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October 11, 2008The BanzayFish scandal - Scene III (The avatars of the tortoise)I borrowed the title after a short essay by the Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges about the Zeno’s paradox Achilles and the tortoise. Here in Playchess.de we observe a different kind of paradox that requires our attention. There are handles supposed to belong to strong female Dutch players who show a bad attitude against their opponents. Many years ago these handles belonged to different persons. So they say in their comments that accompany moves played. It is simple logic for me to conclude that some of their confessions are true, some are not, OR all of their confessions are lies. It is not logical to conclude that they always speak the truth. The truth is some times blinding. There are two methods to face a situation like this. Either one tries to figure out what is true and what is a lie, or believes (make-believe) what one likes as true. In other words “So it is (if you think so)” Così è (Se Vi Pare), Luigi Pirandello If the script is recited in chronological order then Scene III should not follow Scene II. I want to provide some answers following the Blindness test of the previous article. I do not give the links to all of the games, but all underlined text opens a new window with the games's history. Scene III You still play the leading role, you play chess in Playchess.de and you read your opponent’s comments. You make a detailed investigation in the games' history of the handles anne_t, BanzayFish and ZorMaster. anne_t This handle was created in March 2001 and joined an A class tournament. Its owner called herself Anne, preferred the French flag instead of the Dutch and gave a lot of information about herself to her opponents. BanzayFish This handle was created in October 2001. BanzayFish is a killer fish who attacks his opponent and does not care if he dies by this attack. Its owner didn’t like to chat but always replied politely. Here he says that he is “brandnew” in chess. You check the ranking lists of 2001 and discover that WIM Marta (the player that BanzayFish is supposed to be today) had ELO 2193. You quickly discover that this user’s name is Maarten and leaves in Delft or Oegstgeest or Tilburg, but he is a student in Delft University! Airplane constructions! ZorMaster This handle was created also in October 2001. The user’s name was also Anne. A final comment. There is another member who faced anne_t and suspected that he knows her with another chessname. Bravo PLUTARCO! With a handle like this you sure know all about Vitae Parallelae.
Posted by Michalis Kaloumenos at 12:03 AM
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October 04, 2008The BanzayFish scandal - Scene II (Blindness)You probably know that the final edition of a movie that reaches the theatres has nothing to do with the original script. There are always new ideas from the writer, the director and sometimes the actors that alter the content, the scene sequence and the characters. In our case, I must add Scene-II in the middle of Scene-I, after the end of the Internet game between you and BanzayFish and before the local club simul with Marta. There is no variation this time. You (only you) play the leading role. Scene II When the Internet game was over you were very angry, but your conscience instructed you to try and forget the incident, as if BanzayFish never addressed insults against you. But BanzayFish did not forget. She was angrier than you, insisted that you cheated her with computers, and decided to act further. She sent a message to you, using the messaging system of playchess.de, did not hesitate to append her e-mail address (very irritating, don't you think?), with a content of only two words: "pathetic guy". Then she made an Internet search and found your name as a member of your local chess club and posted a comment to your chess club web site, repeating her accusations. She signed the post as WIM Marta (full name of course). Blindness Allow me to start with the final conclusion. Our little virtual chess club is blind (totally blind, unforgivably blind) compared to the real world of OTB chess, where real chess players meet in open tournaments and play each other on real chessboards with real pieces, real clocks and real score sheets. They have the chance to meet, talk, have fun and drink a couple of beers together. What do we have? The distance that separates us is a thick dark colored curtain that does not allow us to have real contact with each other. Technology offers e-mail, instant messaging system and video conference but all these cannot be compared even with a simple handshake. So, a cheater accused many players for cheating. Some of these players could be real cheaters and they really used computers. There are many cheaters out there, isn't it? Who cheated whom with a cheat-cheat here and a cheat-cheat there? Here a cheat, there a cheat, everywhere a cheat-cheat. Who deserves the best cheater Academy award? "And cheaters, wherever you are out there…" I hail you with the same three little English words that Al Pacino used in the crowded Baird school auditorium, in the final scene of the film "Scent of a woman". (Remember that the hero Frank Slade was a blind person) Blindness test Memory may cure blindness. One of those handles was “anne_t”. I remembered that I played against her 5 years ago and I annotated our game. Click here for the annotation. What do you observe? What goes wrong here? You don’t have to read the whole annotation. You don’t even have to scroll down the page. The critical information lies in the comment after 2.Nc3 Well, any comments? Please, no sharp language, no real Dutch names.
