In case you were wondering, I won’t be talking about physical exercise and actual riding of a bicycle, even though that is a painful subject for me, the lack of it, to be more exact. That will likely be a topic for another day.
Now I’d like to share a revelation that I recently found in a book.
For all my life I was playing the Sicilian with both colours. When I played it with Black I always felt more at ease because I knew that the long-term prospects were on my side. I only (only!) had to avoid being mated and then I knew that things will be great for me as the potential endgame would give me good chances for more than just a draw.
However, when I played it with White, I always felt rushed and under pressure. Larsen called the Sicilian a “cheap trap” in a sense that White exchanges the central d-pawn for Black’s c-pawn and then tries to “cheapo” his way to a quick mating attack. So I always acutely felt this pressure that if I don’t deliver the mate then my long-term prospects would not be something to look forward to.
With these feelings, I always treated the Sicilian in a very aggressive fashion. The English Attack, lines with f4 and g4, the Sozin in the beginning of my career, all of them aimed at either a pawn storm or a piece attack.
Of course, I knew Karpov’s games in the Sicilian, playing in so-called slow-mode and strangulating his opponents, but this was mostly because of his superior playing skills rather than the “correct” treatment of the Sicilian. When he faced a Sicilian player par-excellence in the likes of Kasparov, he was forced to abandon 1.e4 altogether – the positional Sicilians didn’t work anymore.
I never defined these feelings exactly and to be honest I never seriously tried. I knew what I was feeling and didn’t feel a need to share that with the world. But at the beginning of the year I invested half of my one-day commentating fee at the Rilton Cup in chess books and one of the books I bought was “Winning” by Nigel Short. While browsing the book I found what I’ve forgotten I was looking for: the accurate description of White’s play in the Sicilian. Here’s Short’s comment on Black’s 17th move from his game against Kasparov from the Amsterdam tournament in 1991:
“Playing White in the Sicilian is like riding a bicycle. You have to keep moving forward, otherwise you fall off.”
Incredibly astute observation by Short and one that perfectly described my feelings!
I have written before that one of the feelings I hate the most is the feeling of being rushed. Therefore it’s perhaps not a surprise that I have stopped playing open Sicilians with White. The itch for a full-fledged open fight with sights on the opponent’s king is still there, but most of the time I think better of it. The Rossolimo seems like a good alternative nowadays.
It’s a valid question that crops up more and more lately. The latest impetus for asking it was Carlsen’s statement from his recent interview with chesscom when they spoke about the purchase of his company Play Magnus Group.
Carlsen openly stated that he expects classical chess to be phased out at his level. This is different to what Kasparov predicted more than 10 years ago when he said that classical chess will be played only by the elite, while for everybody else it will be just entertainment.
First we have to realise that Carlsen spoke as a shareholder of his company that was bought, so he had to play to the tune – chesscom is all about faster time controls. However, I think there is a deeper issue here.
Chronologically, Carlsen has called for change of the format of the World Championship to matches with faster time controls. Then this year he officially withdrew from the classical championship, something I wrote about in my previous post, where the main reason was the gruelling hard work necessary to play these matches. Then in the interview with chesscom he openly said that he expects classical chess to be played less. He said the reason for this was the difficulty of finding new ideas in the opening at his level.
Another notable thing he said was that he would like to play Fischer Random at classical time controls.
If we connect the dots of all of the above, we can come to the logical conclusion that Carlsen doesn’t want to work hard anymore.
Chess has always been very hard at the highest level. There was no World Champion who complained about that while they were still in their prime. They knew they had to work extremely hard to overcome their competition and come up with “new ideas in the opening.”
The comment about Fischer Random serves as proof of the above. Carlsen isn’t against classical chess per se, he likes to delve deeply in a position if he can just play from the beginning, not being burdened by preparation and memorisation.
But at 31 Carlsen became tired. He’s been working extremely hard for almost 20 years and doesn’t want to do that anymore. He wants to have fun, play on fast chess on chesscom and entertain himself and the world. He knows that his theoretical baggage from his matches is more than sufficient to keep him afloat, especially at faster time controls when even sub-optimal opening ideas can be tried without being punished.
I have to add that this doesn’t bide well for the still reigning World Champion. The moment you stop working hard you start going down. He is still head and shoulders above the rest, but that won’t last for long. That goal of 2900 will never happen.
After Carlsen other players also came out with the same preferences for faster time controls. With chesscom injecting vast amounts of money in their events, it’s easy to foresee a never-ending string of online tournaments which are financially more beneficial than any classical over-the-board event.
Who will care about classical chess then?
I care about classical chess and I know FIDE does too. But can anything be done to stop the tide?
By Alex Colovic
Several months passed since Carlsen announced that he will not defend his title next year. The chess public accepted the fact and life moved on. In this post I’d like to give my view on the possible reasons for Carlsen’s decision.
When it comes to feeling the pressure and the fear of losing, I think the turning point was his match with Karjakin in 2016. That was the first time that he realistically felt that he could lose the match and the title. The scare was so big, that it left a mark on his psyche, a realisation that the title can depend on a single game and that he was, after all, not invincible.
Then came the proposals to change the format of the match and play a big number of a rapid games to determine the title of a World Champion.
When you add to the pressure of the match the months of gruesome pre-match preparation, it’s easy to understand that the amount of pressure that Carlsen feels for many months is incredibly high.
This is all understandable. However, the intriguing part for me was the match in 2018 against Caruana.
This was the match that Carlsen enjoyed. It was the first time that he felt that losing would not be the end of the world. Caruana had an almost equal rating to him at the time and was playing great chess, so Carlsen thought that losing to such a player would be sort-of acceptable. Caruana was worthy.
In other words, he didn’t feel the pressure to avoid losing to somebody he didn’t deem worthy. Something which was the case both with Karjakin and Nepomniachtchi.
The match with Nepomniachtchi was different in the sense that Carlsen had already made up his mind not to play another match and it was a “farewell affair.” The Challenger indeed showed that he wasn’t worthy in the way he collapsed.
Carlsen had been playing matches from 2013 to 2021, 5 matches in 8 years. Preparation, stress, tension, pressure were constant companions during these years. He proved everything he could and decided to stop. He couldn’t take the pressure any longer. It may not look like it, but he doesn’t have nerves of steel and some of his games have shown that he is quite susceptible to cracking under pressure. So it’s a safe bet to run away from all the trouble and play tournaments where the stakes are lower, at the same time undermining the legitimacy of the title of World Champion.
I don’t think any other World Champion would have done the same. They felt responsibility towards the chess public and felt it their duty to defend their title against the Challenger, whomever that may be. Carlsen is different and doesn’t seem to operate within these categories, which is his right. The chess public may lament this decision, but it will have to accept it.
I’d love to be proven wrong, but I don’t think he will play another match. He will like the (almost) stress-free atmosphere of the tournaments he will play in so going back to the gruesome routine of match preparation and then match play will feel like a horror movie from the past that he will not look forward to relive again.
You probably remember my post on one of Fischer’s original ideas, the move …g5 in the Sicilian/Hedgehog structures. While not completely original, as it most likely was inspired by Morphy’s game, I still think of it as one of his great positional ideas that expanded our knowledge of what is possible in chess.
Nobody will be surprised by the move …g5 today, but the talented players still manage to come up with new packaging for the old ideas. Therefore, I was definitely surprised when I saw Fischer’s idea implemented in a typical Najdorf position from the 6.Be2 line.
The following position arose in the relatively recent game between two Indian prodigies, Sadhwani-Erigaisi, played in the Abu Dhabi Masters in August:
A normal Najdorf position where Black has quite a few sensible moves at his disposal, 13…Qc6, 13…Rfd8, 13…Rfe8, 13…h6, all leading to maneuvering play along well-known lines and ideas.
