Chess Associations

Sometimes I look at chess games and the names of the players and I find myself thinking of rather odd things. Right now, the London Chess Classic is on.

I see names like 'Levon Aronian' and I think of a left-handed fishwife. 'Magnus Carlsen' somehow makes me think of Charlemagne. 'Nigel Short' is one of my favourites, as it always makes me wonder what if he had met Mikhail Tal. David Howell is Chinese, while Hikaru Nakamura is American.

It's an amazing world. But Gens Una Sumus, as the International Chess Federation (FIDE) has as its motto — 'We're One Family'.

Thoughts on Game 2 of the World Chess Championship (2010)

"Strong contradiction which ruins all the illusions," said GM Sergei Shipov after Chess World Champion GM Viswanathan Anand played his knight to b4. With that, the overly aggressive and hence unsound play of the challenger, GM Veselin Topalov, was refuted.

In life, sometimes our views of reality can be rudely exposed as illusions. Moses was a murderer (and kept that tendency even after 'Thou shalt not murder' was given to him), David was a cunning physicist who wrote psychopathic lines into his psalms, Abraham (as mentioned before in several posts) was a ruthless warlord. Newton was a mystic, Einstein was religious, Hawking is afraid of aliens.

The bare facts are incontrovertible in each case. Yet the mythic versions of our own narratives continue to compel. Until, of course, 'strong contradiction ruins all the illusions.'

The English Opening

I've been playing chess again. Of late, my studies have led me into something called the English Opening. It's a deceptively quiet-looking opening, in which the White player plays an odd flank move and the Black player is then faced with a multitude of choices, each of which spawns its own alternate world of manoeuvre, threat and counter-threat.

There are historical analogies here, I suppose. English history is full of these quiet moves in the Great Game, in which the other player suddenly finds himself with too many alternatives, all of which seem alternately promising and dangerous.

The other day, I saw a book by former World Chess Champion Anatoly Karpov on the English Opening. In that book, he more or less says, "Here are a bunch of games. Play through them with my comments as your guide. It's the only way you will ever begin to understand the English Opening."

To some extent, that's true. Unless you spend what seems to be a lifetime playing through such games with an experienced guide, it is hard to understand the English. The whole matter is too rich, too multifarious and transpositional, to understand in a short time.

After a lot of thought, I've decided that being English is about as complicated as being Chinese. About the only thing the two have in common, though, is the sense of imperial privilege that occasionally peeks out after a bit of manoeuvring around on the board.

Chess and the King

In my spare time, I play chess. Occasionally, I even think about the philosophical implications of the game. This time, the thought occurred to me that there is a reasonably clear divide between two kinds of chess, ancient and modern.

In the more ancient games, the piece standing next to the king has less mobility than the king; the vizier, minister or counsellor can only move one square at a time, normally along a diagonal. In the Chinese variant, even that movement is limited to the court around the king.

In modern rules, the major piece standing next to the king is the queen; the modern queen has unlimited movement potential either orthogonally or diagonally. This makes her immediately and obviously the most powerful piece on the board, especially as (or if) the game opens up. No longer shackled to the king and free to roam, she is a shining example of feminism in action.

But what is striking is the combination of absolute and relative roles of the king. The absolute role of the king is to avoid being trapped without escape. Once the king is en prise without escape, that's the end. One relative role of the king is that of a minor piece, but one that gains power as the board is denuded. A king-defended pawn is actually often better off than a pawn-defended pawn for one reason: the king is a flexible defender and an attacking piece in the later stages of the game. Another relative role of the king is that of central piece; but next to a queen, his power looks diminished — and next to an ancient-style counsellor or vizier, his power looks positively well-rounded.

There are life-lessons to be seen here. In life, the king often has the option to choose the kind of pieces he surrounds himself with. Some kings surround themselves with weaker pieces so that they will look stronger, while others (more visionary, more confident) surround themselves with stronger pieces so that their side as a whole is stronger. A clever king seeks to promote his pawns, so that he has even more powerful pieces, perhaps a second queen; a not-so-clever king hides behind his pawns and sacrifices them to keep his position. It all depends on whether there is strategic vision or not.

Grand Mastery

Just this morning I was reading the second part of a fascinating interview with Viswanathan Anand, the current World Chess Champion and one of the most pleasant human beings you might find at such an exalted level. What really intrigued me was his very historically-minded response to this question: "After 20 years of dedicating your life to the sport, a piece of code on a PC is your equal. After all your years of effort, a “mindless” program can match you. Do you feel that way sometimes?". Here's an extract:

"There must have been a point when the information in the libraries was more than that was contained in your head. There are lots of things that humans used to do, which we no longer do better than machines. It would be interesting to compare it with those moments.

