The Chess Mind

We start with this position:



White has just blown an ending that was dead drawn about 55 moves ago and merely routinely drawn for the past 50 moves, and is now squarely facing a loss. Disgusted (who wouldn't be?), White uncorks 104.Rb6:



In my pre-internet chess career, I had never, or at almost never encountered such tricks. Once I started playing on chess servers in the mid-90s, however, I ran across them all the time, and found myself infuriated by them. It wasn't primarily a matter of anger that they occasionally succeeded against me (though that didn't help); in fact, I was quickly able to sense which opponents would attempt that garbage and, after the initial shock, I was very successful in avoiding their tricks and even benefiting from them.

Instead, my anger was that such a strategy seemed to me utterly disrespectful: of the opponent, of the game, of fair play. This wasn't sportsmanship; it was gamesmanship, the sort of dirty trick one would expect from a street hustler whose concern is his daily bread, not the love of the game. Their action struck me as despicable, and I couldn't add them to my censor/noplay list quickly enough. (Even when I won.)

Those of you who play on the internet are no doubt familiar with such individuals. Some people go for these tricks even when it's not a last-gasp attempt to save the game. Indeed, they are like comic book characters to me: there's the 1.c3 2.Qc2 3.Qxh7 player, the meet ...g6 with Bh6 (hoping for ...Bg7 Bxg7) guy (or gal), the 1.d4, 2.Bg5 and (he hopes) 3.Bxd8 guy, and so on.

10 years on, the shock has worn off, I've experienced far worse breaches of etiquette, and while I still immediately consign such individuals to the noplay zone, the heavy-duty righteous indignation has largely worn away. People (myself included, obviously and unfortunately) sometimes behave in ways that are foolish (and worse), and unless someone is being harmed, it's better just to slough it off.

That said, I still find such actions a blight on the game; a peccadillo in the throwaway realm of 1-minute chess, perhaps, but a sign that one values winning over the other goods at stake in a slower chess game.

I must qualify this, however: emotions come into play, too! While I feel nothing but contempt for this technique as a general strategy, there are circumstances where I can understand, if not necessarily condone, its use. For example: there are some people who would play bishop and pawn vs. bishop and pawn, where the bishops are of opposite-colors, the pawns are blocked and covered by their bishops (and let's say the kings as well, which can't be checked) for all 50 moves - longer, if we adjust the example to allow it - even against their dying mothers in the hopes of winning on time. Against such people, the cheapo attack makes sense as a sort of "vigilante" approach, as a loss in such cases is just exasperating!

Okay, rant over; back to the game. As you've no doubt gathered from the post's title, we're not talking about a random blitz game, but a full-length tournament battle from the just-completed Dutch Championships (won by Tiviakov; website here). IM Yge Visser had White, GM Jan Smeets had Black, and both were running out of time, since (as far as I've been able to discern from the tournament website) they were playing at this point without any increments. Visser had let the draw slip away, as I mentioned above, so he played his last chance. And it worked! Smeets played 104...Kh5??, Visser grabbed the rook, won the pawns and gave mate before his flag fell.

You can replay the game here to get a sense of its evolution. Do you think Smeets was out of line for playing out a drawn ending for so long? Was Visser just mad at himself for blowing a routine draw? Am I all wet?

From his Ascending the Heights: A Layman's Guide to The Ladder of Divine Ascent, page 73:

How do we battle this demon [boredom/tedium]? St. John [Climacus] suggests two things: perseverance in the course taken and cooperation with others who are struggling. The only way to beat boredom is to labor through it.

...We modern Christians tend to be "flash-in-the-pan" people. We start things, do them for a while, and then start something new. This is not the approved method for living the spiritual life. What is needed is perseverance and finishing the course. Once we have started on a certain path of prayer and struggle, we must keep on keeping on without allowing ourselves to be distracted.

Secondly, we beat boredom by reminding ourselves of what others have done and are doing. Tedium, says St. John, is rebuffed by community life. In our day and age, it is important that we continuously remind ourselves of the labors of the saints....In addition, it is good for us to establish relationships with others who are struggling. Knowing that I am not alone, that I am part of a community of strugglers, gives me the encouragement and motivation to persevere when I feel like quitting. [All emphasis in original.]

