Malaysian Open: Vampires and plagues

Four rounds in, and my tournament is nothing special.  Wins with white and draws with black, all against lower rated players, sees me performing at level. 

Some of the Aussies are having a tough time adopting to the Asian styles, however. I really have found through my chess travels that different countries and regions play chess in very particular ways, and this tournament is proving no exception. 

Players from countries such as Malaysia, Indonesia and the Philippines are known for their tactical, ‘coffeehouse’ approach to the game, with little regard for classical chess principles. New Zealand Olympiad captain Hilton Bennett describes such players as ‘Vampires’: “They know no opening theory at all and you quickly secure a winning position – but you still have to put the final nail in the coffin.  If you don’t, suddenly a tactical mist will descend over your board, and by the time the mist clears, you’ve been bitten.”

This is broadly true, and some of our guys have been on the receiving end of such a Twilight game this tournament.  One Aussie junior was less eloquent in his description, complaining that he was “sick of losing against these bull**** hack attacks”.  I prefer the vampire metaphor, but the feeling is similar.

Fortunately, I’ve had my fair share of tournament experiences against these styles, so I’m coping respectably.  But there lies another, more deadly threat that lingers in the tournament hall: disease.

On day one, Emma Guo’s opponent audibly filled the entire hall with his phlegm-laden coughs.  Day two saw him joined by a handful of others with similarly loud splutterings.  Today, day three, there wasn’t a moment’s cough-free silence in the four hour session.

Some of the players have taken to wearing face masks, and the whole hall looks a little like the footage of Asian cities during the SARS epidemic.  (Ponomariov took a similar approach in the recent World Cup in Siberia, although I’m not sure the people of Khanty-Mansiysk had even heard of bird flu, let alone come into contact with it.)

After my food poisoning episode, I’m not sure I’ll cope with another bout of sickness.  And the numbers keep growing – at this exponential rate, I expect a tournament coughing competition by round 8.  Unfortunately of course, there’s really not much that we can do, except try not to breathe. 

Like a vampire.

Fast-finishing, but not enough

Quite a remarkable run home for the Koalas (after unanimously realising our ignorance of the term, we decided to drop the ‘Klang Valley’).  We even managed to finish the teams event on board one, going up against the eventual winners in the final round.

James narrowly missed out on a board prize on board two, going down against some much-fancied opposition. Domagoj finished smartly too, picking up a crucial win for the team in our penultimate match.  Justin and Emma had a tough time of it, with many of our opponents stacking their teams by putting their top players on the bottom board.  Nevertheless, both performed above their rating.  I needed a win in the final round to take out the board one prize, but couldn’t grind out an opposite bishop ending past a draw.

And thus ends the team rapid tournament, on this, Malaysian Independence Day.  It also coincides with Fi’s arrival and thus, I predict, a new wardrobe for both of us.  Did I mention it’s the once-a-year Malaysian sales at the moment?

Round one of the main event tomorrow, and our Tasma crew extends to include Tomek Rej and Helen Milligan.  Great things afoot.

Kiwis shine; Aussies try Delayed Swiss Gambit

Things haven’t started well for the Klang Valley Koalas, perhaps aptly represented by the fact that none of us know where Klang Valley is.  We were the first top seed to drop points, drawing our match in round two, and things haven’t gotten much better.  We followed this up with a demoralising loss in round four and a scratchy draw in round five (thanks to a fine loss by yours truly).

James Morris, kibitzing over my shoulder, requests that I note that he was rested in our only loss.  James has 3.5/4 and is the only one with a shot at a board prize (despite some incredibly dubious positions).  His tournament attitude of sticking only to Western food, including spaghetti in a can, seems to be working, despite our taunts.

Meanwhile, the Klang Valley Kiwis continue to thumb their nose at their Tasman counterparts.  Four wins from five matches sees them up on the top boards, with Brian Jones (an Aussie!) leading the way on 100%.