However, Erigaisi came up with something completely unexpected: 13…Kh8!?. I cannot say whether he came up with this in his preparation (the engine doesn’t think too high of the idea) or over-the-board, but in any case to implement a well-known idea in a new situation is always curious to see.
Sadhwani continued with the usual maneuver 14.Nd2 (going to f1 and then perhaps to g3 or e3, in case the bishop moves from e3) and Erigaisi followed through with 14…Rg8!
Now this makes it very clear what Black intends to do: …g5-g4 is coming! The engine suggests ignoring Black’s plan by 15.Nf1 g5 16.g3, but Sadhwani didn’t want to allow any sort of aggression by Black and in fact started playing on the kingside himself! This is also a psychological decision, showing your opponent that you won’t be bullied into submission.
He chose 15.h4!? and after the suboptimal 15…Qb8?! he went 16.g4!
All of a sudden it was Black who was being attacked on the kingside! After White’s g5 and Bg4 he obtained a solid advantage, even though the game was eventually won by Black.
I found this game refreshing. Two of the best young players in the world entered a well-known theoretical position and managed to give it a new life, introducing immediate aggression. The fact that they used an old idea to do so doesn’t diminish the value of it – in fact, it only shows that these players know their classics as well.
Examples like this are proof that chess is still very rich with ideas, even in the openings. Whether they are completely new or old but in new packaging, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is the fresh positions they provide, and from then on it is “let the best player win.”
The following text is from my newsletter, to which you can subscribe using the yellow box on the right.
The match Fischer-Larsen in Denver 1971 is one of the most famous ones in chess history. It had never happened before, and it will never happen again, that in a match between two top-3 players (Spassky, Fischer and Larsen were top three players in the world then) one beats the other six (!) times in a row and not just anywhere, but in a semi-final Candidates match.
The reasons for such a result come from both sides – Fischer was playing almost perfect chess and Larsen had problems. Larsen wrote about them after the match, claiming the historically high temperatures in Denver affected him, leading to high blood pressure, thus making it difficult for him to play on his usual level.
However, there is one aspect that I haven’t seen mentioned when it comes to this match. Larsen indirectly acknowledges it, when he says that in the last game of the match he saw that he could force a draw by a perpetual check, but decided to continue anyway. It is his psychological attitude as a player.
Larsen has always been an uncompromising player, similar to Fischer. He played to win, full stop. And here comes the problem, that I have also suffered from.
When the player is in great shape this attitude brings great results, like the ones Larsen had at the end of the 60s and beginning of the 70s. But when the player is out of shape and if he is not aware of it and does not adapt to the situation, this attutude leads to disasters.
Lack of flexibility in the player’s mindset and behaviour will lead him to continue pursuing maximum goals, pushing in every game and playing for a win. However, coupled with the bad form this will mean that the opportunities that will arise as a result of that approach will more likely be used by the opponents than the player himself. If it continues, this can easily lead to losing streaks that the player would like to break with a win, leading to more losses – the match in Denver is the perfect example.
Looking at the games from the match Fischer-Larsen I see exactly this. Larsen could have drawn many games in that match, but every time he spurned that possibility in search for more, often at the expense of objectivity. As a result he was severely punished by a player who took advantage of all his mistakes with machine-like precision.
This has happened to me way too often. I refused to acknowledge the need for a more sensible and less-maximalistic approach, pushing at all cost, for which I was punished. Part of the problem was that I didn’t really know to play and approach the game in another way, how to be more pragmatic, how to sometimes play for a draw and take the foot off the pedal. I was punished so I could learn.
To be honest, I am not sure if I learned. I understood the problem and what needed to be done, by becoming more aware of my state of mind, but the actual implementation during the preparation process and the game was much more difficult to make. The difficulty also lay in my opening repertoire, which was suited to play for win with both colours, but less suited for more controlled play.
I am not sure what is easier to change – the mental attitude or the opening repertoire. They are connected and I think the start should come from the mental attitude. Accept that “draw is good” and the corresponding openings should follow.
An additional aspect is the attitude during the game. This is even more difficult to control as after many years of drilling the mind to search for sharp and demanding moves it requires a very difficult to achieve self-control to train the mind to search for solid and safe moves.
As I often like to say, self-awareness is the key and the process is simple (on the surface): understand the situation and do what is necessary, in this case to limit the damage. But if Larsen couldn’t do it, then perhaps we shouldn’t be too hard on ourselves when we cannot either.
To mark the 50-year anniversary of Fischer’s triumph in Reykjavik, I am publishing the full text of my analysis of his openings in the “Match of the Century.” It was first published in the September issue of British Chess Magazine and it was based on my previous writing of my weekly newsletter.
Let’s start with his openings with the black pieces.
Fischer started the match with the Ragozin, a surprising choice as he dropped that opening in 1961, but I am convinced that he was counting on Spassky transposing to a Rubinstein Nimzo-Indian. I am also convinced that he was sure that Spassky, faced with a surprise, would follow his own old game with Krogius from 1958, which he duly did. And in an obscure side-line following the game Spassky-Krogius, Fischer improved on move 14 to reach an equal endgame. The very first game showed that Fischer studied Spassky to the tiniest detail and could read his choices easily.
Then came the Benoni in Game 3. An epic game undoubtedly, but as the book “Russians vs Fischer” showed Fischer was walking on thin ice here. The book discovers that Spassky knew the best way to react to the incredible 11…Nh5, yet he spent masses of time (23 minutes on 12.Bh5) and chose an alternative plan which gave Black excellent play. It is quite perplexing that the World Champion wouldn’t trust his preparation in a match for the title!
The fact that Fischer chose the Benoni in Game 3, after trailing 0-2, shows his infinite belief that he was the stronger player. Many sources state that he was visibly nervous before the game, but he still played for a win with Black against the man who until that moment was beating him 4-0 with White, without draws!
The surprises continued in Game 5, when in another Rubinstein Nimzo-Indian Fischer employed the plan made popular by Portisch and Huebner. Fischer’s usual preference in the Rubinstein Nimzo was the move 4…b6 (for which Spassky probably prepared the lines with 5 Bg5, hence his move order of 4 Nf3 instead of the direct 4 e3), but for the match he prepared both the main line as in Game 1 and also the relatively unexplored Portisch/Huebner plan. After only 3 Black games it was apparent that Fischer prepared a lot of new lines and he kept on surprising Spassky by playing variations he’s never played before.
The use of a recently developed plan was not new for Fischer. In the second game of his semi-final match with Petrosian he used Hort’s move 7…Ne4 in the Grunfeld with 4.Bf4, introduced in the Palma Interzonal where he played. Fischer misplayed the opening later on, but subsequent games showed the viability of Hort’s idea.
In the cases when he played variations he had played before he encountered problems. The only exception was Game 7, where Spassky seemed to botch up his preparation in the Poisoned Pawn. The repeat of the Poisoned Pawn led to a disaster in Game 11 and even the main line with 7…Be7 led him to a lost position in view of Spassky’s superior preparation.
In contrast to his responses to 1 d4, Fischer started the match confident in his usual Najdorf and didn’t try to surprise Spassky, but the problems he faced forced him to apply the same surprise-based strategy against 1.e4 in the second half of the match when Spassky moved to 1.e4 exclusively.