Of course, Mack is speaking of something far more important than chess, but that doesn't mean we can't and shouldn't apply it to our lives in general, and even chess training in particular.

I suspect, however, that there is much more to be said about boredom/tedium than Mack suggests. He's right that a constant itching for the new is an impediment to growth, and I'd add that it's an impediment to the bank balance as well. But sometimes boredom is caused by a self-inflicted rut, and the solution might be a fresh approach - we're not trying to run away from a particular problem, situation, duty or goal, but from a stale way of acting or thinking about that problem, situation, etc.

So while I agree with his three suggestions - persevere, reflect on the relevant aspects of the lives and careers of exemplars, and join up with those in a like situation - we can enrich the conceptual framework still farther. But that's the work of another day.

DG of the Boylston Chess Club Blog posts, with disapproval, a story about an elementary school chess tournament with no tournament winners. (The only prize was a chess set awarded on the basis of - ironically - a drawing.)

As I mentioned, DG disapproves, heading his post "With no winners, isn't everyone a loser?", and his first commentator appeals to nature, red in tooth and nail, to offer his support. Commentator #2 ("The Hungarian Knight"; henceforth THK), however, agrees with the tournament organizers - but not based on an unqualified rejection of competition:

I can't disagree with you more. A chess tournament in an elementary school should be fostering life-long chess adherents. For 1st through 3rd grades any and all games should be instructive and not competitive. There is plenty of time for competitive chess. And, if a child is that good, there are definitely competitive avenues for that child to explore.

I'm no specialist in elementary ed, but - pending correction from relevant experts - I disagree with THK's reasoning. While I have no problem with the claim that an elementary school chess tournament should have as (a) primary motivation that of fostering an enduring love of the game, I can't see why a normal tournament with prize-winners would fail to have that effect. The only statement in the neighborhood of an argument is that (for 1st-3rd grades) "any and all games should be instructive and not competitive."

This looks like a false dilemma: can't a game be competitive and instructive? In fact, the competitive aspect may well foster the instructional value. If I know that doing x, y and z in the future will increase my winning chances while a, b and c will enrich my subsequent opportunities to lose, then unless I'm impervious to competitive factors, I'm motivated to incorporate x-z and eschew a-c!

Contrary to THK's thesis, it seems to me less likely that a player will learn when nothing's at stake. In the absence of carrots and sticks, it's hard to see what will attract kids to the game at all, let alone learning it. There is the beauty of the game, yes, but it's the rare youngster whose aesthetic sensibility is so well developed that he or she will fall in love with chess, apart from any concrete successes. (And those that would are (1) likely to be very good at the game, and (2) are such that if they weren't very good, would probably enjoy it anyway.)

Another point: the tournament organizers' ploy is hollow anyway, because while they're not recognizing overall tournament winners, the individual games are still conducted in the usual way; to wit, with winners and (gasp!) losers. Will a player who lost every game really learn more and feel a less upset, just because no one won a first-place trophy?

If anything, the tournament's unspoken message is rather cynical: excellence will not be rewarded and talent, practice and effort don't matter either. Wonderful!

Rather than perpetrate this farce against both chess and the value of excellence, teachers and organizers can foster a love of the game in other ways, while helping kids realize that their intrinsic value as human beings is not determined by their results in a chess tournament. Of course kids (and adults, for that matter) shouldn't associate their self-worth with their ELO or place in the tournament table, but that's a more general problem that can be addressed while simultaneously allowing for competition. Put simply, to say that A is better than B at X does not mean that A is superior to B per se. (Making this point is straightforward within Judeo-Christian thought; other frameworks will have to supply alternative explanations.)

In sum, at least three distinct but non-contradictory messages should be given to young children. First, all human beings, qua human beings, are equal. Second, it's important to do one's best. One doesn't have control over one's talents, but does have control over how hard she applies herself to whatever task is at hand (whether competing or practicing). And third, one should strive for, appreciate and reward excellence. (Most sensibly, one should find the intersection of their talents and interests and strive in that direction.)

Finally, a point about competition per se. While it's certainly possible to be overly competitive, competition can be healthy, too - see this extremely interesting essay on, of all things, boxing and philosophy. (Via Maverick Philosopher)