Posted by Michalis Kaloumenos at 06:12 PM
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October 01, 2008The BanzayFish scandal - Scene I (Introduction)I like fiction and drama, I enjoy a good thriller movie (especially when gun fighting is limited), I have spent a lot of hours playing Sherlock Holmes last week, I got inspired from your comments to the previous article I wrote and I decided to recite you the story of BanzayFish as if it is a movie script. My files are overloaded with e-mails and links and all little things that I discovered and my mind is full of emotions and ideas mixed with sarcasm (?!). I am not going to reveal everything I know right from the beginning. Be patient. You waited for 12 years before you see another World Championship Match; I am not going to torture you for such a long time. The storyboard We have a correspondence chess site where players use nicknames to login. Users have a choice either to keep their personal data hidden or to show to the other members their name and chess title, if any. Now this handle, BanzayFish as well as another handle, ZorMaster, do not hide their data. The first one belongs to a strong titled woman player, who for the purposes of the script has the name Marta, the other one belongs to a young lady, numero uno in her category whom we may call Kerstine. Scene I You played an Internet game against BanzayFish, you knew that Marta was a very strong player, it is a challenge to play known and strong players, you read theory and game bases again and again so that you get out of the opening phase with an equal position. Then in move 23, she accompanied her move with an insult and an accusation that you cheat with a computer. Her words were so sharp that you got angry, you sent a complaint to Thomas but you received no reply (you should know that Thomas works eight days a week, because he has a family to feed and a greedy server that sucks all his money). You were angry for a week, then you calmed down and then… Scene I – variation Now the leading character is not you, but him. (I prefer a male character for the purpose of the variation) He is a young man, his parents were divorced when he was fourteen, he recently failed a university exam or his employer asked him impolitely to be more productive, he is eager to conquer the world and feels cheated because the struggle is harder than he thought. Well, this lad is a very good chess player although not in a national level. He always returns to chess and finds happiness, because chess is the only activity that keeps his mind in discipline and harmony, so he played chess almost everywhere, (the park, local club, Internet) and anytime (work breaks, afternoon, before he goes to bed). Now he is the one who played a game against BanzayFish and faced the sharp insults, he also played against Marta at the local club’s simul exhibition. He made the same observation as you did, but he could not control his anger during the game. Perhaps earlier he visited a coffee shop (sorry, in my mind the story takes place somewhere in the Netherlands) and that was the main reason for his confusion. When everything was over he approached her and then… Do you get the picture? This is the beginning of “the BanzayFish scandal”. Just the beginning… Many thanks to the playchess.de member who inspired Scene I :-)
Posted by Michalis Kaloumenos at 11:04 PM
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September 29, 2008Do these Dutch ladies know everything? (final cut)Dear friends, this is the final cut of the very popular blog article of your beloved chess site. I have edited all of your comments, made sure that all references to real persons are removed, and I am proud to anounce the sequel! As soon as investigations come to an end, get prepared to welcome the new thriller story with the dramatic title: "The BanzayFish scandal" or "ZorMaster-gate" :-) I have just discovered that two handles, supposed to belong to two ladies from the Netherlands, two respectable strong women chess players, have crossed the line of politeness and decided to play the role of cheater police investigators. These handles have finally decided to drop out of PlayChess.de (together with a team of other 6 players from the Netherlands) they have not logged in since August 28th, but they have left behind them a lot of written comments which are public available for anybody. The big questions are these: Who cheated whom? and Who has the right to file a good case in normal courts? As you know the comments we write to each other can be still accessed through the history link of a game page. So you should be very careful and write politely to your opponent. These Dutch handles showed the bad habit of accusing their opponents of cheating and connected this accusation with the fact that their opponent has no FIDE Elo or is not a registered chess player. Here is a brief collection. Sit back and enjoy or click the links to get the full image. Let's start with BanzayFish who has a problem with players that don't show up OTB. The other handle supposed to belong to a younger lady uses even sharper language. Yes ZorMaster and BanzayFish as well. It is time to inform all members of this site and the rest of the world about your bad sportsmanship. But ZorMaster and BanzayFish, please, let's make this clear: I don't hope that you get an accident. I only wish that you understand that Internet is a place that some rodents pretend they are lions and it is possible that there are rodents who are real lions and for some private reasons do not like to be socially involved in OTB chess. All of them hide behind handles and they should be equally respectable, they don't deserve in any case the language you used against them. Please come back to the site both of you and make a public statement, an apology for your sharp language. This last part of the article seems very silly to me right now. The comments that all of you have posted are divided. Some of you believe that cheating is more important, some of you believe that more important is using sharp language. I am going to examine all of your comments. But this is not the point right now. Here, in this case it seems that we've all been cheated guys. From now on this article is closed for comments. Sorry, for cutting the dialogue in the middle of the heat. But don't worry. Soon enough a new blog entry is going to present details of "The BanzayFish scandal" or "ZorMaster-gate".
Posted by Michalis Kaloumenos at 10:40 PM
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March 05, 2004To the last pawn - the end!A maelstrom of fists and elbows swirled across the ring for the next thee minutes. The surge of punches was stopped when Favreau was caught by a left uppercut on the chin. The crowd gasped as he went down for the count. After recovering, he managed to punish Dominguez with a straight right to the face, for another count. ‘Ijo de puta’, muttered the Mexican, as he got up on his feet and attacked the Canadian again. ***
Dominguez-Favreau, after 49.Kg3
White was reduced to passive waiting moves as black executed his plan … or was he? With the second hand of his clock about to start its final round, Dominguez played 54.Nxg7. Shell-shocked, Favreau tried to gather his composure. He had only slightly more time on the clock than his opponent – less than two minutes. And his rook was about to lose to white’s pair of passed pawns. Oh well, there’s nothing better, he thought and played 54…Rxg7, and then just tried to waste as much time as possible from Dominguez’s clock with a few pointless rook moves, 55.Kf5 Rd7 56.h6 Rd5+ 57.Ke4 Re5+ 58.Kf4 Rg5 59.h7 Rh5 60.g7 Rxh7.
Dominguez-Favreau, after 60...Rxh7 Dominguez pushed the g-pawn to the eighth row, screaming ‘Queen’ hoarsely as droplets of blood trickled from his mouth. O’Mally quickly replaced the pawn with a white Queen, and after 61.g8=Q Re7 62.Kf5 Kd7 63.Kxf6 Enrique’s win was only a matter of time – literally, since he was down to his last thirty seconds. Favreau didn’t have much more, but this small difference allowed him to hope for a win as well. The players banged out the moves 63…Re8 64.Qd5+ Kc8 65.Kf7 Rd8 66.Qc6+ Kb8 67.Ke7 Rc8 68.Qb6+ Ka8.
