As I rapidly approach – *gasp!* – thirty, it appears I’ve been going through some sort of premature midlife crisis. I’ve been aggressively travelling to new countries (three this Summer), flirting with various new hobbies and pursuits, will soon embark to improve on my shameful attempt at a juice fast…and, recently, I got contact lenses.
“What?!”, I hear you ask with surprise. “I didn’t even know you wore glasses!”
Indeed; the glasses were in themselves a recent addition. My eyesight was never a problem until I began the Tinbergen masters programme three years ago, which precipitated a remarkably rapid decline in my vision. I decided that the best way to deal with the problem of not being able to read the lecture board was not, in fact, wearing my new glasses, but simply avoiding lectures. It worked, to an extent, but eventually nature took its course and I became one step closer to my Brainy Smurf avatar.
Dave says no to midlife crises.
Right before Sabina and I left for Portugal, I got myself measured for contact lenses, and took my trial pair along with me for the holiday. For those of you who don’t know anything about lenses (as I didn’t), here’s a brief synopsis. They are, literally, tiny, malleable lenses that one must stick to the front of one’s eyeballs. It takes a little getting used to, this process; keeping one’s eye open while a finger literally pokes the eyeball isn’t exactly an innate action. Moreover, the wearer is strictly instructed by the optician that hygiene is a must; lenses must be thoroughly sanitised (definitely NOT with any water) both before and after each wear. I was told not to have them in for more than four hours a day at the beginning, so that my eyes could get used to the product. This was good advice: in the early days for a new wearer, it literally feels like a couple of sand granules are permanently stuck in your eye. Uh-uh – no scratching.
This sensation is supposed to go away after a week or so. I say ‘supposedly’, however, because I didn’t get that far. I had the lenses in while I drove our rental car from Galicia (awesome) to Famalicão (less so), but my right eye was becoming more and more irritated, and I became my own windscreen-wiper as I regularly brushed the tears out of the optical culprit. Eventually, I couldn’t take it any more, so we pulled over in a small town so I could take the lenses out.
Into a cafe bathroom, and – pop! – out slides the left contact. Now for the right miscreant…and, what do you know? He’s not there.
At first, I thought that I just couldn’t see it, so I kept trying to pinch the translucent lens on my iris – which, in reality, just meant that I kept pinching my iris. Try it some time; it’s really not fun. After a while, and checking all around my eyeball, I came to the conclusion that the little bugger was missing.
Well, there goes my lens trial for Portugal, I thought, and off we drove again (reequipped with my regular classes). My eye was still in some pain, but I concluded that when the lens fell out, it must have scratched my cornea in the process (I was warned that the edges of lenses can become rough, which can severely irritate your eye. The fun never ends!). I hoped the eye would repair itself in a day or two, but the sand-in-the-eye feeling persisted.
We were actually in Famalicão for a small chess tournament, so the eye condition played havoc with my preparations. During the first two games, I found it hard to focus in general, let alone on the board, and spent most of my thinking time with my eyes closed. But the worst was in the evenings, when I simply couldn’t sleep due to the constant irritation of my closed eyelids on my damaged eyeball.
(Grossed out? There’s not much more, so read on – but, I warn you, it’s going to get worse before it gets better.)
Finally, by the third night, I couldn’t take it any more. I got up from the bed, went to the bathroom mirror and stretched my eyelids apart as much as I dared. In the very innermost corner of my eye, surrounded with masses of tiny, irritated red arteries, I spotted the glint of something blue. A tiny speck, but the colour gave it away as foreign. Prising my eyelids open with both hands, I carefully tried to drag it out using the fingernail of my pinkie. It threatened to retreat back beyond my eyeball’s visible curvature into the unknown abyss behind my eye, but, after some painstakingly delicate manoeuvring, it began to move centrally. However, I soon noticed that the speck wasn’t coming alone – in fact, it was more of a small piece. No, wait – is it a shard? Eventually, enough became exposed that I could grip it and pull, and out, covered in creamy, sticky eyeball fluid, came my lost contact lens. The whole thing.
More than meets the eye.
Needless to say, it was all glasses-wearing on the holiday after that.
Today, I recounted my story to the opticians. They were (to my relief, I must admit) suitably shocked and appalled. A freak occurrence, they said. Nevertheless, they’ve given me another trial pack to try. (Interestingly, they offered no advice on how to prevent this from happening again. Lightning doesn’t strike twice, after all. Oh, actually…)
Perhaps this was a sign that I should just accept my ageing gracefully, baldness, glasses and all, rather than risking my sight. Besides, they say the eyes are the windows to the soul. And what’s a window without glass?