As we move into the business end of the competition, we’re going to need to fire on all cylinders to have any chance of the Ringgits.  Our flightless avarian neighbours, on the other hand, have every chance of picking up team and individual prizes.

In other news, six of us attempted a trip to the city centre yesterday, including expeditions to the Petronas and Sky Towers.  To be honest, I thought they’d be bigger.

I have managed to keep down all food so far, although I did request James leave his empty Boost cup by my board for the last game.  Your move, food bug.

Malaysian Open reporting

I’m writing this from the Cititel hotel in Kuala Lumpur, the venue for the 2010 Malaysian Open.  In stark contrast from my recent blogging contrast, I’ll be updating this daily (probably) with reports on the tournament and especially the Aussie performances.  We’ve got quite an army here, and are fielding two Aussie teams (with a couple of Kiwis thrown in) for tomorrow’ team rapid champs.  After Malaysia, I head off for some chess-free R&R in Cambodia in Vietnam, where I’ll be joined by Fi.  I’ll then meet most of the Aussie Olympiad teams in Dubai before we make our way to the Olympiad in Khanty-Mansiysk, Siberia.  I’m not sure how reliable internet access will be on these trips, but I’ll try to blog about as much of the adventure’s general shenanigans as I can.

On the point of shenanigans, and without a move even having been made, I can report that the omens thus far are not in my favour.  I boarded a 2.40am flight from Melbourne, having gone 36 hours without sleep, “Abbott-style”.  Aware that my many oncoming journeys would be frequenting countries with interesting sanitary stereotypes, I decided to stock up with a sandwich from a Melbourne airport café.

However, my faith in developed-country food proved ill-founded.  As we boarded the plane, I felt nauseous.  While the stewardess went through the safety demonstration, I felt positively awful.  As we took off, I began vomiting at a comparable velocity.  My ordeal lasted the entirety of the flight, which consequently kept me awake and thus extended my Abbottathon.

Fortunately, a full night’s (and day’s) sleep, and a relaxing day touristing in fabulous KL, has righted the wrongs.  It just so happens that we’ve arrived during the annual Malaysia sales, when retailers offer up to 70 per cent discounts on everything from clothes to ipods.  I bought far too much for far too little, and then finished the day by sharing a massive banquet with some of the Kiwis and Aussies.  We even got a complementary pigeon.  Guess who ate the head?

Glad I kept that one down.  The beak would have really hurt on the way up.

Voting for least-worst

I’ve vehemently tried to avoid commenting on the federal election, primarily because it’s just so uninspiring.  A tepid, usually negative campaign has disappointed all but the most desperate political junkies, and the only sign of passion was when Mark Latham decided to have a go at everything and everyone in sight.

I happened to be seated behind the former Labor leader on a Friday night flight to Brisbane two weeks ago.  Had I known he was about to assault Julia Gillard the following morning at the Brisbane Ekka show, I would have kicked the back of his seat a little harder. 

But I digress. While I’ve become more and more disinterested in this election campaign, I’m far more concerned about (and, sadistically, entertained by) the upcoming FIDE elections.  The incumbent president of the world chess federation, Kirsan Ilyumzhinov, has quite a bizarre resume.  Besides all the usual corruption and bribery rumours that seem to perennially circulate the FIDE presidency, Kirsan doubles as the President of a Russian state called Kalmykia, claims to have been abducted by aliens, and is reportedly linked to the violent murder of an opposition newspaper journalist, Larisa Yudina, in 1998.

Meanwhile, his chief electoral opponent is former world chess champion Anatoly Karpov, who, quite surprisingly, is primarily supported by his most famous adversary, Gary Kasparov.