Dominguez-Favreau, after 68...Ka8 Favreau’s king, like a battered boxer, was pushed with its back against the ropes, and the noose was tightening. Confident of his win, Dominguez brought his king forward, 69.Kd7, but Favreau had one last surprise in stock for him. After spending twenty of his last forty seconds, he played 69…Rc7+, and the crowd groaned along with Dominguez, when they all saw that capturing the rook leads to stalemate, and if the white king retreats anywhere, black simply keeps checking on the seventh row. The broadcasters’ booth was shrouded in silence, with Manetta and Jensen wordless for maybe the first time in their careers. His last seconds winding down, Dominguez tried 70.Kd6 Rd7+ 71.Kc5 Rc7+. He thought of Kb5, but no, that wasn’t of any help; black has Rb7. Three seconds on his clock… two… one… Dominguez took the rook, 72.Qxc7. *** “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s a stalemate! The match Dominguez-Favreau ends in a draw!” Too exhausted to walk on their own, the players were practically carried away from the ring by their cutmen and trainers. Behind them, arena crews already began to clean the ring and prepare it for the main event. *** “Fighting draw,” Markov said, as he and Leone laid Favreau on the massage table. “But big mistake in endgame, moving king to c7. Rook maneuver to g5 win. Zugzwang.” There was a knock on the door. “Reporters already?” wondered Leone, as he went to open it. “Let me though! Let me through, you bastards!” Evading a host of security personnel, Debbie managed to slip into the corridor, and from there into the dressing room. As Dominguez turned around and approached the door, it opened again, and the stout form of Todd Santoro burst through. *** Outside on the Strip, Lisa was standing on the sidewalk, brandishing a newly made cardboard sign with the letters ’CHICAGO’ painted on it. A gray minivan pulled over next to her. Inside was a family of four, fresh out of losing their vacation money at the casino. *** As Vincent and Enrique walked through the lobby after receiving their room keys, they came under assault from dozens of autograph-seeking fans. And although the two of them didn’t admit it, not to Debbie and certainly not to each other, the sight of pens and papers shoved in their faces reminded them of days of old, and actually made them feel good. Having withstood the first wave of attack, they escaped into the elevator. Debbie pushed the button for the top floor. “So tell me just one thing,” Dominguez turned to his friend, “Which one of us is the ‘audience favorite’?” THE END PS: for your reference, here is the full game in PGN. Just cut and paste it into your chess program, if you are so inclined. [Event "Undercard match"] 1. e4 c5 2. Nf3 d6 3. d4 cxd4 4. Nxd4 Nf6 5. Nc3 a6 6. g3 e5 7. Nde2 Be6 8. Bg2
Posted by Alex Shternshain at 10:12 PM
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March 04, 2004To the last pawn - Part VIIAs soon as the ‘box’ command was sounded by the referee, Favreau pounced on his opponent, throwing punches like a madman, forgetting about his own safety. He knew he had to get something going in the ring, if not on the board. Dominguez, on his part, fought fire with fire. For a few moments, it seemed the scythe had met a rock, as the Mexican threw back two punches for each one thrown at him. But lady luck smiled at the Canadian again – one of his punches, and not a particularly powerful one at that, caught Dominguez above the left eye, gushing blood all over his face. The contest was stopped as Enrique was taken to his corner for a brief laser-stitching. *** The barman got the bright idea to turn the TV’s volume all the way up, in spite of multiple protests from the yuppies.
Dominguez-Favreau, after 28.Qxa4 “Wow, what a boxing round, Jimmy! Applause from the capacity crowd here at the Palace, as the players head back to the board. And now, is physical condition going to be a factor?”
Dominguez-Favreau, after 33.Bf3 *** The fourth boxing round far more relentless than the ones that preceded it, with the violence steadily escalating to match the proceedings on the board. The crowd was bored no more – expecting a sleepy undercard fight as a prelude to the real thing, they got a bloody carnage. When the gong sounded three minutes later, and contestants staggered to their chairs, they were rewarded with a standing ovation. *** With only two rounds left in the undercard fight, most of the bar’s patrons left to their arena seats, not only to watch Klichkovsky in action, but also to catch the conclusion of this exciting match live. After the door closed behind him, she and Lisa turned to the screen. 36…hxg6 37.fxg6+ Kxe7 were played, and Dominguez saved his bishop with 38.Bg4, attacking the black rook at the same time. But after Favreau’s 38…Ra8 he plunged into thought, trying to figure out how exactly to stop the penetration of the black rook. From this contemplation he was awakened only by the fifth round gong.
Dominguez-Favreau, after 38...Ra8
“What a match, what a match we are seeing here so far, ladies and gentlemen! Advantage passes from side to side, hard punches thrown all around, these two fighters are really giving it all they’ve got!”
Dominguez-Favreau, after 49...Kg3 To be continued ...
Posted by Alex Shternshain at 03:33 PM
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March 02, 2004To the last pawn - Part VILisa was bored with the incessant banter of the broadcasters, as well as frustrated with her inability to see the board. Grasping the crumpled ticket, she remembered the old adage - ‘things that are given for free are usually worth their cost’. She got up from her seat and carried herself to the bar, where a big-screen TV was hanging over the champagne-glasses rack.
Dominguez-Favreau, after 12...Be7 Glancing on the screen, she realized she didn’t miss much since the start of the round - only one move was made by each side, 13.b3 by white and 13…Qc5 by black. Together, they watched in silence as white played 14.Qd3 and black, after a long deliberation, castled.
Dominguez-Favreau, after 19...Nfd7 *** Bruised and battered, the players sat at the chess table again. Dominguez was slightly dizzy, as he took one in the chin toward the end of the round, and Favreau’s kidneys didn’t feel to well either. Sitting at the board, Dominguez mechanically raised his hand to make the planned move – then suddenly realized he forgot what it was. He has such a perfect plan worked out. A very clever piece regrouping, he remembered, followed by an unstoppable kingside attack. But what was it exactly? Seconds passed, time ticked away. Finally, Enrique conceded defeat. He won’t be able to reconstruct his plan. That’s how it is in chess boxing, sometimes you just have to go with what you have, he thought and played 20.Nd5. Favreau was glad to exchange knights and relieve some of the pressure. After 20…Nxd5 21.exd5 he played 21…f6, safeguarding his kingside. As Dominguez considered his next move, Favreau, for the first time tonight, allowed himself to lean back in his chair, raise his head off the chessboard and smile at the cameras. He knew his opening problems were finally over. Furthermore, black was on the verge of grabbing the initiative. After a long think, Dominguez played 22.h4, not really with the goal of pursuing the kingside storm, but rather safeguarding the g5 pawn. Play continued with 22…Rac8 23.c3 Nc5, and it was white’s turn to retreat with 24.Qd1. Things looked bright for Favreau indeed. After taking a few minutes, he decided the best way for him to develop his initiative was 24…a5, and Dominguez made the ‘mysterious rook move’ 25.Rb1. Well, not so mysterious, since both players knew there was a chance for the b-file to be pried open. Favreau buried his head in his hands and thought … and thought and thought … so many good options. What should he do? The pain in his abdomen bothered him. I need to get something going on the chessboard, he thought and pushed the a-pawn, 25…a4, and immediately became covered in cold sweat as he realized just how bad this move was. What have I done, he cursed himself. I played directly into white’s hands. Dominguez also understood black’s mistake in no time, and pounced on the black knight with 26.Bxc5. Favreau slumped down in his chair. His moment of triumph was brief, and he was relegated to defending a bad position once more. At first, he thought of 26…Qxc5 27.axb4 Qxa3, but no, after 28.Rxb5 white’s advantage is too great, and 28.Rxb5 also comes in response to 27…fxg5. He decided to bite the bullet and recapture with the pawn. After 26…dxc5 27.bxa4 bxa4 28.Qxa4, white entered the third boxing round having an extra pawn.