Game 9 saw Spassky’s last attempt at 1.d4 and again he was met with a surprise. Fischer successfully used the Semi-Tarrasch in Game 8 of his semi-final match against Petrosian and this time he again introduced a novelty. The time spent on the moves is also curious: after 1.d4 Nf6 2.c4 e6 3.Nf3 d5 4.Nc3 Fischer spent 8 minutes on 4…c5 (perhaps wondering whether to repeat the Ragozin/Nimzo from Game 1 with 4…Bb4) and after 5.cxd5 Nxd5 6.e4 Nxc3 7.bxc3 cxd4 8.cxd4 spent 1 minute on 8…Nc6 (instead of the more usual 8…Bb4) and after 9.Bc4 (8 minutes by Spassky) whole 20 minutes on his innovation 9…b5. Later analysis showed that this is dubious and the modern treatment of the Semi-Tarrasch, as played by Kramnik, sees the development of the knight to d7 rather than c6. Still, Fischer’s surprise worked and the game was the shortest draw of the match (29 moves).
We see now that Spassky generally played 1.d4 in the first half of the match and he was met with continuous changes of openings and lines by Fischer, often never played by him before. This meant that the opening initiative was almost always with Fischer.
As a result of this Spassky switched completely to 1.e4 in the second half of the match.
The change of strategy led to an immediate success in Game 11, Fischer’s only catastrophy in the match. This was the first time he repeated an opening, the Poisoned Pawn from Game 7, but this time Spassky was ready and the punishment was severe.
This serious setback forced Fischer to implement the same strategy of changing his openings after 1.e4 as well. But this was more problematic for him because playing almost only the Najdorf since the US Championship in 1963 he had less solid openings at his disposal.
Fischer’s choices of the Alekhine and the Pirc in games 13, 17 and 19 were the most puzzling for me in the whole match, due to several reasons. Even though Fischer played the Alekhine on several occassions in 1970, the opening is far from being solid enough for a World Championship match. And the Pirc even less so! Yet he still played them in 3 games.
I remember reading an interesting observation that Fischer didn’t know how to play solidly for equality, that he always needed dynamism and activity. Thinking along these lines, this was the only reasonable explanation I could find to explain his choices of those openings.
The Alekhine Defence in Game 13 saw a very poor reaction by Spassky. His improvisation on move 7 in a very-well know theoretical position (7.Nbd2 on which he spent 17 minutes) was of low quality. It is surprising that on both first occassions with an opening (the Poisoned Pawn in Games 7 and 11 and the Alekhine in Games 13 and 19) Spassky reacted badly! And as “Russians vs Fischer” tells us, he was excellently prepared for all the openings! Puzzling indeed.
In Game 15 Fischer returned to the Najdorf and didn’t venture again in the Poisoned Pawn, choosing the line with 7…Be7. In view of Spassky’s superior preparation he was close to losing after the opening. This was another surprising choice because later Fischer would say that approximately after Game 13 he started to play safe, stopped looking for chances and was leaving it to Spassky to beat him. No reason not to trust him, but how does that go along with his opening choices with Black?
Game 17 and the Pirc Defence was perhaps the strangest choice. First about the move-order. After 1 e4 d6 2 d4 Fischer went 2…g6. This begs several questions to be asked: why did he allow the King’s Indian that would have most probably arisen after 3 c4 (and he didn’t play it in the first half of the match when Spassky was playing 1.d4)? Since Spassky was sticking to 1.e4 did he really know Spassky so well that he trusted him he wouldn’t switch to a 1.d4 opening once he abandoned them? And what was he trying to achieve by playing 2…g6 instead of 2…Nf6? The only explanation I could come up with for the last question was that he was avoiding 2…Nf6 3.f3, as Spassky played against Jansson in 1971.
To continue with the questions, did he intend something else after 3.c4 instead of a normal KID transposition, by leaving the knight on g8? And after Spassky’s 3.Nc3 (on which he spent 4 minutes, probably thinking to KID or not to KID) Fischer spent 4 minutes on 3…Nf6. Why? The only obvious alternative is 3…Bg7, so again, what was he trying to avoid?
The following few moves and the times spent on them continue to be mysterious. Being faced with an obvious surprise by Fischer, Spassky again, as in Game 1, chose a line from his youth, one he played only once in his life, in 1960 in Mar del Plata (incidentally a tournament where Fischer also played) – Fischer’s own pet line, the Austrian Attack. After 4.f4 Bg7 5.Nf3 Fischer sank into a 15-minute think before choosing 5…c5. When playing the Austrian Attack with White Fischer convincingly demonstrated the strength of the line 5…0-0 6 Bd3, winning several good games with it. So it is perhaps understandable that he wanted to avoid it with Black, but why spend 15 minutes on that decision?
The game was very important theoretically and it established the best way to play for Black in that line of the Pirc (namely to play …Bg4 before White can prevent it by h3) and it was also notable for Spassky’s original middlegame plan of 11.Rad1 and 12.Bc4.
Game 19 saw the return of the Alekhine, with Fischer varying with 4…Bg4 instead of the 4…g6 from Game 13. Another first-ever by Fischer, but Spassky was prepared. I find an interesting parallel between this game and Game 5. Had Spassky taken 12.gxf3 (he took 20 minutes on that decision) the blocked character of the position would have resembled the one from Game 5. Why was Fischer luring Spassky in such closed positions, did he learn in his preparation that Spassky didn’t like them and played them less well? It was considered that Fischer didn’t like closed and blocked positions, but here he was actively pursuing them!
Fischer’s choice for what turned out to be the last game of the match was excellent and I wonder why he didn’t come up with it earlier. Again a first-ever, this time in the Sicilian, 2…e6 instead of the “automatic” 2…d6. (Curiously enough, in Game 20 of their match in 1992, the first game of that match where Spassky played 1.e4, after 1…c5 2.Ne2 Nf6 3.Nbc3 Fischer again played 3…e6, signalling that he wanted to play something else than the Najdorf. Here the most probable is the Scheveningen after 4.d4 cxd4 5.Nxd4 d6, but Spassky played 4.g3).
After 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 there came 4…a6, a move he so convincingly dismantled with White in Game 7 of his match with Petrosian. So the first question, what did he have in mind against his own choice of 5.Bd3? My guess is 5…Nc6, as Petrosian played, and after 6.Nxc6 dxc6, instead of Petrosian’s inferior 6…bxc6. The positions after 6…dxc6 are much calmer and more solid, quite in line with Fischer’s admission that he wasn’t trying to look for chances in the second half of the match. And being a Sicilian, it still offers more dynamism and activity than other openings. Still, this is why I think his choice was good, because he finally found a solid and safe line for Black.
But Spassky stayed in line with his established way to reacting to surprises, he chose a line he played before. The system with Be3 and Bd3 brought him the title with a draw from a winning position in Game 23 of his match with Petrosian in 1969, but Fischer played an important novelty after 5.Nc3 Nc6 6.Be3 Nf6 7.Bd3 d5 (the game Spassky-Petrosian went via a different move order 7…Qc7 8.0-0 Ne5) 8.exd5 exd5! and Black was already equal. Fischer’s love for old games was crowned by employing a move played by Adolf Anderssen in 1877!
Fischer’s strategy with Black turned out to be very efficient. His frequent changes of openings and sub-lines coupled with Spassky’s predictability and bad first-time reactions enabled him to have the opening initiative in most of the games. The only opening disaster he had was when he himself was predictable, but he didn’t let that happen again.
Now let’s take a look at Fischer’s openings with White.
Fischer’s first White was Game 4 when he immediately felt the might of the Soviet preparation team. The Sozin served Fischer so well throughout his career, but the Soviet camp wasn’t wasting their time. Fischer has always been absolutely convinced in his preparation and he confidently repeated the Sozin, but Spassky played a line that is considered one of the best today. Even Kasparov played it against Short in their match in 1993! It is notable that Fischer didn’t sense the dynamics of the position and played the tame 12.a3 (spending 7 minutes on it) instead of the natural 12.e5, the only move to offer White chances for an advantage. Spassky’s analysis was very deep and he was close to winning, but Fischer escaped.
