost generally. We were lead to believe that the museum was a truly wonderful venue yet the playing hall was small and austere. You felt as though the price to pay for obtaining such a venue was was that chess itself was denied the centre stage, there was a sense in which being now entirely bereft of Communist ideals, Russia is no longer the home of chess. A heavy-handed commercial shove left chess as a side-show at times. Some of the lectures were an hour long, some of the ads for the museum went up to ten minutes at times, and what was that so called amphitheatre they played in, wasn’t it a broom cupboard in disguise…if Lenin were alive today, he’d be turning in his grave.

Another questionable facet of the match concerned the on-line relay in information. The commentators were usually between 1-3 minutes behind actual play, due to a lag, the screen above the players was also out slightly. This meant that at times, you had the board itself, the screen behind, and the analysis board in the commentary room out of synch and showing different positions for minutes on end. At times the players in the commentary room were completely in the dark over what had been played and were trying to guess the moves based on a panoramic overview of the theatre itself. How can such basic errors remain prevalent throughout a match of that calibre?

Concerning the commentary team, the editor of New In Chess Dirk van long Dutch name was a very good choice indeed, thoroughly professional. Many of the commentators were great too, Svidler was very interesting to listen to indeed, as were several others. The only thing to ponder was the freedom of speech they had. Debate and critique are always best yet nothing critical was said about the match itself on any level, though you many times felt it was coming. Given the number of commentators there were, it does beg the question whether they were asked to refrain from negative comments, which if so is a shame. It was only Kasparov who broke rank and spoke his mind at one point.

Kasparov’s comment – was this man really the World Chess Champion?

To begin, you can find it here, it’s worth a look http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMPbDJ5czTk&feature=related. I thought the whole issue concerning Kasparov’s visit to the match was badly handled. It wasn’t explained why Kasparov thought the Kramnik V Aronian match was such a big contribution to chess, and it wasn’t clear why he thought Anand had lost his motivation to play. Frankly I thought both comments were naive. Anand has had a dip in form, that is clear, but to claim it is down to a lack of motivation is highly questionable. Firstly, motivation is an internal phenomenon, results and play are external. Motivation doesn’t have to be directly manifest in any particular action, it can be an internal commitment towards something. Someone can be inwardly passionate about retaining their title, for example, whilst displaying a veneer of disinterest. They can choose to play quieter lines if they offer a greater chance of success generally. It’s precipitant to say that Anand has lost his motivation just because you cannot remember the last time he had won a tournament, and the chess so far was dull. In my opinion Anand became entirely focused upon the match many months before, and began making minor modifications in his general play and approach. If so then his commitment towards retaining his titled cannot be questioned and thus neither his motivation to remain at the top. The strange thing is that Kasparov lost his title to a similarly quiet strategical approach by Kramnik, who also sacrificed his own preferred style of play in favour of winning the title. Of course we know Anand to be tactically astute but if he assessed that quieter play in the classical phase of the match to be part of a more effective strategy, we should not be too critical. Personally I found the Azerbaijani anti-hero to be off the mark there.

Concerning the players, I don’t want to blame the players as the qualifying matches were no better, instead some thought should be given to the direction chess is going. On the whole, I thought this match exemplified how creativity has become stifled by ‘professionalism’  in the modern game. It was a poor advert for our game, and had I gone along and bought a ticket, I would be asking for my money back. We weren’t provided with a chess spectacle, rather a reduction of chess. Anand was Anand: he was conservative, quiet in method and professional, he seems to have -temporarily- lost the cutting edge to his play but did what he needed to do; paradoxically, it was what he didn’t do that showed us what is great abut him. He is the first Asian world champion, and thus more measured and pragmatic than certain ‘Great Predecessors’. It would have been easy for him to react to Kasparov’s comments at the time but given the turmoil that has surrounded the game at the top level over the last few decades, having a conservative world champion isn’t so bad in some respects. Instead of reacting, Vishy remained true to his quiet, title-orientated strategy, the kind that Kramnik used effectively against Kasparov himself.