Dominguez-Favreau, after 28.Qxa4 To be continued …
Posted by Alex Shternshain at 02:52 PM
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February 27, 2004To the last pawn - Part IV“’Saved by the bell’ rule will be in effect in all rounds. A player saved by the bell will be penalized by deducting one minute off his clock.” An hour later, Favreau steered the red convertible to the parking lot of the Caesar’s Palace Hotel and Casino. “Where do we go from here?” Dominguez wondered as they entered the luxurious lobby. His doubts were immediately dispersed by a young man wearing a black suit that fit him so well that it seemed surgically grafted onto his skin. The suit approached them confidently and said, “Mr. Dominguez, Mr. Favreau? I am Martin Bentley, Mr. Santoro’s aide. You’re late. Let’s go, your cornermen are already waiting.” The suit raced them through a maze of corridors so complex as to prohibit all possibility of an escape in case either of them changed his mind. Finally, after rounding a corner, they ran into a group of four men waiting for them in front of two locked doors. Markov refused to follow, and instead whispered something in Kalugin’s ear. The two trainers started a loud debate in Russian, in which the others could only understand “Garden”, “d6” and “Checkmate”. Finally they managed to resolve their disagreement. Markov went with Favreau, while Kalugin passed over to Dominguez’s side. The dressing room was very spacious, but barren on the inside. Only a massage table, a locker, a chess table, and a shower stall violated the monotony of the brick walls. Dominguez lay down and allowed himself to close his eyes while Vega was massaging his shoulders. Meanwhile, in the other room, Markov desperately tried to convince Favreau to play the French Defense. “So, how’s my man Vince doing?” Santoro stood in the doorway, radiating smiles in all directions. A minute later, Todd Santoro paid a visit to Dominguez’s dressing room. *** “Kicking the opponent is strictly forbidden, both during the chess and the boxing rounds.” The capacity crowd of the Palace roared like a hurricane when Favreau and Dominguez entered the hall from opposite direction. Each was accompanied by their trainer and cutman. Reporters snapped their pictures and fans high-fived them as they made their way to the ring. They stood there, face to face, like gladiators of ancient times, muscular and beautiful, their skin gleaming in the floodlights. He took a breath and then continued, “And in the white corner, from Mexico City, Mexico, weighing 81 kilograms, E-N-R-I-Q-U-E ‘E-N-D-G-A-M-E’ D-O-O-O-O-O-M-I-N-G-U-E-E-E-E-Z!! And now, your ring judge, Martin O’Mally.” As they shook hands, a chess table and a pair of chairs were lowered into the ring on cables. The players sat down and O’Mally started white’s clock. “Good luck, gentlemen.” Without thinking even a second, Enrique started with 1.e4 and punched the clock. The following moves were played quickly: 1…c5 2.Nf3 d6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf6 5.Nc3 a6, and at that point Dominguez plunged into contemplation. To be continued … And at this point I, the author, would like to ask you, the readers, a question: who are you rooting for to win? No, the results of this small poll will not change the outcome of the story (the story is already written), but I'm just interested to know with which player you sympathize more. Let me know.
Posted by Alex Shternshain at 05:03 AM
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February 25, 2004To the last pawn - Part IIIIf you missed the previous installments of "To the last pawn", check under
For almost ten miles, they drove through the desert landscape in silence. Favreau was the first to break the ice. An hour later, two very sweaty, dirty and tired men were standing at the edge of the I-15 next to a dusty and once-red car with a slightly dented hood and one broken headlight. *** “If a player promotes a pawn to a queen and already has a queen on the board, he may use his mouthpiece instead of a second queen. For that purpose, players will be issued mouthpieces to match the color of their pieces.” “So, what are you guys going to do in Vegas?” Lisa took about ten minutes to break her oath. Vince and Enrique didn’t respond, so she tried another approach. “You know anyone in Vegas?” “Whoa! I know you, you are Vincent ‘Vindicator’ Fay-vro.” Lisa fished a notepad and a pencil out of her jacket’s pocket and meticulously wrote down every word, then asked, “So how does the side with the pawn win?” A few more minutes passed in silence, except for the howling of the wind, the roar of the engine and the scribbling of Lisa’s pencil. Then she put the notepad aside and said, “You know, Mr. Dominguez, I really liked your style. Too bad about what happened in Madison Square Garden.” “So,” he continued after he and Vince changed places and the convertible merged into the highway traffic again, “I’m up against this guy from Congo, Charles Kabeela. It’s a big match; winner advances to the Candidates tournament, right? And my trainer, Markov, you remember Markov, right, Vince? He says to me with this horrible Russian accent – ‘You take care from this guy. Some say he plays like a girl, but you watch your step, because one move and it can be over’. So we sit down, I have black, no big deal, and we start with the Sveshnikov Sicilian – 1.e4 c5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.d4 cxd5 4.Nxd4 Nf3 5.Nc3 e5 6.Nb5 d6 – so far so good, right? And then he goes 7.Nd5 on me. And I think to myself oh my god; this guy really plays like a girl. I mean, I exchange on d5, and black’s main weakness in the Sveshnikov, the backward pawn on the open d-file, is gone.” To be continued …
Posted by Alex Shternshain at 03:04 PM
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February 24, 2004To the last pawn - Part IIIf you missed the first installment of "To the last pawn", check under To the last pawn - Part II “Thumbing and head-butting are strictly forbidden, and will be punished by deducting five minutes off the offending player’s clock.” By the time they passed San Bernardino, Enrique tried the Caro-Cann, the French, and the Petroff. Favreau’s knowledge fell short in all of them. He was perplexed by the Panov, bewildered by the Winaver and vexed by the Exchange variation. He was falling into every cheap trap in the book, losing the thread of theory after 5-6 moves already. Enrique began to worry – maybe it was a mistake to bring this drunkard along for the ride? But no, it was too late to change anything, he had to try and hope for the best. This was his last chance. Finally, as the red car turned onto the interstate, Enrique tried the Sicilian, and this time he struck gold. Vince was a natural Sicilian player, and there are some things one just doesn’t forget. They went through the Classical, the Najdorf, the Sveshnikov, the Dragon, and even the mind-bogglingly complicated Ponomariov and Karjakin variations. Favreau aced all of them, reciting theoretical lines till move 15 in all main lines as well as major theoretical deviations. “Well,” Dominguez said with relief, “I think we have at least the opening problem solved.” The convertible sped along the I-15 interstate, leaving the pleasant warmth of the Valley behind, heading into the scorching heat of the desert. Even the names on the road signs were becoming less friendly. Cheerful, feel-good, names like Palmdale and Riverside were replaced with more down-to-earth, working-class names such as Alray and Barstow. “Where are we?” Vince said, awakening of a short slumber. *** “So,” said Enrique as they were waiting for their order of waffles, “We have the opening covered. Let’s talk middle game.” “So,” he continued after the same waitress tossed the plates of waffles on their table, while doing her best to avoid eye contact, “What are the major middle game guidelines? Let’s say we… you and your opponent castled on opposite sides. What’s your game plan?”