This first game was a very important lesson to Fischer. Starting from Game 6 he invariably changed his openings after a setback. What is curious though is that he didn’t immediately apply the same recipe with Black. Perhaps he was lulled by his successful Game 7 where Spassky’s first take at the Poisoned Pawn was rather meek.
Game 6 is one of the best known in chess history, Fischer opening with 1.c4 for only a second time in his life (the first one was at the Palma Interzonal against Polugaevsky, a famous Najdorf player himself; I am not counting the last-round forfeit win against Panno, again at Palma, when he knew Panno wasn’t going to play) but from an opening perspective and knowing the inside information from the invaluable “Russians vs Fischer” Spassky was well-prepared there as well. The only problem was that he didn’t play what he knew was good. As in Game 3 with the Benoni, Spassky again showed mistrust in his preparation. In both cases he gave Fischer an easy ride through the opening and lost convincingly.
I wondered why Fischer decided to play 1.c4 and not 1.d4. Words aside (“I have never opened with 1.d4 on principle”) I think he was trying to get Spassky into a reversed Sicilian, i.e. 1…e5, as the latter had repeatedly played in his match with Larsen in 1968. Another point was made with his move-order. After 1.c4 e6 Fischer played 2.Nf3 d5 3.d4 and I think this was particularly aimed against Spassky’s Tarrasch Defence, which he successfully played in his title-winning match with Petrosian in 1969. By keeping the knight on b1 White has more options against the Tarrasch and Fischer must have prepared them well.
In Game 8 Fischer didn’t see a reason not to repeat the successful 1.c4 but he was met with a surprise. Spassky went for the Symmetrical English, a variation he’d never played before. The opening gave Spassky a good game, but he was in awful form in this period and just blundered the game away soon enough.
Even though he was twice successful with 1.c4 Fischer was nevertheless surprised in Game 8 so for Game 10 he returned to 1.e4. He had enough time to prepare something against the Classical Sicilian from Game 4 but it was only in Game 18 that it was revealed what that was. Spassky chose the Breyer Variation in the Ruy Lopez for Game 10 and Fischer used the rare (at that time) plan with queenside expansion with 13.b4. Coincidence or not, this plan was frequently used by Kavalek in the late 1960s, and Kavalek was in Reykjavik and helped Fischer with analysis of adjourned games. Still, Spassky reacted well and the game was of high quality. Spassky didn’t play badly, but Fischer played better and won deservedly.
Game 12 saw the return to 1.c4. Probably Fischer again needed some time to prepare something against the Symmetrical English from Game 8, but Spassky returned to the Queen’s Gambit, only this time opting for the Orthodox Variation instead of the Tartakower. This game was a rare case of Fischer trailing behind on the clock throughout the game. An evenly played game where Fischer didn’t get much out of the opening.
The repeat of 1.c4 in Game 14 saw Fischer vary again after the surprise with the Orthodox from Game 12. This time he changed the variation and chose 5.Bf4 instead of the 5.Bg5 in the QGD. Spassky was fine after the opening and this game finally convinced Fischer that he cannot hope for much in the QGD. From the next game he went back to 1.e4 (or perhaps he considered 1.e4 easier to play when he didn’t look for winning chances himself).
Game 16 saw another Ruy Lopez but Fischer showed his pragmatic side and played the Exchange Variation. The variation brought Fischer an almost 100% until then (only Smyslov managing a draw in Monaco in 1967) but he couldn’t hope for much against Spassky’s preparation. But this was the Fischer who stopped looking for chances and didn’t mind the draw. This game convinced Spassky that he must go back to 1…c5 if he were to try to play for a win with Black.
Games 18 and 20 revealed what Fischer prepared against the Classical Sicilian and it was the Richter-Rauzer Attack. Small detail in the move-order of Game 18. After 1.e4 c5 2.Nf3 d6 Fischer played 3.Nc3. He played 3.d4 in Game 4, so why the change? In the blitz tournament in Herceg Novi in 1970 Tal played that same move-order against Fischer and then Fischer played 3…e5. If Black wants to play the Najdorf after 3.Nc3 he has two options: 3…Nf6 and 3…a6. Fischer played 3…a6 on three occassions and never 3…Nf6. He probably didn’t like the possibility of 3…Nf6 4.e5, a line which Larsen and Keres used in the 1960s and, perhaps more importantly, Huebner used in his match with Petrosian in 1971 (though the game was quickly drawn). Was he trying to trick Spassky with the 3.Nc3 move-order? We will never know since Spassky played 3…Nc6 and after 4 d4 soon there was a Rauzer on the board. (In Game 20 Spassky played 2…Nc6.) The complicater Rauzer saw a fascinating struggle, perhaps too complicated for Fischer’s taste with so few games remaining.
In Game 20 Fischer employed another move used by Kavalek, 10.Be2 instead of the main line 10.Nf3 as played in Game 18. Spassky introduced a novelty immediately, 10…0-0, and by Kavalek’s admission this was something they hadn’t analysed! Fischer spent 17 minutes on his next move and soon allowed a simplifying combination by Spassky that brought about an equal endgame. It was a passive endgame for White and Fischer drifted into an uncomfortable position, but he held it confidently.
Fischer scored his White wins in Games 6, 8 and 10, in the first half of the match when Spassky was playing badly. He scored his Black wins in Games 3, 5, 13 and 21 – the first two when Spassky was playing badly, the third in the most complex game of the whole match and the last one when Spassky probably already gave up. It is a rare case that in a World Championship match one player has more wins with Black than with White, but recent history has seen two more cases: Anand in his match with Kramnik in 2008, winning two with Black and one with White and Carlsen against Anand in 2013 with the same ratio.
To sum up this lengthy analysis of Fischer’s openings we can conclude that his strategy to change his lines after a surprise or setback was an outright success. There were moments in the openings when a certain move or move-order prompted a deeper investigation or thinking on my part and I found that captivating, to try to enter the mind of the great player and understand why he made that decision or what his intention might have been. As mentioned in the beginning, I have thought about the match in Reykjavik so much and I hope you will find this kind of analysis as fascinating as I did.
By Alex Colovic
There is a first for everything and Chennai was a first for me in more than one way.
It was my first Olympiad where I wasn’t involved in the actual playing – in the past I was always either a player or a coach while this time I had a role that required completely different set of skills.
It was also my first Olympiad when I was “on the other side,” the side of the organisation, trying to make the event as smooth and problem-free for the participants.
These aspects mean that this post won’t have chess content, but it will offer a different view of a chess olympiad as seen from “inside,” plus a small glimpse of the India I saw.
My official role was Fair Play Officer and that meant that my main task was to prevent cheating. It quickly transpired that this will mean control of the entrance gates and players’ behaviour while the games were in progress.
I had a team of 10 (at the beginning – as the event progressed I was left with 7 as the others had to join the smaller, but busier hall 1) Fair Play Experts and a varying number of volunteers who I had to organise in order to handle the flood of approximately 1500 people entering hall 2 every single day.
After a few days the team got into a good routine and the work started to flow, as we were able to finish with the pre-game scanning before the start of the round, always a major success in any Olympiad!
During the rounds I was constantly summoned to solve various problems and situations, requiring me to exhibit quick thinking, common sense and the good will to make decisions that made the event memorable and enjoyable for the participants.
It was an extremely hard work, every day from 1.45pm until 9pm of continuous problem-solving, but I cannot say I didn’t like it. It was something new for me and, judging by the results, it seems I did quite a good job.