Gelfand was Gelfand: a slight -not big- underdog (apologies for the insert of a poker term), he lost his cool in one of the classical games but stabilized immediately. His etiquette left a lot to be desired at times, trying to stare-down (once again apologies for the poker term [though much more popular, poker is a vastly inferior game and does not deserve a mention by jealous chess players] Vishy seemed inappropriate and you couldn’t help but wonder whether the primary motivation for the blind over-the-board analysis was to distract. I knew very little about him before the match, given that I am not a fan of the modern game, that is precisely how it will stay: his play is the embodiment of the strengths and weaknesses of the modern professional game.

To conclude, there wasn’t much to get your teeth into. The only thing that was really talked about was the quick loss Gelfand suffered. The expectations were low for the match, and in retrospect, justifiably so. Anand did what he needed to do, Gelfand didn’t quite do enough, all in all the match will be largely forgotten about.

He is not the most talented or the strongest player but certainly the most inconvenient player in the world! His ambition is not to play actively, but to paralyse his opponents’ intentions.  – (Botvinnik on Petrosian)

MJM

Sporting analogies in chess

After a good week-long read of ‘New in Chess – The first 25 years’, I noticed that amongst the many interviews were some intriguing analogies to other sports by leading chess players; more often they functioned as a source of inspiration, but also as a mode of reference…with varying degrees of communicative success involved.

On page 62 on the ‘New In Chess -The First 25 years’, Spassky discusses his love of tennis, mentioning that the degree of similitude between chess and tennis has benefited his play in both activities. When asked to define what he meant, he said ‘Like chess [,] tennis is a game of balance, of equilibrium…Keres was a good tennis player…and so was Capablanca’. The history books tell us that if anyone ever cultivated their game so that balance and flexibility were a principle and defining aspect of it, it was surely Spassky. He qualified his remarks further by suggesting that Smyslov revealed a secret to him, that he played tournament chess like baseline tennis, ‘…he said that he used to play not with the head but with the hands. -Trusting his intuition? [Interviewer's question]. ‘Yes because time-trouble doesn’t allow for serious analysis during the game. If you have an idea, just play it.’ We are left to ponder the significance of such remarks, which in retrospect seem more like afterthoughts than anything else. Can a world champion really find inspiration from an activity in which he is nothing more than a rank amateur…surely not?

Kramnik, also very well-rounded in his play (just check out his wins with the Sicilian Sveshnikov in the 90′s if you insist he is a dull, positional player) gives a curious, conceptual justification for the Berlin Defence in the section ‘Chess and the art of Ice Hockey’ (page 256):

‘[Interviewer] When did you decide on this generally defensive strategy? [Kramnik] I follow ice hockey a bit and the Czech national team has been winning everything in the last couple of years…they always win 2-0, 1-0, or 2-1 all the time. They don’t show any brilliance but they win all the events…the Czechs have a very solid defence. In fact there are some parallels with chess. They have a brilliant goalkeeper. In chess this is the last barrier, when you are on the edge of losing, but you sense very well exactly where this edge is. And then they go on the counter-attack. Their strategy is so clear. They have been doing this for 2 or 3 years but nobody can do anything. This idea occurred to me when they won another championship in May and I had already signed the contract to play Garry. I thought, okay it’s a different game but the approach is very interesting. And that’s how I chose this defensive approach. You need to be sure that you will be strong enough to hold. If you are not sure you can hold worse positions, this strategy makes no sense.’

What makes this point even more interesting is that Kramnik claims he hated playing the Petroff…it’s quite astonishing how someone can become respected for playing something they came to loathe so much -that is the essence of professionalism I suppose.

Lastly, on page 312, the ex-F.I.D.E world champion Rustam Kasimdzhanov refers to the following song about high-jumping:

‘-What is your favourite Vissotsky line? [Kasimdzhanov] It’s difficult to translate it into English. It was what struck me during the sixth game against Adams. He has a song called “The song of the high-jumper”. He jumps and he doesn’t quite manage. He wanted to make 2.12 and fails. And he says, I will let you in on a small secret: such is the life of a sportsman or woman. You are at the highest point for only a moment, and then you fall down again. When I played Qg8 and thought I was losing, this immediately ran in my ears. You are at the highest point only for a moment’

White plays Qg8, though it took Fritz less than a second to find Qe4, which is winning.