"In 1997-98 we felt this very strongly. Now there is hardly any interest. Because it is over, you know it is like running against a car. There are some things we do much better than computers but since most of chess is tactically based they do many things better than humans. And this imbalance remains. I no longer have any issues. It is a bit like asking an astronomer does he mind that a telescope does all the work. He takes an image, does image processing. He uses a computer which counts the pixels. Does he feel bad? He is used to it. It is just an incredible tool that you can use.

"Once you are past the initial tussle with your ego, then it just feels natural. Right now it is not an issue. I know my PC is stronger than me at any given time, and to have a chance against it I would spend a couple of weeks thinking about computer chess. How to play against machines. You stop doing anything imaginative, and you become very disciplined tactically. I can probably still compete against it, but what's the point?"

The World Chess Champion's answer is a manifestation of his mastery. The point, to him, is that to compete with a specialised instrument is pointless. In fact, you would have to degrade your imaginative human complexity in order to do so. Yes, it breeds discipline; but what he implicitly says is that the strategic imagination is compromised by the extreme tactical discipline.

To put it in another way, learning to react excellently in the short term leads to a kind of blindness in your strategic horizon. You lose long-term vision if you don't use your assets and skills properly.

I've seen this in real life. I've seen very bright people come to the end of the 20th century thinking that we were about to leave the 20th century behind. What happened subsequently was that the 21st century left them behind, trapped in some sort of conceptual limbo where you listened to gurus whose research was five years out of date and you never surfed the Internet for yourself but got some lackey to do it for you.

That is where the strategic vision died, for those people. Maybe they should play more chess.

Flexibility

I find myself playing six games of chess at once. Because of synchronicity, I am White in five of them; Black in only one. In that sixth game, I am playing some odd variant of the Queen Pawn openings, a Trompowsky Attack or some such, on the defending side.

In my five White games, I am apparently playing the King's Indian Attack against the French Defence, two Bishop's Openings (one a classical Berlin, one not), an awkward and dragonish Sicilian, and a symmetrical English.

I never used to be this flexible. I am now. Not good at everything, but learning a lot and improving. If chess is a metaphor for life, then my life is rich indeed.

The Secrets of Educational Success

I have to thank a person I don't know for a sudden flash of insight as to how educational success is attained. An article in Chessbase.com written by Lin Zhigen claims that there are seven possible 'secrets' to chess success.

In order of obtrusiveness (or something), he lists them as:

1. Computers will solve everything.
2. Maximise the opportunities for your opponents to make mistakes.
3. Dress like a grandmaster and you will play like one.
4. Use computers for analysis, especially of your own games.
5. Team chemistry.
6. Caffeine.
7. Chinese chess.

And that list immediately leapt into my brain as the essential list of things that students should consider when trying to ace examinations.

Now we know why Asian scholars are so efficient once you get them into a good school (or any formal structure at all). They all use computers, hang around waiting for others to screw up, dress alike, analyse their performance, have odd social chemistry, drink tea (or coffee) in large amounts, and play chinese chess. Haha...

It makes me proud to share that inheritance.

Christmas Competitions

I think my favourite Christmas competition is this one, which started only last year. 64 puzzles are published online at random intervals. The interesting thing is that although the puzzles are chess-related, you probably need to know more things about other things besides chess.

Take for example clues #13 and #14. I'm happy I managed to solve clue #4 first! Haha, facility with word games helps.

Balanced

Last night (local time) I was watching the latest installment of the World Chess Championships. The first two games had been fairly exciting, not so boring, and drawn. But Game 3 was different; Kramnik-Anand (WCC Bonn) Game 3 is a kind of instant classic. You can find the game and supporting stuff here. But that isn't the main point of this post.

What I really admire about Anand is the way he pulls all kinds of rabbits out of hats. At the end of some of his games, you feel that odd sense of The Other. He is a guy you could enjoy bumming around with. But he is also this guy who plays extremely skillful lightning chess and ends up in positions that just don't look right.

Yes, he loses once in a while. Yes, he has pretty bad patches too, as in his previous tournament) where he came in last. But somehow, he seems to balance the normal and the excessively brilliant in a way many chess grandmasters are simply incapable of doing.