From the aspect of Fair Play the Olympiad went smoothly and here I will have to congratulate the whole Fair Play Team (hall 1 was a nightmare for a very long time and my colleagues Yuri and Klaus did a great job of handling the mess!). It is the nature of Fair Play that it works best when it is spoken of the least, but the old cliche of “without you, none of this would have been possible” is 100% applicable to the team’s efforts and accomplishments. So, well done ladies and gentlemen and thank you!
Chennai was also my first visit to India. I wasn’t sure what to expect and often things work out for the best when there are no expectations.
Due to the demanding work I regret that I couldn’t see more of India outside the hotel, but what I saw was enough to mesmerise me. I made two trips, one to Chennai (the venue hotel where I was staying and where the Olympiad took place was some 50km away from the city) and one to the nearby Shore Temple and its surrounding.
I have been to many big cities in the world, but Chennai was something completely different. The contrast of lush vegetation, luxury hotels, delapidated houses and unattended litter was an attack on the senses.
So was the food, but this time in a very pleasing manner. The restaurant owner where we had lunch (the Maharaja Thali was excellent!) in Chennai turned out to be a classmate of Vishy Anand. And as classmates usually do, he rang him up and we had a video call with Anand himself during our lunch. I wonder what were the odds of that.
One of my “to do” tasks in India was to dip into the Indian Ocean. I managed to do just that at the Marina Beach.
I am smiling here, but in the next moment or two I was washed away by a big wave, the ocean making sure I got the full taste of it.
The visit to the Vishnu temple in Chennai made the deepest impression. I have always liked eastern philosophies and as it turned out we entered it while there was a procession in progress. No photos were allowed inside, so I can only share one from the entrance.
There were monks chanting mantras and a lot of people doing their rites.
What made the impression on me was the atmosphere inside. It was the feeling of peace and calm that overcame me, exactly the same one I have experienced in the churches I have visited elsewhere in the world. Some things in this world are universal and this is one of them.
India did a lot to promote the Olympiad and one of the starkest sights was the chess bridge.
An excellent spot to take a photo!
The visit to the Shore Temple and its surrounding was another type of visit.
An area where a lot of temples have been constructed (or cut in stone!) along the centuries gave the aura of the spiritual side of India.
For me, the most amazing feature was nature’s wonder called Krishna’s Butterball.
How could a 250-tonne boulder balance on a steep surface for centuries without rolling downwards was beyond me. There were people trying to push it, probably a common tradition that I didn’t dare follow. I had the strange sensation that I may be successful, thus bringing unnecessary reincarnations and devastation to everything that lay in its path.
Here’s the boulder from the other side:
The area around was full of temples carved in stones. Here’re a few:
I spent some time at the temple on top as it gave a stunning view of the surrounding.
With my back against it and looking towards the ocean one could sense the infinity of space.
I also saw the Five Rathas, one of the most popular tourist sites in India. I was already finishing the visit by that time as my time was running out – I had to be back for the game.
The organisers showered us with courtesy gifts and among them was a book on Tamil Nadu, the state where the Olympiad took place. There were more amazing temples in that book and at first I hoped I could visit some, but upon realising the distances from where I was I quickly abandoned the idea – India is huge!
Time flew fast and the Olympiad finished sooner than I realised. My flight was scheduled a day later than most of the participants, so I could walk around the venue the day after. The abandoned buildings could not yet take away the buzzing energy that was flowing around in the past weeks.
In the evening I left the hotel and soon enough I was on my way home.
It is good that my Candidates prediction is the post preceding this one. This makes it easier to see that my predictions were mostly wrong! Indeed, of the first four finishers in Madrid, I placed three of them as the most unlikely to win.
I had the priviledge to share the same stage with the players. Working as a Fair Play Officer I spent my time in the same areas where the players were – the playing hall and the refreshment area. This allowed me a unique opportunity to observe them during the whole duration of the games.
Their behaviour while in the refreshment area, when hidden from the public eye, were particularly telling and while I cannot disclose some of them, in order to protect their privacy, they did contribute to the general impressions I formed.
This is what I think of the players and their performance in Madrid.
Nepomniachtchi – the winner had an event where everything went his way. From the starting victory over one of the favourites Ding Liren, to the pointed preparation against Duda, to the “gift” by Rapport, to the lucky, but deserved escape against Caruana (twice!) and the ideal set of circumstances against Firouzja.
He was in good practical form, playing fast and with confidence, his massive World Championship preparation bringing enormous dividends in every game. I think the secret of his success, which made him only the second player in history after Smyslov to win two Candidates in a row, was the ideal combination of good form and detachment.
The last word probably needs a bit of explanation. Nepomniachtchi repeatedly stated in press conferences, and he also told me several times before and after the games, that he just wanted the event to finish and to go home. To paraphrase Nakamura, he “literally didn’t care,” but at the same time he was fully focused and played great chess. It has long been observed that the state of flow, when everything goes your way, is best achieved like this, with full focus and detachment from results. Nepomniachtchi did it perfectly and nobody could come close to matching that combination. The final result speaks for itself.
Speculation aside whether Carlsen will play him in a match or no, I think this victory is a true sign of maturity for Nepomniachtchi and in the next match, against whomever he plays, he will be a much better player than in Dubai.
Ding Liren – the pre-tournament favourite for many, myself included, had a very uneven event. I still cannot grasp how could the Chinese Federation, so capable and efficient to organise the necessary games for Ding to qualify, couldn’t organise his trip to Madrid in time so that he arrives at least a week earlier and doesn’t suffer from jet lag. Also, how is it possible not to send a second with him, leaving him all alone in the most important tournament of his career.
These major organisational blunders cost Ding Liren a better shot at first place. The jet leg led to a loss to Nepomniachtchi in round one and this was followed by missed wins in rounds three and five against Rapport and Radjabov, respectively. When he finally hit top form, he won three games in a row, but then this was followed by an abysmal loss with White to Radjabov in mere 26 moves.
What impressed me most from his games was his ability to squeeze water from stone. Three games stand out: against Duda in round nine, when I expected a quick draw in a symmetrical and simplified position only to see the game turn very exciting thanks to Ding’s persistence and Duda’s mistakes; against Firouzja in the penultimate round, when faced with a theoretical drawing line (the same one Nepomniachtchi used against him in round eight) he sacrificed a pawn in the endgame only to keep the game going. He succeeded to put so much pressure on Firouzja that the prodigy was forced to find the only way to save the draw by sacrificing a piece; against Nakamura in the last round – in a must win situation Ding entered an equal endgame and managed to pose problems and eventually outplay the American and claim second place.
While eventually the second place can be regarded as a success (especially if that gives him the match in case of Carlsen’s withdrawal) in view of Nepomniachtchi’s dominance, I still think that Ding Liren didn’t manage to play at the maximum of his ability in Madrid.
Radjabov – he turned out to be my favourite player of the event! By far the friendliest of them all, with light banter both before and after the games, he always seemed to be in a good mood. What impressed me was something that I never thought was possible – that he could come back after starting and staying on -2 for a long time. But his London 2013 experience was crucial – there he went from 50% in round two to finish on -6 at the end, so this gave him perspective and, most importantly, patience. He kept grinding, taking it game by game and kept waiting for his chances.
They came, first thanks to his good preparation against Nakamura in round nine and Ding Liren in round 12 and a good defensive effort against Rapport’s over-optimistic sacrifice in the last round.