“Hmm,” Favreau leaned over the screen and chewed on his waffle, “Let’s see. Black has his bishops and queen pointing at the center … a lot of tactical motives. Of course I can just retreat with Nd7, but the position calls for more … I know! I’d play 13…Nxe4, and if 14.Rxe4 then 14…Nxd4. Now, retreating the rook clearly loses, and after 15.Rxd4 or 15.cxd4 the endgame is in black’s favor.” Dominguez leaned back in his chair and breathed a sigh of relief. His friend is going to be ok after all. He looked outside the diner toward his car. Nobody got around to stealing it yet. “Shut up, they’re talking about the fight!” The big truck driver at the next table pointed in the direction of the TV set. Enrique and Vince stopped talking and watched Andrey Klichkovsky giving a press conference at the Caesar’s Palace hotel, surrounded by media persons, bodyguards and fans. “Americans! I will smack that contender of yours so hard he will not know what hit him! I will break his head, take out his brains and eat them for lunch! And that’s only the chess part I am talking about! Once we put the boxing gloves on, he is going to really feel the pain! Yes! I am Andrey Klichkovsky, undisputed World Heavyweight Champion! Remember this name, because it will be the last sound you will hear! Yes!” “Well, the guy sure doesn’t lack confidence,” said Enrique. “Mr. Santoro,” asked a TV reporter, “Is it true that you had difficulties assembling a lineup for the preliminary match, the undercard?” “Whoa, wait a minute, Rico. So they are having not one, but two replacement players for the preliminary match?” “Would you like a refill?” The waitress stood above them with a pot of coffee in her hand. “No!” They both waved her away. To be continued ...
Posted by Alex Shternshain at 02:25 AM
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February 23, 2004To the last pawn - Part ITo the last pawn “Before the start of a chess round, the referee will make sure there are no loose chess pieces on the canvas”
As they were talking, a man in his thirties, well dressed, well built and well tanned, exited the car and walked up to the front porch, where he checked the name on the doorbell. ‘Vincent & Deborah Favreau’. Yes, this was the house. He rang the bell, but there was no sound. He tried to knock. No response. The hours were actually not so early for most of the inhabitants of this Los-Angeles suburb, who were busy selling crack and violating parole from dawn to dusk and beyond. But Vince Favreau should still be in bed at that time. The man knocked again, harder this time. And again. After the fourth time, there was finally some movement behind the door. “What is it? I’m only one month behind on my rent, you fat …” A hoarse voice called, and the door flung open. “Rico Dominguez, is that you?” Inside, Favreau pointed in the direction of a flea-infested couch, as he himself collapsed into a rust-colored armchair. Enrique declined to seat, and instead began walking around the room. Enrique started walking to the door, but to his surprise Vince refused to follow. *** “If bleeding occurs during a chess round, the referee will stop the contest and wipe the blood from the board and pieces. The offending player’s clock will keep running during that time.” It all began over a dozen years ago in Ukraine, as a joke between two college students, both avid amateur chess players and boxers. Their friends, who came to watch the bout, returned home stunned, telling tales of the best entertainment they ever had. Rumors of the new exciting sport spread across the world like wildfire. Soon its governing body, WCBA, became the most powerful sports organization in the world, uniting under its wing all the squabbling boxing federations, as well as FIDE. A bout of Chess-Boxing would start as a normal-looking game of chess, except the board was set in the middle of a roped boxing ring, and the players wore boxing trunks. Between eight and fifteen times during the game, at steady intervals, a gong would ring and the chess table was carried away, as the players put on their gloves and engaged in a round of boxing. Advertisement blurbs called Chess-Boxing ‘The Ultimate Sport’, and they weren’t far off. To be successful in this most popular sport in the world, one needed the cranial capacity of a professor, and the strength and stamina of a lumberjack. Chess-Boxers were revered like Gods, wooed by young girls, and sought as companions by rich ladies. After all, how often do you get a consort who can recite the Theory of Relativity and bench-press 300 pounds? *** Down on the street, a twelve-year-old punk was trying to steal the convertible, but couldn’t get past the electric force field. Seeing Vince and Enrique closing on him, he turned away and ran, leaving a string of curses at his wake. Enrique took the remote out of his pocket and clicked the force field off. “So tell me,” asked Favreau as they were cruising alongside the L.A. River, “What really happened at the Garden?”
Posted by Alex Shternshain at 03:34 AM
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December 31, 2003The Pawns - The End© Alex Shternshain 2003 Part VI - Epilogue (not really) The crowd went wild at the win of the local boy. For a moment, one could think that the playing board reverted to its normal role as a football field! The volume of the clapping and cheering was way over field-goal-levels. It was more suitable for touchdown-with-extra-point. Mr. McKinley took the microphone again, and began to sing praise to the "great intellectual battle" we have just been the witnesses (or participants!) of. But all I could think of was one thing. "Pizza or movie?" I asked, turning to Libby with a triumphant smile. "You very nice," he repeated with his horrible Russian accent, struggling to find the suitable English word, "Pair. Couple. Yes. Couple. I watch you from there. Not want ... separat?" Libby was the first to regain her speech.