That familiar sinking feeling, thought of here in terms of a descent. Not a bad analogy in terms of a career but in a game your opponent influences the direction you move in just as much as you do in chess, especially if they blunder.

MJM

Botvinnik ‘The Patriarch’ and The Dutch

“I personally never stood out amongst my contemporaries, because I always had to progress by hard work. Tal, on the other hand, there is an example of someone who did not have to work at it.” Botvinnik

I recently stumbled upon the commemorative edition ’ New In Chess. The first 25 years’, which was published in 2009. It offers almost 400 pages of quality reporting and interviews with the top names in chess. It begins with an interview with Botvinnik ‘The Patriarch’, who discusses amongst other things, the upcoming match between Karpov and Kasparov (their 84 match). Speaking as an ex-world champion himself and a tutor to both, he has an interesting take on affairs: ‘The match between Karpov and Kasparov will be very different from the usual title contests. From a creative standpoint, it will be the third top class match of this century.’ (pg. 15) The two preceeding matches, which he goes onto mention were Capablanca/Alekhine and Botvinnik/Tal. It’s worth asking at this point, why does Botvinnik think of chess this way when most think in terms of the calibre of participants and quality of play? He claims that the match itself won’t reveal who the better player is, but will reveal which approach to chess is more valid. (pg.13) His view rests upon a dichotomy which is, sadly, over-simplified, and in our modern age is something of an anachronism; namely, that there are two kinds of player in chess, the practical player, which includes Capablanca, Tal and Karpov, and the researcher which includes Alekhine, Botvinnik and Kasparov. Botvinnik goes on to claim that: ‘…the theorist (he interchanges this term with “researcher” throughout the interview) will always have an advantage over the practical player. Because when the researcher takes his place at the board, he knows not only himself, but his opponent inside out’ (pg.14). Once again, these comments were made well before the advent of databases in chess.

Thinking about matches in terms differences in approach to chess or clashes in style, caused me to think more deeply about the Anand/Gelfand match, which is only weeks away now. Like many others, I noted a general lack of excitement over Gelfand’s achievement, and though I am very excited about the match myself, I don’t think Botvinnik would claim it to be another top class match from ‘a creative standpoint’, as he put it. Gelfand is a solid player, Anand too, though perhaps with more attacking flair. Given the similarity in age and approach to the game, the prospects don’t bode too well for an exciting match. With this said, there are two points that need to be taken into consideration; firstly, this is surely Gelfand’s one and only chance to become world champion, so we should expect him to give it everything he’s got, and secondly, there is a strong chance that we will see sharper opening play than in the previous world championship match. In the Anand-Topalov match 1 e4 didn’t occur once, however, Anand’s results on the white side of the Sicilian (as pointed out in the following post by GM Nigel Davies http://chessimprover.com/?p=792) are very good, Anand will surely play 1 e4 at least once to see whether Gelfand is still prepared to play the Sicilian against him, as refusing to enter the Sicilian would be a psychological defeat for Gelfand in itself. Here is, excluding blitz and blindfold, the last decisive game between Anand and Gelfand, its a Sicilian Nadjorf from six years back: http://www.chessgames.com/perl/chessgame?gid=1387996

Another point that Botvinnik makes which I found myself returning to with some interest, concerns a warning he gave to a young Gary (Garik) Kasparov: ‘As far as Garik was concerned, I immediately came to blows with him. For he first made a move and only then thought about it. While the proper order is, as you know, the other way around. ‘Watch out’, I used to say to him, ‘if you go on like this you’ll become a Taimanov or a Larsen. Garik’ (!?). These two were the same even when they were grandmasters -first move, then think. Now young Garik was very insulted by this, because he wanted to be an Alekhine’ (page13). I have to say, I find such remarks and reactions bemusing. Becoming either doesn’t sound like the grimmest fate in chess, that’s for sure! Here’s a hair-raising encounter between the two that may have led Botvinnik to such an assertion:

http://www.chessgames.com/perl/chessgame?gid=1138444

On a personal level, my own encounters with Botvinnik often involve the Dutch Defence.  There are many interesting features of the dutch. The main one, pointed out by GM Simon Williams in his book ‘Play the Classical Dutch’, is that it offers just as many winning chances for black as the King’s Indian Defence but doesn’t have the accompanying volumes of theory. One of the sadder points of that book is that once you go beyond the obligatory, Bogoljubow – Alekhine, Hastings 1922, which all books on the Dutch start with, there are almost no complete games, so we don’t see exactly how black converts the winning chances he creates.