When talking to Radjabov at the closing ceremony, I asked him about his transition, from a dynamic player to a solid one, particularly when it came to the openings: the KID and Sveshnikov were replaced by QGD and Berlin. He said that he started losing games in the former ones, claiming that players like Anand, Kramnik, Leko, were very good at putting him under pressure there, so he was forced to evolve. He also predicted that Firouzja will also evolve in this direction, opining that it’s impossible to play and stay on the highest level playing constantly that type of dynamic chess that he used to play.
Radjabov benefited from his relaxed attitude, not putting too much pressure on himself to get a result. He knew that the tournament was tough and tiring so he took the games as they came. I think his result was the most surprising one, at least for me it was, and I am glad I was so wrong about Radjabov. I have criticised him in the past for boring play, but observing him in action for weeks on I realised the reason for this “boring” play – it is all about keeping the probability of loss to the minimum and waiting for one’s chances. When in good shape, like Radjabov in the second half of the event, this strategy can bring great results!
Nakamura – I found his games the easiest to follow. Possibly because his body language and facial expressions when seeing his opponent’s move while looking at the screen in the refreshment area were so telling!
There are several things I noticed in Nakamura’s games.
First, if he managed to get his opening preparation in, he would play with double energy and more likely than not would win the game – examples of this are all his wins, where he managed to surprise his opponents in the opening. He also had other opening surprises, like against Nepomniachtchi in round five when he misplayed a very favourable middlegame position and against Ding in the last round – even though he lost that game his opening was a great success and he should have drawn that without too much trouble.
It has to be said that the above is true for more or less everybody in the top nowadays – the importance of a good opening. If they don’t get anything out of it, not necessarily an advantage or a new move, but even a pleasant position that they have analysed, it’s almost impossible for them to outplay each other under normal conditions. As an example we can observe the game Nakamura-Rapport from round 11 when Nakamura didn’t expect the Sveshnikov, chose a harmless line and tried in vain to get more than a draw for 96 moves.
The above games were all played by Nakamura with White. When he was playing with Black he stuck to his usual repertoire (except in the last round game with Ding when he chose the Semi-Tarrasch instead of his usual QGD, but even there he transposed to a QGA, an opening he’s been playing lately as well), but he was under pressure in all of his games.
Here comes the second point I noticed – he was extremely resilient when in trouble. A characteristic example is his game with Firouzja, when he fould a fortress when it seemed that he was dead lost. He used dynamic defence, with his games against Caruana (round one), Ding (round six, when he was White) and Duda (round seven) being typical.
Third thing I noticed was his abitlity to play with utmost precision when playing with an advantage or converting it. I know the others are also quite capable of it, but in his games I noticed this more clearly. For example, in his game against Duda in the penultimate round, when his opponent left him off the hook, Nakamura started to play very aggressive and powerful moves and his conversion of the advantage in the endgame was exemplary.
Outside the board Nakamura was less exemplary, but his dedication to produce daily video analysis of his games was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing for the millions of viewers who got instant view into his understanding after the games finished, but a curse for himself, because these recaps took even more energy and eventually this took its toll: in the last round, when he had to avoid a loss to take second place, in spite of obtaining what should have been easily holdable endgame, he failed to show his usual level and the more professional player won. Caissa is a jealous goddess and rewards the ones dedicated to the game, not the ones dedicated to activities built around the game.
Caruana – the other American had a heaven and hell in Madrid. What started like a dream tournament with three wins achieved in powerful style, turned into a hellish nightmare.
In the first half of the event Caruana was magnificent. Starting from his great opening round win over Nakamura he displayed excellent preparation (the game with Duda the only exception) and his wins over Firouzja and especially Radjabov were impressive.
During that game with Radjabov I witnessed what it seems to me the turning point of the whole event.
Caruana was playing for a win against Radjabov and the game Rapport-Nepomniachtchi was following a well-known theoretical draw. Caruana was watching that game and logically expected it to end in a draw so with a win he would catch Nepomniachtchi.
And then Rapport struck. Coming down a full hour down on the clock he decided to avoid a draw and enter an objectively worse (the engine says lost!) position. When Caruana saw that, he couldn’t contain his disappointment. He started shaking his head, as if he couldn’t believe how his main opponent is being given free gifts while he has to work so hard for his points. While he did manage to win the game against Radjabov after a gigantic effort, and stay within half a point behind Nepomniachtchi, it appeared that his energy was spent.
The next game was another titanic battle where Caruana defended to the best of his ability against Nakamura, but eventually lost. Then he had a chance to catch Nepomniachtchi with a win in the direct duel. He employed a very interesting early novelty in the Petroff, obtained a winning advantage, but the character of the position was such that there was so much calculation involved that in spite of his excellent abilities in that department Caruana was not able to overcome all the complexity and only drew that game. Then, exhausted, he tried to play for a win against Duda with Black, but did so very poorly and basically forced Duda to beat him. In the next round he obtained a promising middlegame position after Ding Liren missed a small trick and was playing safely for a win, but he could no longer keep his level constant during long games – he misplayed it badly and lost again. The last round loss against Firouzja was similar – he had a safe advantage but let it all turn around on its head and was lost. Then he defended well to achieve a drawn position only to blunder and lose.
When I spoke to his coach Chuchelov at the closing ceremony I shared my view that it must have felt as if Fate was leading his main rival to victory while blocking Caruana’s way at the same time. He basically agreed, confirming my impression that lack of energy in the second half of the event was a major factor.
It was a very high tempo that Caruana imposed on himself, but that is how he plays chess. This time, faced with Nepomniachtchi’s “easiness” it was impossible to compete, but the quality of chess he displayed in the first half of the event was impressive. I only have one question, which I forgot to ask Chuchelov: why did he gave up on the Petroff? It seems like the winner’s opening in the last three Candidates!
Firouzja – the prodigy showed that he was clearly not ready to win this type of event. Not even that, but he was lingering in last place for most of it.
The tournament showed several huge problems in Firouzja’s play. First of all were his problems in preparation. He had several opening fiascos, starting from his almost forcing loss to Nepomniachtchi in the Najdorf in round four all the way to his round 11 loss to Nepomniachtchi when he couldn’t remember that he had to insert a4 before playing g4. He misplayed the opening against Nakamura in round 10 and also against Duda in round 12.
The second big problem was endgame play. His level was far from a desired one for an event of this caliber – he went from drawn to losing against Rapport in round two, he missed Nakamura’s defence in round three and even in the last round he misplayed a technically winning endgame to a drawn one, only to win thanks to a blunder by Caruana.
The third problem was psychological. He didn’t seem prepared for the level of resistance and couldn’t maintain his level. The total breakdown was his reaction to his loss to Nakamura in round 10. He spent the whole night playing bullet games on the internet until 6am. Needless to say that he couldn’t remember his preparation and lost brutally to Nepomniachtchi the next day.
There were just too many problems in Firouzja’s play that prevented him to show his true talent. I hope he learns from the experience and comes back much stronger the next time.
Duda – to my mind, he was the least impressive participant. I was surprised how quickly he collapsed psychologically, after his first loss, in round six against Nepomniachtchi. After that game he was no longer the same, his body language gave away a disappointed and disillusioned player who didn’t have the strength to come back. As if he gave up on the tournament after that loss.
His next two losses were apathetic, Rapport mated him from a harmless position, Ding beat him in an endgame that should have been a relatively problem-free draw. The game Duda won, against Caruana, was more because Caruana was “playing for a win” by playing very badly rather than Duda winning. Even in that game he missed some moves and couldn’t believe his luck when he discovered he was winning after the time control – he couldn’t contain his smile and that was the happiest I saw him throughout the whole event!
Duda is a great player, but he turned out to be rather “soft”. He couldn’t pull himself together when things started to go wrong and that was the main reason why he failed at this event.