The following is more of a diary entry of my thoughts about the Australian team’s performance. If you have no interest in Australia’s performance at the Olympiad, or the Olympiad, or chess, or my writing in general…Well, there are some photos at the bottom.
Australian Olympiad Debrief
Well, another Olympiad done and dusted. But this time, Australia really has something to brag about. The performance of our team definitely exceeded expectations: seeded 60th, we finished 31st on tiebreak, and claimed silver in our rating category. Had we scored just a half point more in our final match against Germany, our final standing would unquestionably be the best by an Australian team at an Olympiad; alas, 2-2 was the final score.
For such a young and inexperienced team, with two debutants, this was an unexpected highlight, which seems to indicate that Australian chess probably has a lot to look forward to. The star of the show was undoubtedly our boy wonder, 13 year old IM Anton Smirnov. He didn’t lose a game on his way to a 2570 performance rating, and was our ‘points machine’ on the bottom board. My other three teammates – Moulthun Ly, Max Illingworth and Junta Ikeda – have only just graduated from their teens themselves, and so, for the two rounds I rested, the Australian team had an average age below 20!
These three – with only two prior Olympiad appearances between them – certainly distinguished themselves. Junta was solid, and picked up a big win with black against the Mexican GM Hernandez Guerrero. Moulthun was probably hoping to perform closer to GM level, but still picked up an impressive win against GM Leon Hoyos (also in the Mexican match) and a fine draw against GM Filippov. Max had a sluggish and dare I say it unlucky start, but his final round win against GM Nisipeanu was ample compensation
But more importantly, in my opinion, was the exemplary team attitude of these four ‘youngsters’. For the first time that I can remember, I really felt that we (along with our captain) were participating and competing as a team. This was definitely helped by the group training sessions in the months prior to the Olympiad, as well as a warm-up tournament in Denmark that most of us participated in. In addition, we ate, relaxed, prepared, and passed the free time together, going for walks, playing cards, handball or hacky sack, or just messing around. I’ve always believed that team spirit makes a big difference even in ‘individualistic’ endeavours such as chess, and at least our experience this year seemed to bear this out. I almost felt like one of the many ‘professional’ teams at the Olympiad: the top guys, and even some teams below us, who get paid to play. I don’t want to get too carried away, but who knows, in two years from now, we might even get…team jerseys.
Of course, team spirit can only get you so far. In team events, you need luck, both in your own games and for the team score. Two matches of 2.5-1.5 is a much better sequence than 4-0, 2-2, for example. My own performance was unflattering, scoring -1 and a below-par performance rating, but I was lucky in that my losses never made a difference to our match result. In a couple of cases, the match situation worked against me on a personal level – after we had scored 2.5-0.5 against both Portugal and the ICCD (“deaf”) team, I, relieved that we’d won each match, went a little crazy in my attempts to win and promptly lost. But at Olympiads, it’s my conviction that it’s ‘all about the team’, and so I was happy (and relieved!) that my teammates won the day on both occasions.
I’ve read a couple of Olympiad team ‘post-mortems’ online from various countries. The Danish and English teams are two examples that come to mind where the “what could we have done better?” debates have already begun in public forums, and I’m sure there’s a thorough examination of the Russian performance on some Cyrillic website as well. But I think it’s equally useful to deconstruct the performance when things go right. In our case, the focus on team-building was a key ingredient to the success. We helped each other both during preparation before the game and in support afterwards, and moreover, in every match, each player played for the magic 2.5 points, rather than for himself.
The tournament also seems to suggest that the “exuberance of youth” can be equally as important as past experience, as the Australian selectors’ decision to select a young team reaped dividends. And the pre-Olympiad team training sessions (which, surprisingly, the Australian team hasn’t done before in recent memory) were hugely beneficial. These factors may seem small, but they can add up to a significant boost to a team’s performance in a match competition. I hope that before the next Olympiad, the team prepares in a similar manner, in terms of chess preparation but also in terms of motivational factors. It would be very useful for the women’s team to follow this lead in future, too, and perhaps even more so with certain elements. Once we get the basics of a professional chess team right, who knows where things might lead for Australian chess.
We might even get our own jerseys.
Junta, Max, and our mascot, Sheila the Koala (in the background, you might be able to spot Anton chasing Moulthun)
“Anton, Moulthun, get back here!”
The Chinese men’s team were exuberant about winning gold.