That was fifteen years ago. And today, I decided to wake up early to make some finishing touches to this story. As I was busy typing on the clunky keyboard of my ancient PC, I didn't hear the door opening behind me, or the sound of the approaching footsteps. Only when my wife's hand landed gently on my shoulder, did I leave my trance-like concentration and became aware of her presence in the room. "Hi honey, working already?" she said, leaning to kiss me on the cheek. "Libby, wait!" I called and beckoned her to return to the study. There's an email here for you. From work, probably." "Come on, come on out. Back up we all go," I ushered my family into the living room, where we began planning our next move. Libby suggested the zoo, while I was not impartial to a drive to the nearby lake. But the children were not to be swayed. "Ok rascals!" I said authoritatively, doing my best to feign dissatisfaction, "to the park we go. But next time...!" After a very short while (which, as you remember, is about fifteen minutes in Thomas Jefferson Junior High-School time) we were all set to go. The End
Posted by Alex Shternshain at 12:00 AM
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December 30, 2003The Pawns - Part 5© Alex Shternshain 2003 Part V - Endgame For a while, Denisov's King (Mr. Finley, the math teacher) was courting danger as an army of the white pawns and pieces drew closer, using the f5 outpost as a pivotal point. However the Russian player proved that even though he was over the hill, a Grandmaster remains Grandmaster. It will take a heck of a lot more than a "promising American junior" to crush this somber representative of the best chess school on the planet. Even for a non-expert, this was riveting to watch. His pieces cooperated from the strangest and most unexpected locations, combining kingside defense and queenside action at the same time. He parried Hoang's large offensive motions with small moves, shifting a Bishop here, a Queen there - usually only for one square at a time, and it was enough. Of course I should be wishing for Hoang's victory - he was the local boy, not to mention the fact that a quick win by him would assure me of a chance to spend the evening with my sweetheart - but found myself rooting more and more for the bearded Russian. What can I say, I liked his style. And apparently so did Libby. With each move, she became more and more drawn into the game, wincing at each Knight move, sympathizing with each fallen pawn. And soon enough, like a flatlined patient after CPR, Denisov's position started showing outbursts of life. Did Hoang make some mistake pursuing his initiative? Probably he did, but it was too subtle for me to catch. Queens were exchanged, allowing Mrs. Harris to step out of her heavy costume - oh boy, did she look sweaty and filthy - and the game headed for the endgame, in which black seemed to even have some advantage. Less than half of the original number of pieces remained on the board now. The white ones were pressed back as the black Rook penetrated into the heart of the white position. This endgame was clearly going black's way, and white should be happy with a draw here. Libby's brother on b3 seemed to play a pivotal role in the game - black was attempting to advance him towards the queening square, and white was desperately trying to set roadblocks on his way. Suddenly, a black Rook executed a deft maneuver, landing behind me, on e3. Hoang plunged into though. After a while, I realized the source of his predicament. He clearly had no plausible way to defend me! So that's it, not only is the bearded Russian going to fell the home-town-boy, but also I am going to miss out on the date of my dreams. Maybe I can just ask Libby to withdraw the clause she put to our meeting? Seeing the tense look in her eyes (she clearly also appreciated the gravity of the situation) I could see that she also regretted this stipulation. But no... you do not tout destiny. After all, we are all but pawns in the big game of life, right? We're all dependant on the will of the great Chess Player up there - so might as well to submit to it. Hoang made his move. No, he did not find a way to defend me. I was hanging out to dry, and the black Rook (Mr. Nakamura, gym teacher) was eyeing me evilly. But ... Denisov did not capture. Non-challant as always, he moved a knight somewhere else. Did he think that the pawn capture could wait for later? If he did, Hoang showed him the error of his ways. Immediately, he moved a bishop to d3, thus not only defending me, but also cutting Mr. Nakamura's path to safety. What a turnaround, instead of winning a Pawn black had to lose a Rook for a Bishop. A hush went through the crowd as they sensed the possibility of a home-team victory. The Rook was gone, and with it's demise the black position collapsed to shambles. Three more moves by each side, and Will-the-b3-pawn, the pride and splendor of black's position, also fell to Big Steven the white Rook, who now was on the rampage, having no suitable opponent to stop him. With the grace of a seasoned professional, who was no doubt as used to losing as he was to winning, Denisov extended his hand to his young opponent. "Black resigns!" Mr. McKinley's voice almost oozed with delight.
Posted by Alex Shternshain at 12:00 AM
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December 29, 2003The Pawns - Part 4© Alex Shternshain 2003 Part IV - Attack and counterattack Josh was lying flat on his back, gasping for breath. Around him, everyone tried in vain to do ten different things at once in order to revive him. I pushed aside the pawns and the pieces and knelt besides my friend. I felt remorse at not listening to him. Damn, baseball was a better idea. "Man, are you alright?" I asked, expecting the worst. "I think I need to be replaced," he whispered in my ear, raising his head off the turf, "And I think I know who wants to replace me". After uttering those words, he theatrically dropped his head back and closed his eyes. I suppressed a smile. Good old Josh. He's rough and ignorant, and can be a real ass sometimes - but I could always count on him to help out in a time of need. Not to mention the fact that he helped himself along the way: chess was clearly not up his alley, and when the paramedics carried his "dehydrated" and "heat-stricken" limp body away, he seemed pleased. "You're back," Libby said reflectively and for the first time I sensed that she was not an indifferent party to our relationship. What choice I had? One doesn't look a gift horse in the mouth, and if the girl of your dreams offers you a date, even a highly conditional one, you better accept! But the tension was killing me. Bishops, Rooks and other pieces swarmed around us, doing an intricate dance comprehendible only to an expert-or-higher-rater-player. I regretted quitting the chess club after only one lesson. But then again, what good would it do to me to know my chances of survival? Whatever happens, I'll await my destiny. Denisov was developing some kind of action of the Queenside, with the help of Will, who already advanced twice, and Hoang decided to retaliate on the other wing. A white pawn appeared next to me on f4. This can't be good. Of course black will have use Libby to capture f4, and she'll immediately lose her life to the white rook standing on f1. Truly a fate worse than death, having your sweetheart being replaced with Big Steven! Denisov surveyed the wooden board, then the football field, and made up his mind. I could clearly see his hand moving a small piece on the board. Libby was blissfully unaware of what was about to happen. I was ready to give her the cue. "Black Pawn to Queen's Knight six!" announced the Game Master. What was that? Even the crowd, who so far remained ignorant to the meaning of the moves so far, made a faint gasp. Pawn to Queen's Knight six was a bad move. That was obvious. Admittedly, advancing Will yet another time, to b3, grabbed black some space on the queenside, but how could a Grandmaster ignore the danger of white's counter attack, which immediately followed? "White Pawn to King's Bishop five!" the pawn to my right walked one more step ahead, not threatening Libby anymore. Hoang's attack on the black kingside was getting serious.