What makes this election race so fascinating is that Russia can only officially endorse one presidential candidate under the FIDE election rules, meaning that, technically, one of Kirsan’s and Karpov’s campaigns could be invalid.  The vote to elect the Russian candidate was itself marred by controversy, with the Kremlin injecting itself into the debate.  Things really fired up on 21 May this year, as the online newspaper True/Slant reports:

“Today, at around 2:15 Moscow time, black suited men from the private security firm “Peper” arrived at the [Russian chess] Federation’s offices, and presented Federation president Aleksandr Bakh with a diktat signed by [the president’s deputy, Arkady] Dvorkovich saying that Peper was now in charge. They then kicked out the regular security guards and sealed off some rooms in the building as a helpless Bakh called the police.”

Now, wouldn’t THAT make our federal election more exciting!  Anyone got Latham’s number?

Winning your chess Queen

We are all aware of the age-old debate as to why there are so few top female chess players.  Nature versus nurture takes on a fundamental role in this argument, with scientific studies supporting both sides of the issue.  While I can’t see how anyone would believe there are innate or biological differences in the potential chess abilities of men and women, there are many among us in our (albeit largely male-dominated) sport who think differently.

But now there’s a different facet to gender biases in chess.  Two scientists from Stockholm have just published a paper that looks at the level of aggressiveness that males employ when facing a female over the chessboard. 

It has been well documented that males are generally riskier in strategic game behaviour than females, which is why male financial traders do better in ‘bull’ markets (when prices are going up) than in ‘bear’ markets – their risks pay off.  So it’s no surprise that the authors confirmed that chess-playing men generally play riskier openings than women (although, have you ever seen Natalia Pogonina play the Dragon?!).

But the real finding is that men choose to play riskier, more aggressive openings if they are paired with a female opponent than if they were paired with a male opponent – even if the more aggressive opening is irrational and decreases their chances of winning!

Why?  Is this because men subconsciously think women are weaker?  Or perhaps because men are subconsciously – or bizarrely, in at least a few cases I know, consciously – trying to impress females with their risky chess openings?

Because that’s of course what a woman looks for in a man these days.  Pawn sacrifices.  (Insert pun of choice here.)

I have no idea.  The authors themselves are pretty ambiguous about their hypothesised causality, stating:

“We believe that different outcomes across gender are not merely a question of deliberate discrimination on the part of men, but are at least to some extent due to deep-rooted mechanisms that surface in situations where competitors of the opposite sex meet.”

Of course, there are a number of ways to test the theories.  You could ask players to report on whether they thought their opponents were over- or under-rated before each game, and match that up with the level of aggressiveness in the openings.  To test for the effect of attraction, you could analyse a control set of the aggressiveness of openings chosen by homosexual males when playing other men – although, given the cultures of the most chess-populated countries, it’s unlikely you would get a large sample size of homosexual chess players willing to ‘out’ themselves.  (I myself know of only half a dozen or so, somewhat surprising for such a male-dominated sport).

This aside, there are a number of fundamental flaws in the study.  The choice of openings defined as ‘risky’ or not is poor.  Even accounting for this, there’s no guarantee that the choice of opening is reflective of someone’s level of aggressiveness – many people play openings they were taught from childhood, or play them because they are easier to remember and require less updating.  Furthermore, for many players, their opening repertoire is set, and they would thus not have the flexibility to be able to choose to play a different opening depending on the opponent.

Surely there is a means to check for ‘aggressive’ play overall in a game.  After all, many computer programs these days have settings on them in which the computer is trained to play extra aggressively, even irrationally so.  The formulas are already there.

These basic design flaws aside, the study is incredibly interesting.  And, if nothing else, it gives me some excuse for my horridly poor performance rating against women.  In my case it really is a mystery as to the root cause.  I’ve lost enough games against women to know that they should certainly not be underestimated (given my experience, in fact, I probably subconsciously believe exactly the opposite).  Neither do I believe that macho behaviour (on or off the board!) is a credible means of attraction in today’s modern society.  So, given the rebuttal of these hypotheses combined with my continued weak chess performance against females, there really is only one logical explanation:

Perfume allergies.