Here’s an example I found of how Botvinnik defeated the classical Dutch with his own 7 b3 move. In this game, Kann under-estimates the danger of the a3-f8 diagonal, as well as the strength of the d5 push, the game illustrates how easily play on the flank can be defeated by play in the centre: http://www.chessgames.com/perl/chessgame?gid=1031746. Lastly, Botvinnik, some 20 years on, defeats Kann once more but with the Dutch this time. Note how, unlike Kann, Botvinnik strengthens his centre before conducting activities on the flank: http://www.chessgames.com/perl/chessgame?gid=1420763

“The player’s greatest art consists in exploring the possibilities of bringing the game to a position in which the normal relative values cease to exist.” Botvinnik

Mark.J.McCready

Magnus -The Mozart of Chess?

If you click on the link below, you will find the latest attempt by the mainstream media to connect with the chess playing world.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qc_v9mTfhC8

The focus is Magnus Carlsen, whom the 60 minutes crew entitle as the best in the world, claiming, amongst other things, that he ‘reigns supreme’. Leaving aside the questionable lack of respect for the title of Official World Champion (currently held by Vishy who has a strong plus score against Magnus), and the unrivalled prestige that the title naturally offers, Magnus is proclaimed as the best in his sport.

We’re then informed that at the top level the objective in chess is not to win but to ‘demolish your opponents‘, and that to do so you need ‘great endurance’ which is why the top players are so young! If you haven’t watched the interview yet, you’re probably thinking that I’m making this up, especially when I tell you that the intro concludes by claiming that Carslen’s ability ‘seems to come from another world which is why he’s become known as The Mozart of Chess’. At this point I would like to restate that I am not making this up, please watch the interview if you find this hard to believe. It’s important to remember that established programmes such as 60 minutes have their own slowly stylized approaches which, owing to the subject and their familiarity with it, may remove them from their source unintentionally. The last acquaitance 60 minutes had with chess was forty years ago with a certain Bobby Fischer, ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mqBrfjHiNk0 ) who was famous -or infamous if you’re Russian- for making proclamations about demolishing opponents and so on. The intro was probably written with collated material borne in mind, and the same template from that famous interview.

Beyond the askew intro lies some well-edited material which brings us close to Magnus with the time-honoured assurance we have come to expect from 60 minutes over the years. An approach to chess full of reverence and interpreted enigma embodies the fascination that only non-chess players can have over our beautiful game. This stance works surprisingly well during the interviews conducted and catches Magnus off-guard several times, skilfully revealing that he is well-adjusted, and on one if not many levels, entirely normal. There is a nice touch three minutes in where Magnus gets the date of a famous position wrong, and laughs about it with the interviewer. Some important questions are then carefully addressed, perhaps most importantly, the subject of winning and losing is discussed. It’s often said that the desire to win and the contempt for losing are vital components of any rise to the top. The answer Magnus gives on this subject, though said with an unmistakeable Scandinavian melancholy, details the enjoyment he gets from watching his opponents suffer: as those of who have lived or studied in Scandinavia know, suffering is very much part of life  -just look at what being in Norway did to Wittgenstein- and so we should perhaps expect such replies.

Approximately half-way in the 60 minutes team give us a well-edited montage of Magnus’ youth which shows us that he had a normal upbringing and was not a ‘prodigy’ of any kind, unlike Mozart. The film making is continued with a concise account of what it’s like to be an IM at 13; the first meeting between Carlsen and Kasparov is shown, the footage contextualizes the game playfully with comics and ice-cream during and after the event. A distanced level of respect is retained throughout, resisting the urge to focus on any one point, leaving us with a well-measured approach.