Rapport – was another favourite player of mine. I’ve known him since the tournament in Reykjavik in 2014 and he has remained very friendly and nice ever since. He complained that he was playing worse every day (like he told me after the game with Nakamura in round 11) but I don’t think he was in bad shape in Madrid.
I think the main reason for his bad result was the incompatibility of his fighting spirit and his preparation. He had the worst opening preparation from the whole field and his opening improvisations were rarely successful. This meant that he didn’t get very promising positions from the openings and as I stated above, without at least something to play for it’s impossible to outplay an opponent on this level from an equal position if he plays decently.
This incompatibility was possibly decisive for the eventual winner – his decision not to take the draw and play on against Nepomniachtchi in round seven led to his first loss and it gave Nepomniachtchi a valuable point.
What I liked a lot were two games where he employed a slow-burning attack. The first one was his win against Duda, when a harmless position transformed into a winning attack very quickly (not without Duda’s help, though) and the second one was his last-round game with Radjabov. After maneuvering for some time in an Anti-Berlin he started to build up a very promising attack on the kingside. Alas, by the end of the tournament his patience had also gone thin, so instead of continuing to build up he lashed out with an incorrect sacrifice that was refuted. In any case, that first phase where he was building up the attack was very nicely played.
Rapport was widely recognised for his fighting spirit and special approach to openings, but he will definitely have to raise the quality of his opening preparation. If he does that, his special approach will become an advantage rather than a disadvantage as it is now. Then he will become a mighty force to be reckoned with.
With Karjakin’s appeal to FIDE’s Ethics and Disciplinary Commission rejected, we now safely know the eight participants in the upcoming Candidates Tournament in Madrid.
I always like to think about what can happen and what can be expected of the participants, even though I fully realise I will be completely mistaken about some of my predictions. Nevertheless, here’s what I think.
Ding Liren and Fabiano Caruana have seen it all, having been world’s number two and three for many years now. Caruana convincingly won the Berlin Candidates in 2018 and only lost the World Championship match with Carlsen that same year on tie-break. Ding Liren didn’t have a good first part in Yekaterinburg in 2020, but won the second leg of the ill-fated Candidates in 2021. He suffered the most due to the pandemic, but after a frantic run of games in April he is all set to have another go in normal conditions in Madrid.
Both of them are the natural favourites to win.
Caruana had a topsy-turvy period in the last few years. The most significant event was his separation from his long-time second Rustam Kasimdzhanov, which affected his results so that he even dropped from the standard top-3 on the rating list. But in 2022 his immense work to perform better on faster time controls is finally showing, with his results quite consistent in rapid and blitz, and his win at the American Cup (in classical) in April seems to suggest that he is hitting top form. But then, in the same topsy-turvy style, he was sub-par in the Superbet Chess Classic where he finished on 50%. He experimented with his openings, playing everything with White (1.e4, 1.d4, 1.c4) and quite a bit of mixture with Black (even playing the Sveshnikov!) so it’s quite clear that he is keeping his opponents guessing and keeping his best preparation for Madrid. At 29 he has the perfect mix of ambition and experience and coupled with his high class and powerful play he can easily win another Candidates Tournament. He only needs to be in good form and it will be difficult to stop him. The only thing that bothers me is the question: can he repeat Smyslov’s feat? I don’t quite see him on par with Smyslov, but I definitely rate his chances higher than Nepomniachtchi’s (see also the part where I discuss Nepomniachtchi below).
Ding Liren is a bit of an unknown at this point because he’s played the least from the rest. The recent events in China that he needed to play in order to comply with FIDE’s requirements are not exactly telling and they do leave a strange impression. We know that he is fully capable of winning events like the Candidates, but we don’t know much about his form and work leading to it. He is of the same age as Caruana and perhaps his motivation will be bigger to win the right to challenge the World Champion for the first time.
The New Wave
The new kids on the block are Alireza Firouzja, Richard Rapport and Jan-Krzysztof Duda. They represent the new wave, players that belong to a new generation debuting at this level.
All eyes will be on Firouzja. At 18, he is among the youngest in history to play a Candidates Tournament, putting him in the same category as Fischer at 16 in Bled/Zagreb/Belgrade in 1959 and Spassky at 19 in Amsterdam in 1956.
He had an amazing end of 2021 when he won the Grand Swiss, thus qualifying for the Candidates, and continued with excellent form at the European Team Championship. This run brought him above 2800 and made him a world number two. He stopped playing for several months, living his life and preparing for the Candidates, as he put it. The return to chess practice at the Superbet wasn’t great – he ended up on a minus score and lost rating points which saw him drop below 2800.
A notable details is that in Romania he was seen together with Ivan Cheparinov, Topalov’s long time second and the main generator of ideas for the Bulgarian champion. This indicates that he will be extremely well prepared in the openings, especially if this cooperation started months ago.
It’s difficult to predict his performance. In the past he’s been way too susceptible to pressure and cracking under it and the Candidates is a high-tension event from start to finish. Chess-wise he is not inferior to anybody, but psychology will be the key for the teenager in Madrid. My personal opinion is that while possible, I still think he is too raw to win it.
I observed Rapport (26) very closely during the Grand Prix in Berlin. I was impressed by his ability to find ideas and pose problems even in the driest positions, while his decision to risk and play for a win in the final game of the match with Andreikin in Belgrade won him the event and gained him qualification – the man has the courage of champions!
However, there are a couple of problems with his chances in Madrid. The first one is that he is a loner. He works alone and likes it like that. I am all for going at it alone, a-la Fischer, but in modern chess this has proven to be impossible. Therefore I really hope that he has managed to find somebody he can trust and work together with in the period after the Belgrade Grand Prix.
The second problem is that he didn’t believe he could qualify for the Candidates! With this in mind, he just accepted all invitations to events, thus clogging his calendar. Now he’s stuck with a lot of commitments and this prevents him from properly organising preparation and play. Playing in the Superbet saw him dip in form, finishing on -2 and losing 12 points. He also has the Norway Chess scheduled, a tournament that finishes six days (!) before Madrid. In a recent interview he said that he will just take the Candidates as another tournament, but this doesn’t bode well for his chances there – in order to win the Candidates, a player needs dedicated preparation and strong will to win, something that Rapport doesn’t seem to be able to provide for himself. And to think of it, the reason for all this was his lack of confidence before the start of the Grand Prix in Belgrade! As much as I like him personally, with the issues outlined above, it’s difficult to see him win.
Duda (24) won the World Cup in 2021 and this secured his spot in the Candidates. The only classical event he played this year was in Wijk aan Zee, where he finished on a minus score. Everything else was online and rapid, where he has no problems holding his own against the very best. Even more so, before Madrid he is scheduled to play only in two events in Poland, one rapid and one blitz, which are part of the Grand Chess Tour. So no classical before Madrid for him.
The lack of practice can mean only one thing – Duda is very serious about the Canddates and is preparing heavily for it. One glimpse from that preparation is that in the last event he played, the Olso Esports Cup, he introduced the Grunfeld and the Berlin in his black repertoire. Players usually like to test their new openings in real-life events against the best players, so we can expect to see Duda play these openings in Madrid.
Armed with heavy preparation, it remains to be seen how (and if) the lack of practice will affect the young Pole. If he manages to get comfortable in the event then he can be a major surprise.
I consider the remaining three players Ian Nepomniachtchi, Hikaru Nakamura and Teimour Radjabov, with the least chances to win.
There has been only one player in history to win two Candidate Tournaments (and he did it in a row) and that is Vassily Smyslov – he managed this feat in Zurich 1953 and Amsterdam 1956. (note that I am talking about Candidate Tournaments, not a qualification cycle). Is Nepomniachtchi (31) of the same caliber?