Posted by Alex Shternshain at 12:21 PM
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December 28, 2003The Pawns - Part 3© Alex Shternshain 2003 Part III - Middle game The opening stage of the game was over now and play had slowed down, with the contestants taking minutes instead of seconds for each move. We had some time to talk about non-chess stuff and get to know each other better. She was from out of town, living most of the time with her divorced mother in California. This was her annual weeklong visit to meet with her father, who managed a hardware store on Ridge Street, and her brother. We both loved the same movies, the same literature genres, and most important, Rock-n-Roll. She even made a positive comment about my T-shirt, which flashed for a moment through a gap in my white robe as I waved my hands to denote just how great, in my opinion, The Boss was. She was also interested in odds and bits about life in our town, and I told her about our favorite pastimes and even pointed out some of my friends to her. ("Hi, nice to meet you, Josh" - another mind-blowing smile, another glimpse of those impeccable ivory-white teeth). "What do you think of the game? Who's winning?" She asked, turning her mind to more current matters. "Hard to say for now" I replied, while trying to figure out what was happening on the board from my not-exactly-vantage spot. Behind Libby and her colleague, a small armada of black pieces was assembling, preparing to break through at the first opportunity. The white pieces took a somewhat more defensive stance, ready to fend off the impending invasion. Some distance away, a white bishop and a black knight were heading for the showers, having just been exchanged. "What do I know about those Grandmaster games," I summarized the results of my examination. "Could go either way". Mrs. Harris passed next to me, walking diagonally from d1 to h5. Denisov's reaction to this move was interesting. For the first time, his attention left the confines of the small rectangular board, which served as a smaller, wooden replica of our huge battlefield. He examined the larger, real board and its players. For a moment, the piercing gaze of his black eyes rested on my brow, before sliding onward to survey the rest of the field. Clearly, he saw an opportunity here. Maybe Hoang's last move has been a mistake? I remembered the simple rhyme I learned from my sole visit to the chess club: "Queen on the rim, your future is grim". Or was it a Knight? Anyway, it was not good to put your pieces at the edge of the board, and Hoang just did. Denisov was probably considering what would be the most horrible and cruel way to punish him. "Why is he taking so long?" asked Libby. "I think he wants to calculate ahead," I responded. "I think it's what they call 'A critical position'". "Oh. So, you were telling me about your Springsteen collection?" Bringing up my favorite topic made me lose my alertness at the worst possible time. As I was extolling the virtues of 'Born in the USA' in Dolby Stereo, disaster struck. "Move away, man". "What?!?!" - my brain did a summersault. "Move or be moved. I just captured you, man," Libby's fellow-black-pawn, the one from d5, was unrelenting in his attempt to set foot on my square. "Queen's Pawn takes King's Pawn" - repeated Mr. McKinley into the microphone again, just so there was no doubt. I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye properly. Dejected, I walked away from the board, throwing a dirty look at Mrs. Harris along the away. Why you ... this is entirely your fault, I thought. Did you have to move to the edge of the board? And you call yourself a Queen? You are a harlot, a wench, a courtesan! Fuming with righteous indignation, I passed near the players' table as Hoang picked up the pawn that represented Josh, and recaptured with it. "Queen's pawn takes King's pawn," I heard the announcement on the loudspeaker, and saw Josh avenging my demise and forcing that horrible black pawn off the board. I don't know why, but unlike all previously removed pieces, I didn't go to wash myself up from the sweat and return my costume. For some reason, I preferred to stay at the table and observe, as it was Denisov's turn again. The recently deceased black pawn passed me by, and tapped me on the shoulder "Come on man, let's get out of those dresses", but I waved him off. He turned to go, but then stopped hesitantly. "Look man ... I didn't mean to?." he muttered, "I mean, I know you, like, had a good thing going there, but I, like, had my orders, and ..." "It's ok, man. No hard feelings," I replied, while trying to avoid looking directly at him - which turned out to be a bad idea, because instead I locked eyes with the bearded Siberian, who was examining me as if I was still relevant to his position. "Don't disturb the players, please. Go chat elsewhere!" Mr. McKinley swooped on us like a vulture, much to the relief of the black-pawn-boy, who was adversely affected by my depressed state of mind, and was glad to stop apologizing and get out of there. Before following him, I gave Libby one last long look. She was truly majestic. In the middle of all this storm of captures and recaptures, she stood like a bastion of safety. One last gaze into those wonderful eyes, and forever our ways shall part? "Help, someone!" "Give him some air!" "It's a heat stroke!" "Water!" - Half-dozen voices were screaming at once. It was not immediately clear to me what happened, but I saw all the pieces leaving their squares as a small human maelstrom was forming in the center of the board. Mr. McKinley threw away his microphone and dived into it, and I followed.