Towards the end of the footage, the narrator regains continuity by returning to Fischer directly. First, the tough lifestyle competitive chess demands; the need for constant travel, and an unwavering attitude towards an exercise regime are both shown as being essential, as was the case when they interviewed Fischer. The narrator then suggests that such a lifestyle is not without danger, showing a tense Magnus during play. Magnus’s father, quick to his son’s defence, points out though, that it is a fundamental mistake to judge chess players on how they come across during play, arguing that artists and writers also don’t look happy whilst they practice their art – a good point indeed. The last point of interest is Magnus’s comments concerning the fate of Bobby Fischer, and his depiction in the rather dubious documentary that came out about him last year. His answer is quite mature for his age, as is his retort to the comparison between himself and Mozart, who not by pure coincidence at all, and entirely like Carlsen, made no effort to describe his genius as an adult.

When I first saw the title, ‘The Mozart of Chess’, I did wonder what on earth the 60 minutes team were alluding to. Not only had I not heard the term before, but it sounded decidely corny. Given that Magnus displayed no interest in classical music, and that someone with genius rarely self-reflects upon the nature of it, I still think that the title, though clearly aimed at the general public could have been improved upon. Though the purpose of analogy may be to connect with something more familiar, which is important for topics or individuals that lie outside of mainstream media, such a narrow focus upon talent bypasses the more normative aspects of both individuals, which are things we can talk about and are thus much more interesting. Mozart himself is a notable absentee throughout, which given the fact that his childhood was radically different to Carlsen’s is perhaps prudent and doesn’t harm the production greatly.

Overall I enjoyed the 13 minutes 60 minutes offered. The film-making was more accomplished than we chess players are accustomed to, and I felt sad when it ended. I was impressed by the fact that complex topics are handled with a light touch successfully. As a chess player, it was clear to me that the production team were non-chess players but this in no way impairs the production, surprisingly, it improves it. We were spared from the pretence of ‘so-called experts’ and their dubious theorizing which has become an aperitif of so much contemporary film-making these days. It was a lesson in film-making professionalism, one that Carlsen, too, seemed to appreciate. The writing, though a little stale in places is honest, open and measured. Very little is said about what genius, or even genius in the context of chess is, but much is said about the conditions from which Magnus gained his, leaving enough food for thought. We are left to conclude that Magnus is in many respects entirely normal, and that he has a special talent which is not special to him at all.

MJM

Negligence in the endgame

‘It is a well known phenomenon that the same amateur who can conduct the middle game quite creditably, is usually perfectly helpless in the end game. One of the principal requisites of good chess is the ability to treat both the middle and end game equally well.’  -  Aaron Nimzowitsch

In Ancient Rome the legal concept ‘negligence’ was principally defined in two ways; ‘dolus’ for intentional damage, and ‘culpa’ for unintentional damage. In modern day Italy, Ivanchuk recently diplayed ‘dolus’ in Reggio Emilia, after self-destructing and giving away his queen, a rook and a bishop in consecutive moves, but how about ‘culpa’ in chess terms. Have you given the endgame the attention it deserves? Do you shy away from it, perhaps believing that games should be won and lost in the middlegame, or does its labyrinthine interrelation of general principles, nuances, finesses, and exceptions put you off? We all lose games in the endgame but in what sense are we culpable?

If you play for more than pleasure, you will to some degree, reflect upon the nature of defeat and why you encounter it. Of course, most of us have, at the very least, an acute awareness of what we do and don’t do well, but progress in chess is more demanding. Chess forces us to understand our strengths and weaknesses and explore their nature. This is true of all phases of the game, the endgame is no exception. Players -myself included- who do not attend to their own poor endgame play are like footballers carrying a niggle or nursing an injury, choosing to soldier instead of treating the problem instead. Even greats such Kasparov missed numerous wins and amassed a collection of questionable moves in the endgame. In his ‘How Life imitates Chess’  he points out that in some of his games he missed ‘a series of draws and wins, as did some of my opponents’. He wasn’t the only world champion to have known weaknesses in the endgame either. Fischer was known to be susceptible amongst his peers in certain positions, inadventently losing drawn positions almost throughout his career. What does all this mean for a mere club player? Isn’t weakness in the endgame nothing more than a forgiveable truth of chess? Not really: if you neglect the endgame, you will have weaknesses in your game, however, the purpose of this post is to try and readress the positives that endgame study can give by listing some of the benefits rather than dwelling on the doom and gloom of dystopian elements in endgame play. Lastly, I do not intend to become distracted by precise definitions over the endgame itself. Though there are phases of a game where it is unclear whether a transition between the middle & endgame has occurred, these are peripheral matters that uneducated Grandmasters like to quibble over in order to look clever. The core of endgame theory is uncontentious, that is the focus of this post.