The Russian women’s team were somewhat less expressive.
Post-Olympiad wedding: Australian men’s captain Manuel Weeks and his wife, Brigitta
After a straight month on the road, complete with four countries, 19 tournament games, one blitz tournament, a problem solving championship, a Bermuda party and an amazing wedding, only Bruno Mars can explain how I feel.
A lot’s happened, and I’ve been neglecting my updates. I guess that just means plenty of post-Tromsoø updates. For now, here are the cliff notes:
Australia is having an awesome Olympiad. Unfortunately, in tomorrow’s final round we have a very tough pairing: Germany. On the other hand, an upset win would I believe give us the best ever performance by an Australian Olympiad team.
After an awesome start, I’ve been struggling in the second half of the tournament, and go into tomorrow’s game after two losses in a row.
Kasparov lost the FIDE election, but threw a really swell party. I wrote a little parody song for the event, but my performers (Liz Pähtz and Nigel Short) chickened out at the last moment. So I’m publishing the lyrics below.
That’s it. Big game tomorrow; I’m playing super-GM Arkadij Naiditsch. I’ve been waiting 18 years (not really) to get revenge for when he beat me in the under-12s in 1996. More importantly, I don’t want to experience queenside castling again (e.g. here and here). But even more significantly than my own performance: Who’s gonna win gold? Could China really win gold in both the men’s and women’s Olympiads? Stay tuned.
Silent night, Holy night
Midnight light, Far too bright
Every two years, O-lim-pi-ad,
So much fun if you, don’t play too bad
The joy just seems to inc-reease,
O-ops, I’ve blundered a piece.
Fi-irst rest night, Ber-mu-da night,
Not the same, without a fight
Have a drink, and a laugh, and a dance
Watch those looking for chessy romance.
Don’t do something you’ll re-gret
With a GM you’ve just met.
Silent chess, Holy chess
Th’ best two weeks, I must confess
Meeting people from around the globe
Even fun for a FIDE-o-phobe
So, to you I say che-ers,
See you in two-o more years.
The team heading to the round
Coffee with our team mascot, Sheila the koala
Kasparov speaking at his party
Australian arbiter Gary Bekker won a sweet lucky-draw prize at the Kasparov party
Paul Spiller (from NZ) in front of one of the larger pro-Kasparov posters in Tromsø
The team before the match with Portugal (note Sheila in the captain’s chair)
“If you can draw with Aronian from the exchange down, you’ll definitely have no problems against Magnus!”
That was Aussie GM Ian Rogers’ comment after my game with Levon Aronian. Quite a few people have complimented me on my ‘inspired’ exchange sacrifice in the game, but unfortunately I have to confess that I’d seen the idea before. I had the white pieces but quickly found myself in an uncomfortable position against the Philador’s Defence. Luckily, I realised that a rather remarkable transposition was possible to an obscure line of the Blackmar-Diemer Gambit, which I had analysed for my upcoming book on the Portuguese variation of the Scandinavian Defence. If none of that makes sense, play these moves on the board:
I couldn’t remember much about the line, which I’d analysed for the book about six months ago. I could, however, recall writing, “Black needs to be on the lookout for Rxd6 ideas. With best play, Black is close to winning, but the sacrifice can be quite dangerous against an unprepared opponent.” Then, during the game, I realised we’d stumbled upon the exact position, and so I went for it. Lev answered precisely and I was lost in a couple of spots, but in the end, I got lucky.
Higher quality chess was probably seen on the second and third boards, however. Max played an awesomely complicated King’s Indian against one of my heroes, Movsesian, with the craziness eventually fizzling out to a draw. Moulthun played a very mature game against Sargissian, but unfortunately went wrong in a complex middlegame and lost a tight endgame. Junta got tricked by my old nemesis, Akopian, and Australia eventually succumbed 3-1 to the former World Champions.
There’s not much else to report at this stage. There are the usual rumours and gossip, but rather than saucy tales, they largely revolve around the upcoming FIDE elections, a topic I’ll steer clear of for now. The elections do, however, mean that Kasparov is everywhere (both physically and on the multitudes of posters, billboards and t-shirts that adorn the city). It was a little intimidating at various points in my game with Lev to look up from my concentration and see, sequentially, Kasparov, Carlsen and Kramnik watching on, but that’s an Olympiad for you.
Incidentally, the Australian women’s team had an arguably even more impressive performance. They also lost 3-1, this time to the much-fancied Ukrainian women’s team, but the two draws were agreed in winning positions. 2-2 was the more correct result, which would have been one of Australia’s best-ever results in either section.