Movie Review: The Karate Kid

No, not the original.  The new version, which is set in China, and somewhat confusingly features kung fu instead of karate.

I went to see it with a couple of my ju jitsu mates – I’ve recently picked up ju jitsu, which has not succeeded in making me any more dangerous (except perhaps to myself), but has been responsible for granting me my first black eye.  Anyway, it seemed a suitable movie to choose for the first social outing of us beginner ju jitsuers, and with Jackie Chan and the progeny of Will Smith in leading roles, how could we go wrong?

You can look up the plot for yourself, but I will say that I’m quite glad this movie didn’t try to copy the old classic.  Replacing the old, Italian karate kid from New Jersey with a little black boy from Detroit, whose mother has lost her job in the car industry after the global financial crisis (how topical! how clever!) was a nice touch.  Still, the product placement for AirChina was ridiculously nauseating, and especially ironic considering the largely anti-Chinese, pro-American sentiment throughout the story.

Jackie Chan is, predictably, brilliant.  Too bad he only has one fighting scene, and it’s to beat up a bunch of primary school boys.  A far cry from Rush Hour.

However, my one major gripe is the romance element.  Not only is Jaydn Smith meant to be twelve years old, but his romantic interest is a Chinese girl who I presume is at least 15, and towers over him throughout their scenes together.  Now I’m all for ‘underdog defies the odds, triumphs over adversity, gets the girl’ – but for Pete’s sake, he’s TWELVE.

I’m not even sure that’s legal.

Overall, three stars.  Four if you watch it with budding martial artists.  Back to three if you are put off by pre-pubescent romance.  Given the choice, choose the classic.

Wax onnn, wax offf!

MasterChoke

Am I the only person in Australia who hates MasterChef?!

Australia’s number one television show once again blew the ratings out of the water with its ludicrously popular second series.  For those of you who aren’t familiar with it (which is in itself quite an enviable achievement), MasterChef is a reality show in which amateur cooks compete with each other to produce the fattiest, sugariest, and most cholesterol-laden dishes possible, in order to see who has the honour of being crowned Australia’s Most Unhealthy Chef.

At first, I thought the aim was to see who of a randomly selected bunch of boring, everyday Australians was the best cook. However, this illusion was dashed a month ago when the unanimously agreed ‘best cook’ was eliminated for being too boring.  This is slightly ironic, because the following week, the second-best cook was eliminated for being too mean.

Don’t get me wrong; I have no problem with reality shows lauding and vilifying people on the basis of personality, or emotion, or whatever the hell they want, to be honest.  But please don’t call it ‘MasterChef’; call it Big Brother, or Survivor, or Question Time.

I’m sure you’re wondering how I know so much about the show if I hate it so much.  Unfortunately, my darling girlfriend (who is both rational and intelligent) and her similarly charming housemate (who is similarly intelligent and sensible) fell victim to the cultish spell that is this Channel 10 cash cow, and thus my hands (and the remote) were tied.  The same thing happened last year during Farmer Wants a Wife, a reality show based on an equally preposterous notion, though at least with a little romantic comedic value (the only sexual chemistry to be seen in the MasterChef season was when the rotund judge Matt Preston devoured a chocolate tart).

I simply don’t understand MasterChef’s popularity, but clearly I’m on the outer on this one, so there must be something I’m missing.  I mean, there’s no way the majority of Australians could be wrong, no way the majority of Australians would ever blindly anoint something so nonsensical, so ridiculous, so unintelligent, as their number one choice.  Right?

Wait, when’s the election again?

Combining business with pleasure

Starved of chess action in between tournaments (and even more so following my office IT’s decision to block all chess blogs and forums at work), I decided to organise the inaugural Treasury Chess Championships.

Perhaps it’s the sorts of people attracted to both chess and economics, or perhaps it’s just the Canberra cold, but the interest in the tournament was quite impressive.  There are 26 players in the tournament, including complete beginners, “I used to play in school” amateurs, players with decades-old ACF ratings, and a top seed rated just above 2000.