1) An obvious advantage that studying the endgame offers is the increased length in calculation skills. Given that kings and pawns can only move one square at a time, calculations of 10 moves plus are not uncommon in the endgame. Since miscalculation often has catastrophic consequences in this phase of the game, such as your opponent’s pawn queening ahead of yours, work on the endgame improves calculation skills by its very nature alone. Regular studies and exercises should increase the overall ply in your calculations. This doesn’t mean that you will calculate with greater accuracy but it does mean your capacity to calculate further ahead will be increased.

2) Another important benefit that the endgame offers as that it shows you how to maximize the pieces. With so little on the board, what a piece can or can’t do becomes more defined. We can develop a greater understanding of how bishops can suffer or triumph over colour-complexes or how knights can use tempi to deliver checkmate, or see how a queen can be over-powered by two rooks. During the opening or middlegame pieces usually work in conjunction with one another. This happens in the endgame too, but their roles are more clearly defined and the freedom that the pieces have is much greater. Understanding such points can improve deployment of the pieces. This can be particularly useful when approaching the endgame as you will have a better sense of where to put the pieces in preparation for it.

3) The endgame improves your learning skills. By this I mean that the endgame teaches you when to adhere to and disregard ‘rules’; it parallels the necessity of both learning and unlearning more sharply than other phases of the game. Common (mis) conceptions are challenged and exposed readily in the endgame. Endgames which are commonly thought of as drawn, such as bishop of opposite colours, quickly become subject to a hierarchy of considerations, from which predicted outcomes can then, and only then, be made. Considerations such as material balance, space advantage, the relative position of the kings and pieces, or the nature of the pawns on the board, and so on. The endgame, then, requires a very active learning process. relying on cliches or vague principles about certain types of endgames won’t get you very far if you don’t have the skills required to play with accuracy, unlearning them often does.

4) Clock management. In theory, your clock management should improve for two reasons. Firstly, you should need less time in the endgame itself as you will have a better idea of what to do, and secondly, you will have a clearer idea of how much time you will need in the endgame prior to entering it. This second point should mean that from a middlegame assessment, you will be less inclined to slip into time trouble knowing how much work ahead of you is still needed. Whether this occurs in practice is a different matter but sound assessment of the type of endgame you are facing should enable you to establish the amount of time you need to play well in it.

5) Confidence. To some degree chess, like football, is a confidence game. When facing grave uncertainties and complications, we are more likely to retreat and play passively if low on confidence, and vice-versa if we are not. Improved endgame play should increase your confidence at the board, because you will have a better understanding of when and where to fight your opponent during the game, thus possessing a broader scope for victory then you previously had.

So there you have it, five good reasons to invest more time in the endgame. I would like to end with an important caveat. Be careful about using older endgame manuals. The analysis can be unsound and doesn’t compare the computer-assisted literature available today. Even greats such as Capablanca were guilty of flawed analysis, other greats, Keres and Fine immediately come to mind, produced literature awash with poor analysis. Since the advent of digitalization, endgame analysis has become far more concrete and reliable. Dvoretsky is testimony to that and a good starting point for anyone.

‘It is hardly useful if you trustingly play through variation after variation from a book. It is a great deal more useful and more interesting if you take part actively in the analysis, find something yourself, and try to refute some of the author’s conclusions.’  -  Mark Dvoretsky

Mark.J.McCready

Chess DVDs and some rather light-hearted suggestions concerning their production

Chess, being a rather introverted sport, doesn’t make compelling viewing at the best of times, particularly when the leading producer of DVDs is a German based outfit -the Germans are, of course, just as famous for their lack of humour as they are losing world wars. So I thought I’d add some suggestions on how to liven up the slightly drab productions that ChessBase, and various others, churn out.