Just think of the Bulgarian archfiend Veselin Topalov, with bulging-eyed intensity and an almost vibratory anticipation of things to come. Just think of the once-fiery (and still fairly so) Alexei Shirov, or that political maverick from Baku, Garry Kasparov. Or even that great one, the totally unbalanced Robert James Fischer. The last two are heroes of mine, chessboard-wise. But I think I'd be uneasy to be sitting in the same room as either of them (well, the late Fischer much more so than Kasparov, I must admit). Not so Anand.

King Fischer

Robert James Fischer (1943-2008) was the least expected of proxy cold warriors in an age of confrontation. When he became the first American world chess champion in 1972 by beating the Russian world champion Boris Spassky in Iceland's capital of Reykjavik, he began a whole new era of professionalism in chess and heralded an age of daring and innovative chessboard manoeuvres.

I remember learning to play chess in 1971 and being totally consumed by the frenzy of the Candidates matches and the clash of the titans in Iceland. I followed every rare news article with avid attention, and played through almost every game of the match with my grandfather. Fischer was the ultimate development of Capablanca and Nimzovich as far as his era was concerned. He brought life and convincingly dramatic struggle to the chessboard.

Bobby Fischer died of unknown causes some hours ago in the Reykjavik which brought him global acclaim. Rest in peace, old friend.

Elista Revisited

Some time ago I posted about how I was looking forward to the World Chess Championship Candidates' Matches. Well, the first phase is over, although at this moment, I am waiting for the three tie-break matches (Carlsen-Aronian, Gelfand-Kasimdzhanov, Adams-Shirov) to be fought out.

I think I'm satisfied with all the outcomes so far; Leko is always a solid contender (although brittle in spots), I don't particularly like Ponomariov (reminds me too much of the Soviet machine with Karpov as its biting edge), Kamsky's comeback has been interesting and educational to watch, and I have no feelings for either Grischuk or Malakhov. I'm a little sad that Judit Polgar doesn't seem to be back in fighting shape, although her basic skills are still relatively unimpaired and she fights hard.

I'm hoping for Aronian (Carlsen can afford to wait it out), Kasimdzhanov (wily fox), and Shirov (I like Adams, but he tends to be profligate with chances) to go through to the second phase.

And before I forget, here are their current nationalities, for those who can be bothered with it: Aronian (Armenia), Carlsen (Norway), Leko (Hungary), Gurevich (Turkey), Rublevsky (Russia), Ponomariov (Ukraine), Gelfand (Israel), Kasimdzhanov (Uzbekistan), Kamsky (USA), Bacrot (France), Grischuk (Russia), Malakhov (Russia), Polgar (Hungary), Bareev (Russia), Adams (England), Shirov (Spain).

From Kalmykia To Mexico

I can't wait much longer. The World Chess Championship Candidates Matches begin in Elista, Kalmykia, today. Four places for the Championship itself, in Mexico City, are at stake.

The match pairings themselves are a treat.

1. Levon Aronian v Magnus Carlsen

2. Peter Leko v Mikhail Gurevich

3. Ruslan Ponomariov v Sergei Rublevsky

4. Boris Gelfand v Rustam Kasimdzhanov

5. Etienne Bacrot v Gata Kamsky

6. Alexander Grischuk v Vladimir Malakhov

7. Judith Polgar v Evgeny Bareev

8. Alexei Shirov v Michael Adams

These sixteen players come from all over the place (although traditional chess-playing countries dominate): Armenia (1), England (1), France (1), Hungary (2), Israel (1), Norway (1), Russia (4), Spain (1), Turkey (1), Ukraine (1), USA (1), Uzbekistan (1). It's hard, without a chess database, to guess who comes from where. Casual blog-readers are invited to guess. Avid chess-players ought to know; after all, these are 16 of the world's best. Linguists will probably guess about half of them right. The main problem is the legacy of the Soviet hegemony and the subsequent diaspora. Heh. Politics – it crops up everywhere.

Anand Ascending

I have great regard for Viswanathan Anand. Almost in my age group but still leading the pack, he is to me the true heir to the legendary Ogre of Baku – Russian opposition figure and World Chess Champion emeritus Garry Kasparov.

Anand is very different from Kasparov. He has a more holistic view of the board, but is less inclined to be a tactical fiend. Anand is, instead, a speed demon - one of those rare individuals who plays as well at high speeds as at normal speeds.

And now, I am extremely happy at the turn of events that has forced FIDE to acknowledge Vishy Anand as world #1 for once. Here is the article at ChessBase.com.