With all due respect, I don’t think he is. I was happy to see him play well after the debacle in Dubai, even though it was mostly rapid and online events. He is using his match preparation and his results in these disciplines were rather good. However, returning to classical chess he immediately suffered a setback: in the last event he played in – the Superbet Classic, he ended on a minus score. He can take some consolation from that result because he won a psychologically important game with Black against Firouzja, but playing classical is perhaps not too kind on his nerves.
Nerves remain his main issue. Keeping and not succumbing to the tension for many hours for a duration of 14 rounds will not be an easy task. Note that he won in Yekaterinburg not in one go of 14 rounds, but rather in two, as the event was stopped after seven rounds and resumed one year later. He is wiser and more experienced now, he still has leftovers from his match preparation, but I don’t think he will overcome everybody else and reach the status of a Smyslov.
The streamer-turned-unexpected-Grand-Prix-winner Nakamura (34) showed that he is a very strong player. The main ingredient in his success was lack of nerves – his earnings do not depend on his results, so he can play without fear. I am certain he will continue with the same attitude in Madrid and this will be his main strength.
Nakamura has a well-established opening repertoire – the Berlin and the QGD with Black, with a hit-and-run approach with White (where he prepares in a very concrete manner against the given opponent), which demands constant influx of fresh ideas. I also expect him to continue with the same strategy, most likely refreshed with new ideas within those realms.
The problem I see with Nakamura is that he doesn’t really have the ambition to win the event. There is no perspective for him there – a match with Carlsen won’t mean much to him financially (he is comforably set for life and a million doesn’t make much of a difference) and it will require a lot of time and effort in preparation and traning. Not to mention that playing Carlsen (against whom he has an awful score in classical chess of 1 win and 14 losses) in a World Championship match is as gruesome as it gets and he won’t be able to stream it.
The wild card for the event is the player who qualified to play in Yekaterinburg, but declined to do so because of the pandemic. As some sort of compensation, FIDE seeded Radjabov (35) directly in the next Candidates.
Radjabov’s last Candidates Tournament was in 2013, when he finished last with the awful score of -6. He qualified for Yekaterinburg by winning the World Cup in 2019. The last event he played in was the European Team Championship in November last year.
This scarcity of active play, coupled with his propensity to draws (his last classical win was against Ding Liren in the final of the World Cup in 2019!) makes him the least likely player to win the event. I can see him repeat Giri’s record of 14 draws, but I cannot see him win many (if any!) games. The reason for this is that I can easily see him continue doing what he has been doing for many years now, basically playing for draw with both colours, and I cannot fathom a return to the exciting player of his youth who played the King’s Indian and the Sveshnikov and who beat Kasparov with Black when he was 15. I would be delighted (and would like) to be proven wrong, but this is how things look to me now.
Like Rapport, Radjabov is scheduled to play in Norway Chess. Unlike Rapport, I think this will be good for him – after a way too long absence of classical practice, he will get a chance to get into some shape before Madrid. If and how much this will help, we will see in about a month.
For me, the Candidates Tournament is a the tournament I cannot wait to follow. I cannot wait to see the opening ideas, the high-quality chess and the eventual result, where the winner indeed takes it all.
Continuing the story from the first leg of the Berlin Grand Prix, this is a text from my newsletter.
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At the recently finished Grand Prix event in Berlin I served as a Fair Play Officer and as such I was sharing the same stage as the players. It was a very exciting experience for me as I could follow the games and try to understand what was happening from a player’s perspective, as I had no access to a computer while the games were in progress.
The following game left a very strange impression on me. It was played in the second round and it was played mere two meters from where I was sitting. I could observe both players carefully. What I tried to do during the game was try to undestand Grischuk’s play and psychology, primarily connected with his time-trouble issues.
The first surprise happened on move one. After Bacrot’s 1.e4 Grischuk replied 1…d6. Grischuk can play many things with Black but the Pirc has not been part of his repertoire. After the usual moves 2.d4 Nf6 3.Nc3 g6 4.Nf3 Bg7 5.Be2 0-0 6.0-0, which are the standard moves of the Classical Variation against the Pirc, Grischuk stopped for more than 15 minutes.
Since it’s impossible that he wasn’t prepared I started wondering what was he thinking about. But as I observed him I noticed that perhaps he wasn’t thinking per se. At times he appeared to be thinking, but at other times he would be looking at the monitor displaying the other games and would make facial expressions.
What the hell was going on in his head?
There was no way for me to tell, so I assumed that he was warming up his head for the battle ahead.
Eventually he played 6…a6, one of the many moves at Black’s disposal here.
(While he was thinking, a curious thought crossed my mind – I realised that this opening never brought good luck to anybody at that elite level – starting with Korchnoi (losing the decisive, 32nd, game in Baguio to Karpov in 1978), Kramnik (losing the decisive, last-round game at the London Candidates in 2013 to Ivanchuk, incidentally playing the same move 6…a6), and now Grischuk – like a premonition, even though the game was still at the beginning, so I couldn’t know how it would finish.)
Bacrot also started to think, but was faster than his opponent and he played the natural 7.a4. Then another 15 minutes passed before Grischuk replied with 7…b6, the second most common move in the position and, perhaps more importantly, played several times in the past by his very good friend (and possibly helper for this tournament) Peter Svidler.
Bacrot played the main move in the position, 8.Re1 and almost 20 minutes passed before the third pawn move was played, 8…e6, still a highly theoretical move (and played twice by Svidler).
Bacrot played the main move in this position, 9.e5 and Grischuk replied immediately with 9…dxe5 10.Nxe5 Bb7 11.Bf3 Qc8 (a motif known from one of Svidler’s games) and went for a smoke.
If we look at the previous moves it’s clear that he must have been still in preparation – he chose the opening, his opponent was following one of the main lines so everything was known. Why then spend masses of time?
Bacrot replied with 12.Bg5, a natural move that must be analysed in one’s preparation, yet Grischuk spent 20 minutes on his next move 12…Nfd7, another known motif from Svidler’s games.
By here he had only 20 minutes left to reach move 40.
White played 13.Bf4, a move he spent half an hour on, to which Grischuk replied with the dubious 13…Rd8 and after White’s next 14.Ng4 he was in deep trouble.
Imagine the problems he faced when the best he could do was go back with the rook 14…Rf8, after which he had mere 5 (!) minutes to reach move 40.
I was observing all this and couldn’t help but think, what the hell happened here?? How could an elite player who prepared for this game where his opponent played theoretical and natural moves, end up lost in 14 moves?
The more I thought about this, trying to undestand what could have possibly happened, I suddenly realised that I would never understand it, simply because this type of thinking and playing was too alien to me. I am just more practical and my mindset is completely different to the one Grischuk normally displays in his games. In spite of my best attempts to put myself in Grischuk’s shoes, I couldn’t – they were too big, not my style and I didn’t even like them!
Another idea that crossed my mind during this game was a connection I made observing Grischuk before the game. He took his Covid tests immediately before the games, running the risk of being late for the game and arriving at the last possible moment. The way he smokes is rushed and doesn’t seem like he’s enjoying it – it seems more like he is satiating some thirst. So maybe he was just an adrenaline junkie? Add to this the eternal time troubles and the rush he is probably getting from playing with seconds left of the clock and who knows, maybe he’s happy then.
In the game Grischuk was hopelessly lost in more than one way but Bacrot couldn’t finish him off and he managed to save the game.
As much as I admire him as a player and personality, I am now pretty certain that I can never fully understand the inner works of Grischuk’s mind. And perhaps it is better like that.