1) Keep up to date with a more contemporary style: one of the odd things about the ChessBase DVDs is the timeless feel they have. It’s as if they are being filmed from the rear end of a casino, as all forms of outside noise and light are blocked out. The problem with this approach is that it makes the products a bit on the dull side and puts the presenters -who are not professionals, they are only chess players- under pressure to liven things up with witty remarks, like Jacob Aagard does. There is a better solution, one which synthesizes the timeless, masked interior that ChessBase goes for with a contemporary style, in keeping with the media trends of the day. When we see the news, we often see short videos from terrorist outfits such as Al-Qaeda. ChessBase could profit from imitating their style of videos. We could have GM’s wearing balaclavas and army jackets, supported by heavily armed IM’s, holding banners detailing specific opening lines and variations. We could have GM’s delivering hostile and dogmatic assertions that are possibly grammatically incorrect, such as ‘Sicilian Kalashnikov is best in world, use against infidels or anyone below 2600 or I come your house and use Kalashnikov on all body inside’.

2) Add a ‘Mexican’ element: at the beginning of Monty Python’s: ‘The Holy Grail’, the subtitles go all Mexican at one point, flashing red and yellow intensely fast, with gunfire and voices shouting ‘ee-bah, ee-bah, honderay, honderay’. ChessBase could improve their products if they assimilated this ‘Mexican’ element into their productions. The video screen where the board and position are shown could flash different colours accordingly, and the gunfire would work well with less-exciting openings, such as the Slav.

3) Females: ChessBase products are quite sordid at times in their own way with teasing remarks aplenty and the fondling of advanced software throughout, so why not add a few suggestively dressed females to the set to increase the temperature a little? There’s no need to go too far: less is often more in such situations.

4) Music: a little music would improve your average chess DVD. In the nineties the Foxy productions used to have an intro with a bit of keyboard and some burning embers of an open fire to get you in the mood. That’s possibly a bit retro, instead I suggest some solid chess action with some heavy metal played over the top. Many Metallica songs can be interpreted in chess terms ‘Fight fire with fire’, for example could be used whilst showing a sharp line being employed to counter another, like in the King’s Gambit for example. ‘Creeping Death’ could be used for slow positional squeezes and the like. ‘Battery’ could be used for the Kings Indian Attack or any opening that relies on a  pawn-storm,  ’Seek and Destroy’ for illustrating the value of establishing and attacking middle-game weaknesses, ‘Jump in the fire’…er, still working on that one.

5) Incorporate cinematic elements into the production. Chess has found its way into Hollywood on more than one occasion. How about showing for example, The Queen’s Indian Defence, Petrosian Line, in the style of a famous film, for example, The Matrix. When the presenter picks up a pawn, the camera could spin round, freezing the action in motion, making it more exciting. Perhaps, endgames could be delivered in the style of a Western. Kasparov once said that the aridity of the endgame put a lot of people off studying it. Westerns are often located in desert-like backdrops and would provide a harmonious interface for such phases of our beautiful game.

6) Vary the location: it’s often said that death and taxes are the only two things we can be certain of. I’d like to suggest that there is a third certainty in life -that just hanging around inside is usually rubbish when you can mill around outside instead. With this third certitude, chess DVD’s should be shot on location. Occasionally we do get to see a bit of the outside world in them. From memory Jim Plaskett once made a video on the f4 Sicilian in a room which had a window. But why not film chess outside. What’s wrong with filming in a garden for example?

More to follow…

MJM

The Desert Defence

“If approached with an open heart, chess can become a fascinating channel of self-expression and self-discovery.” ~Josh Waitzkin

There’s a defence in chess which until now has been never played nor written about. It has no discernible move order and is not a system either; its more of a reaction: it’s called ‘The Desert Defence’. To understand ‘The Desert Defence’ we must first liberate ourselves from the familiarity of known opening positions, choosing to focus on an imposition instead. Are you confused? If so, good. Now go away please…yes that’s right go away. Less ironically, there is an undercurrent of contempt in this post, but it is not directed at anything per se; it is part of a reaction to the aforementioned imposition, which in itself functions as part of a collaborative defence to a general misconception concerning chess.

In Beyond Good and Evil, Nietzsche once stated that, ‘Under conditions of peace, the warlike man attacks himself’. In our pseudo-modern age, the internet has annulled such conditions: if you’re on-line, there’s always an enemy in range! Rather than attack myself -which doesn’t sound much like fun, and at 39 years old I’m much less warlike than I used to be anyway- I thought I would spring to the defence of chess instead; not by addressing some groggy, on-line claims made by some nincompoops  ’writers’ which I have recently encountered directly, but by offering a counter-example of the benefits chess can offer.