Of course there have been the usual mismatches in the opening rounds, probably exaggerated by the large strength differentials, but overall the level of enthusiasm and vigour has been quite impressive.  A bunch of players have gotten stuck into learning how to notate and use a chess clock, looking up chess openings, and even getting me to go through their games.  More significantly (and surely the sign of a successful tournament), there has even seen a bit of sledging and competitive banter among the participants.

As impressed as I am by the players, this has reminded me just how tough it is to be an organiser.  I can’t remember which grandmaster it was who said that any player who feels like insulting an organiser should be made to organise a tournament themselves first, but this is exactly right.  It’s a thankless job, but definitely necessary, something us players would do well to remember. 

At least Treasury seems to be getting behind this event, with our social committee promising to provide a trophy for first, and an article in the monthly magazine scheduled for August.  Even our café staff declared that chess seemed ‘cool’ in our building.  Could it really be?

Now if only IT would unblock the chess sites…

Oranje shame; Smerdon bested by mollusk

Stroopwafels - pretty much the only perk to the Dutch defeat

Well, the greatest sporting show on earth is over for another four years.  Spain has triumphed with the perfect Swiss Gambit, losing the first round and then swindling their way through to the final.  (Of course, the Swiss Gambit is not a traditional ploy for knock-out competitions, but it was always going to be a stretch getting one last chess analogy into the football World Cup…)

My tipping record pretty well matched the low expectations many have given me after my chess World Cup effort.  After unsuccessfully  predicting Australia’s ascent through the qualifying stages, as well as a Germany-Brazil final, I naturally tipped the Dutch Oranje to win the cup.  At least I can claim that this last prediction was based more on emotion than reasoning, given my Dutch affinity, but I was sadly disappointed.

To me, the Dutch are traditionally known as happy, tolerant, and liberal people, and, as national football styles are supposed to reflect national cultures, I expected a more sportsmanlike display from the Oranje.  Five yellow cards in the first half, including a sickening kick to the sternum, and a continuation in the second that led to one red card and grounds for many more, was hardly inspiring.  Sure, the Spanish team has dived more often this year than the ASX 200, but that doesn’t excuse the global epicentre of tolerance producing football gamesmanship not worthy of a juvenile detention centre lunchtime break.

Disappointing.

Almost as disappointing, but at least slightly more humourous, was the sentience of my fellow spectators during the game.  I admit that a 4am start is a little unpleasant, but of my five co-watchers,  at least three fell asleep, and one spent a fair chunk of the match playing rugby league games on his iPhone.  (In his defence, two of them are the co-founders of footyfootyfooty.com, so it could almost be classed as work-related.) 

Ah yes, the world game.  Confusing Australians since 1788.  Still, I was there, shouting at the screen, decked in my orange top, orange head band (okay, tie), and my infamous ‘naked-cycle’ Amsterdam undies.  We even had Dutch pancakes and a sad, Coles-bought excuse for stroopwafels to really get into the Nederlands culture (Fi was supporting Spain, but is usually willing to compromise where pancakes and sweets are involved).

Of course, my tipping tragedy of a zero percent strike rate was perfectly balanced by Paul the Octopus’ incredible run of eight correctly tipped matches.  Amid calls for his demise into various culinary dishes, insults pertaining to his mother’s morality, and even a declaration of sovereign protection by Spain’s leader, the octopus has certainly become the most famous sea-dweller of this world cup.  Chance?  The maths would suggest otherwise.  Conspiracy?  Hard to believe, given all matches were tipped well in advance.  Fate?  Possibly, but unlikely.  Still, the chances of me picking every result incorrectly are similarly astounding, so if Paul is to be crowned the football oracle, I feel I should at least get some consolation prize as the predictor of doom.

Plus, Paul is only expected to live another year or so, so I’ll be the one around in 2014.  Get ready to bet against me, guys.