Tromsø as a city is quite nice – pleasant, friendly, hideously expensive. I’ve found the one hipster café in Tromsø, into which I sneak in the mornings to join the local students for a coffee with our macbooks. I almost look like I’m here on holiday.
Here are a couple of pics, courtesy of our men’s captain Manuel Weeks and and Leonid Sandler.
The Aussie team before the match with Armenia (and before the chief arbiter removed Max’s earplugs)
“What did I write in my book again?”
Round one against the US Virgin Islands
The Aussie team with one of our heroes, GM Victor Bologan from Moldova.
The Politiken Cup once again lived up to its billing as one of the most enjoyable tournaments on the European Summer calendar. This year was especially pleasant for the Aussies; as a team, we scored 4.5/5 in the final round to bump us up the order and flatter our final placings. I was the unfortunate “point-five”, drawing with US (and former Costa Rican) grandmaster Alejandro Ramirez to finish on 7.5/10. Moulthun and Anton both beat strong grandmasters with the black pieces to join me on 7.5, with Anton picking up his final IM norm in the process. The 13 year old wonderkid seemed nonplussed by this achievement, apparently more annoyed that I’d made a 2500 performance and he hadn’t (despite the 16 year age gap). He was heartened somewhat to discover he’d earned more prize money, though, thanks to winning his competitive under-2400 rating group!
Junta managed to swindle a win in what would prove to be one of the last games of the tournament. This was characteristic of his never-say-die attitude in the tournament, and although he messed up a potential (albeit long-shot) GM norm chance around the middle of the event, he still picked up valuable ELO points. Somewhat surprisingly, our captain, Manuel, was also in the norm-hunt mix after five rounds, thanks to a powerful victory over…Moulthun! Unfortunately, the Nordic Gods (or, more likely, an unfortunate dose of food poisoning) conspired against him and he was in survival mode for the last few rounds. Nevertheless, Manuel also joined the winners’ group for the last game.
Honorary Australian Gawain Jones really impressed, and thanks to a big win against Tiger in the last round, picked up second place and a hefty payday. More importantly, his rating has shot upwards to close in on 2680, dramatically increasing my chances of winning our personal bet that he’ll cross 2700 by the end of the year. The pocket change we got from winning the pair’s blitz event barely made a dent on his overall tournament income, but significantly boosted mine! I also managed to go one better than last year in winning the Danish Problem-Solving Championships (seriously good fun!), but got knocked out in the lucrative individual blitz event by none other than Junta!
Overall, it was a seriously cool fortnight of good weather, great food, excellent company and a wide variety of relaxing activities to maximise our team’s Olympiad preparations. Oh, and there was chess. Did I forget to mention chess? I’d almost forgotten.
My camera’s being a bit temperamental as I write this from one of Oslo’s many hipster-cafes, so I’ll try and upload the Danish photos once I get to Tromsø. In the meantime, if you’re one of this website’s chess-interested visitors, check out the chess Olympiad Fantasy Team competition. It’s free, but with real prizes, and adds a little bit of cheeky fun to watching the event. You’ve got to choose the best performers on each board for both the open and women’s events, as well as the overall team winners – but you can’t choose two members of the same country for the same event. I didn’t explain that very well, but you’ll get the idea – it’s easy. For the record, here are my predictions. Next stop: Tromsø!
“David Smerdon, your team, The smurfs, has been entered successfully into the Fantasy Chess Olympiad 2014.
Your team selection is confirmed as: Open 1: NOR – CARLSEN Magnus (2877) Open 2: RUS – GRISCHUK Alexander (2795) Open 3: UKR – IVANCHUK Vassily (2735) Open 4: HUN – POLGAR Judit (2676) Open 5: CUB – DOMINGUEZ PEREZ Leinier (2760) Women 1: CHN – HOU Yifan (2629) Women 2: IND – HARIKA Dronavalli (2513) Women 3: HUN – HOANG Thanh Trang (2490) Women 4: UKR – ZHUKOVA Natalia (2451) Women 5: RUS – LAGNO Kateryna (2540)
Your end of competition predictions were: Open section Gold: Russia Open section Silver: China Open section Bronze: Armenia Women’s section Gold: China Women’s section Silver: Russia Women’s section Bronze: United States of America Open section individual Gold: CARLSEN Magnus Women’s section individual Gold: HOU Yifan
It’s not like me to write about chess politics (i.e. my last post), but I’m sure I’ll have no choice at the Olympiad next week. Not to mention Australian politics; these days, it’s hard for me to read the politics section of The Australian without a shudder and a groan or two. So it’s nice to have a little respite before the FIDE elections begin. I’m in Helsingor, a cozy seaside town in Denmark, for the Politiken Cup. (And therein lies the headline pun. Okay, I was really reaching this time.)