Posted by Alex Shternshain at 11:31 PM
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December 27, 2003The Pawns - Part 2© Alex Shternshain 2003 Part II - Dynamic tension Standing there in the center of the board, I couldn't help but feeling a little exposed under the watchful eyes of the two-hundred-strong audience, who were now beginning to show interest in the game. Yes, I wasn't really exposed - I was wearing my normal clothes - baggy jeans and a "Satan Rules" T-shirt, and above them a white robe, and a small white cap identifying me as a Pawn. But I wasn't used to being in the limelight, and now suddenly all the attention was focused on me - a lonely pawn out there in the open. The little pawn that could, that's me - I chuckled. But my loneliness was short-lived. Already Denisov's massive paw was stretched in the direction of the board; already Mr. McKinley's voice was booming in the speakers again. And before I had any time to even start enjoying my famous solitude, a slim dark figure separated itself from the wall of black Pawns and began walking in my direction, stopping only when she reached e5. "Hi, I'm Libby" the black-pawn-girl introduced herself with a candid smile that sent my heart to do the hoola-hoop. If it was a cartoon, I would be howling like a wolf and my eyes would pop out of my skull like the cork of a champagne bottle. But since it was not, and people were watching, I limited myself to the polite, if somewhat bland "Hi Libby, I'm Martin", and we exchanged courteous nods. A handshake somehow seemed inappropriate - after all, she was the enemy. She was in that delicate age in which the first rosebuds of a girl's womanhood start to open - the springtime of life. In other words, she was in the ninth grade. Her straight sun-colored hair was simply done, and adorned with only a thin bow, whose edges were visible from under her black cap. Her face was not the kind that would inspire a Renaissance artist - the cheekbones were probably too round and the chin was a bit too small. But what drew me to her were her eyes. To say that she had big blue eyes would mean nothing. It would be like saying that Bill Gates is rich or the Everest is tall. Red hair and blue eyes, this combination should be outlawed before it kills someone. Probably me. All my fifteen-year-old boyish soul yearned for her. As I was busy feasting my eyes on my vis-à-vis, more moves were made - a pair of knights came out into the third row, and a bishop followed suit. Both sides were experts of the game, and they made the opening moves very quickly. Libby was looking around with a curios expression in those clear bottomless lakes she had for eyes, and I realized I had to act soon. A pawn's life on the chessboard is a short one, and every minute now, at the whim of Patrick Hoang or his overseas adversary, one of us could be sacrificed or exchanged - and for all I know I may never see her again. As I was suffering from extreme time pressure, plus an acute case of infatuation, I hope the reader will forgive me that all I could come up with was the corniest phrase to ever escape the lips of a man and enter the ears of a woman. "So, what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" oh oh. Did I say that? "My brother Will brought me here. There he is," she pointed towards a nerdy-looking kid who was acting the part of a black b-pawn, still on its original square. "He's always trying to convince me chess is fun, but I just don't get it" she sighed. Was she sad at her brother's obstinacy or at her own incompetence? I was just happy that my hackneyed pick-up line didn't draw out any negative response from her. Suddenly I felt invincible. If I got away with this cliché, I can do anything. "Are you any good at chess?" Libby asked, "Will is on the school's team, you know". I admitted that, no, I was not on the team, and could not hold a candle to her brother's chess-playing ability (let alone the ability of the two intellectual giants on the podium), but I could play, and was good at explaining stuff, and does she mind if I enlighten her a bit about what's going on. She didn't mind. In fact, as she admitted later, she was terrified to miss her cue to move, and was glad to find an ally who could, in a moment of need, to whisper "Psst - it's you - go over there". Little did she know that when I wasn't talking, I was praying to God that her and I would be forgotten on our squares, just left standing there on e4 and e5 for the rest of the game. Actually, God, make it the rest of our lives, will'ya? My prayers were cut short with a punch to the left side of my back. Sure, everything has been too perfect. The powers that be (in the shape of Patrick Hoang) decided to mess up with my mind a bit and placed Josh within fist-range, on d3. "I got your back covered, buddy!" he beamed, "If anyone dares to capture you - bam, they'll have to deal with me" I turned forward again, only to discover to my horror that a black pawn appeared out of nowhere on d5, within my striking range. And of course, I was within his. My soul, which was until now playing a heavenly symphony, broke a string. I believe it was Lasker who wrote something about the "dynamic tension" that exists between two central pawns attacking each other, although I don't think it was this kind of tension he meant. If you have a weak heart, don't try this at home. Courting someone whom you just met, and already knowing she is the girl of your dreams, making your best effort to be witty and charming, not to mention charismatic - all that while knowing that your relationship could be broken asunder at the whim of a pawn exchange. That's dynamic tension for you. And it was a very small consolation to know that Josh "had my back covered".
Posted by Alex Shternshain at 11:10 PM
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The Pawns - Part 1© Alex Shternshain 2003 Part I - Opening move "These costumes must weigh a ton!" complained Josh as he was struggling to keep pace with me. "I told you we should have gone to play baseball instead". After a very short while (which, in Thomas Jefferson Junior High-School time meant about 15 minutes), all thirty-two participants seemed safely rooted on their squares. A small commotion delayed the start of the match even further, as it was discovered that the black Bishop and Knight switched places, and Mrs. Harris had to race to the other side of the field to restore their rightful order. Upon return, she waved her hands to the Master of Ceremonies, i.e. William H. McKinley, Principal (what a coincidence, the principal of a school named after a dead American president is himself named after another dead president), to indicate that all was ready for the grand opening. At that point, I stopped listening, partly because I already knew why we gathered here today, and partly because Josh punched me in the ribs, which was his usual method to indicate that he had important information to convey. This was true. "Ours" was a thin oriental teenager, barely our age, wearing miniature round glasses, a checkered shirt and a pair of tattered blue jeans. His name was Patrick Hoang, International Master, and Junior Chess Champion of the United States. Two years ago, his parents had the misfortune of working in our small Midwest town for a few months, and he attended Thomas Jefferson Junior High, apparently not long enough to leave any major scars in his psyche, but long enough to be remembered by Mr. McKinley. And it was only natural for the latter, when he heard that a major chess tournament would be played here, to invite Hoang together with one of the visiting chess professionals, to hold a "live" exhibition game in our school. His opponent was Leonid Denisov, Grandmaster, who, with his 200-pound figure and his long black beard resembled a Siberian Ranger more than a chess player. This was a battle of generations, a battle of East vs. West, and there was also a spicy aspect to it: twenty-some years ago, when he was in Hoang's age, Denisov was the Junior Chess Champion of Soviet Union. In his prime, he was considered a contender for the World Championship, but now he was merely one of the few dozens chess-knights-for-hire, mercenaries of the rook and bishop, content with making a living on the slopes of the chess Olympus, without any hope to scale its topmost peak. If you've never been in an audience of a live chess game, I can't tell you, unfortunately, how it looks from the viewers' perspective. Probably should be an impressive sight from the stands, but here below on the playing board, carefully drawn on the school's football field, it was far less of a spectacle. I passed my eyes from Josh, who was still bemoaning the fact that he allowed me to drag him into this, to the Black armies across the board, to the somewhat disinterested crowd, and finally to the two contestants, on an elevated stage to my left, with a real chessboard between them. Everything was ready.
Posted by Alex Shternshain at 01:18 AM
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The BanzayFish scandal - Scene III (The avatars of the tortoise)
The BanzayFish scandal - Scene II (Blindness) The BanzayFish scandal - Scene I (Introduction) Do these Dutch ladies know everything? (final cut) To the last pawn - the end! To the last pawn - Part VII To the last pawn - Part VI To the last pawn - Part IV To the last pawn - Part III To the last pawn - Part II To the last pawn - Part I The Pawns - The End The Pawns - Part 5 The Pawns - Part 4 The Pawns - Part 3 The Pawns - Part 2 The Pawns - Part 1 |