Currently situated in Oman, the town I live in is very small indeed; it lies between the beginning of the desert and the end of the mountains, a transition slowly formed across several pre-historic ages. Since then the dinosaurs have died out, Oman became an official country around 1970, Luton Town football club came for a mini-tour during the 83-84 season (this was cited as the explantion for their catastrophic 1-5 home loss to Manchester United in the first ever live televised game at kenilworth Road) but other than dinsosaurs, offical borders and the Hatters, nothing else of importance has appeared here since the earth formed. The border is about one hour away, the beach two, Muscat three, meeting a fellow chess player, forever out of reach, all roads lead to an inward existence. Such a stark realization is enough to drive some people crazy but the ample free time and pervasive emptiness of the desert can be easily combated by chess players. Chess can fill the evening adequately, and provides both short-term and long-term goals to focus upon. The peace and quiet provided to you, and the heavily reduced work hours provide ideal conditions for anyone intent on broadening their theoretical base, of which the author of this blog is one, meaning that sanity is retained rather than diminished. Sadly, a lot of ex-pats live and work in the desert solely for financial reasons. Such incredibly single-minded decisions often have a huge impact on the mental well-being of those who make them, whilst in Kuwait I saw several people go crazy, one had to be confined to a mental institution before he was thrown out of the country.

In what sense is this important? In the sense that to be forewarned is to be forearmed. On-line journalism has a habit of regurgitating clichés that disparage our beautiful game. Clichés can form a matrix between players and non-players. One such cliché is whether chess can cause, or lead to, madness. Typically, we hear about more celebrated figures such as Fischer or Steiniz, both of whom did exhibit strong signs of mental illness. The underlying rationale by our poorly informed, often incredibly annoying non-practioners, is to take things from the top. Non-chess players do not understand chess, so they look at the effects of chess on its finest practioners. Combined with a crude application of the law of induction (x1 =y, x2 =y, x3 =y…x(?) =y [apologies for the lack of superscript]) they ask whether chess can cause madness, purely on account of a few famous cases. What I am offering in this post here is a clear, vernacular counter-example: that chess improves mental health rather than deteriorate it.

Though to some degree the benefits that chess can instil may favour certain living conditions, it isn’t necessary to be in a desert to benefit from them. Chess is a solid game; it is often a stabilizing force in many players lives whether they are club players, professional or otherwise. In times of difficulty or despair, chess is there for us. It can provide respite from the stresses and strains of daily life. Those who disparage chess in attempting to malign it with madness should realize that on the ground level, chess can be a source of stability and joy for those who invest their efforts into it. Most people have a difficult period in their lives, mine came in my teens. During such periods, chess provides positive social experiences and something to focus on outside of the difficulties or tragedies we may be subject too. Furthermore, chess can restore lost confidence and help lift self-esteem, this can help stave off more general conditions such as depression, which prey upon inactivity rather than activity. As committed chess players we are presented with tangible models of our own success from our games; for example, escaping defeat when at one point it looked inevitable, perhaps, in doing so we had to control our emotions before finding a solution with a clear head. Such experiences can become part of a daily strategy off the board as well as on it during tough times. People who disparage chess, and crudely rely on one or two famous players really don’t understand anything about the hidden benefits chess can provide. A recent example of this can be found in ‘Bobby Fischer against the World’, in which  the director attempts to understand Fischer without reference to the source of his greatest strength; namely his chess, and this in spite of his caveat at the beginning of the documentary. The upshot is that in absentia of his success we are somehow supposed to sympathise with Fischer; Fischer the world champion who, after years of trying, finally achieved his great goal in life -what a load of old tosh!!!

To conclude, chess has been continuously associated with certain demerits of the human condition, I have tried to offer a counter-example of one by showing how chess can help retain sanity rather than diminish it. Sadly, this whole issue reveals the impasse between the chess playing community and the non-chess playing community; in the sense that it shows how little effort non-chess players make to understand our game, and how little chess players do to amend that.

Mark.J.McCready