Usually, being a part-time chess tourist, I like to play different tournaments in different places. So the Australian Olympiad team was a little surprised when I suggested they join me in Denmark for my second visit at this event, as a warm-up for Tromso. And a couple of my other friends have asked me what’s so great about the tournament. Well, without going into too many details or hyperbole, let me outline a typical day here in Helsingor.
8.00: Wake up; the sun is shining and it’s already a charming 25 degrees. Sneak in a quick gym session (on site), then breakfast outside in the garden, overlooking the ocean.
9.30: Chess preparation (naturally).
11.30: Duck off through the woods to the beach for a dip in the (surprisingly warm) ocean.
12.30: The lunch here – I’m not exaggerating – is by far the best food I’ve ever eaten at a chess tournament. The seafood, in particular, is astonishing.
13.00: The round begins. One round a day is a must in a place like this!
17.30: Soccer – again, on-site. Last night was “GMs versus the rest.” No prizes for guessing the result.
19.00: Dinner is also outside; the sun stays up for a ridiculously long time in the Scandinavian summer.
20.30: Normally, show-and-tell of our games in the bar; a few games of pool (free, and also on-site). Otherwise, a variety of social chess events are sometimes on offer, such as knockout blitz, pairs blitz or a problem-solving competition.
23.00: Sleeping as the sun sets, as nature intended.
Tough life. The only downside is that I’m far too relaxed to play quality chess. I’ve had a rubbish tournament so far, but thanks to some very favourable pairings, I find myself in a position to challenge for the top spots. Still, I can’t see my luck holding up. I did have one nice finish to a game, however, which will be the only chess contribution from this post. Enjoy.
It’s hard to know what to make of the latest Olympiad drama. There are so many conflicting reports, rumours, innocent victims and different parties with skin in the game, that it reminds one of an election campaign. Oh hang on; there IS an election campaign. Go figure.
Back it up a little. For those of you without your finger on the pulse of chess gossip, here’s the state of play. The Olympiad in Tromsø, Norway starts in two weeks. Ten teams (including, most significantly, the Russian women’s team) missed the deadline for registration. The organisers have said they’re not accepting the late entry of these teams. FIDE says they MUST accept these teams, citing a statute that gives the FIDE President overriding powers. The organisers say that power doesn’t apply. Drama ensues.
That’s where we stand, at least from a fact perspective. The rumour mill is well and truly in production, as you might expect, with my favourites being that (1) Gary Kasparov’s team has orchestrated the organisers’ behaviour in order to embarrass FIDE before the upcoming FIDE election; (2) FIDE may cancel the whole Olympiad, and (3) FIDE, with the help of Vladimir Putin (!), is considering moving the whole Olympiad to Sochi, Russia, within the next two weeks.
There are a lot of parties at fault in all of this. The Russian chess federation should have registered its team on time, but delayed until after Kateryna Lahno, one of the strongest female players in the world, could officially change chess federations from the Ukraine to Russia. The addition to the Russian team was especially important, given the huge rifts within the team between two of its star players, the Kosintseva sisters, and the coach, Sergei Rublevsky, after the last Olympiad. It should be noted that the Russian team could have registered a team anyway and simply added an extra name later, for a nominal fee of 100 euros. But they didn’t, and here we are.
FIDE is hardly guilt-free in this, either. I doubt FIDE would have gotten involved at all if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s Russia who is affected. Meanwhile, the animosity between FIDE and the Norwegian organisers has been heated for some time, I suspect largely underpinned by the fact that Norway is a vocal supporter of the Kasparov campaign. The Tromsø organisers must also accept blame in all this; it’s clear that the budget for the Olympiad has been completely blown out of the water (although the organisers could not have known so many more teams would want to play than in previous years), and they have cited budgetary reasons for why they won’t allow exceptions to the late deadline rule. In fact, because of budgetary uncertainty, the Olympiad was only confirmed on June 5 – notably, after the deadline for registration. I have a lot of sympathy for the organisers: this will surely be one of the most expensive Olympiads ever, with the most teams, in a country where costs are high, and just after Norway has hosted a rather expensive World Championship match and a World Cup to boot. But a budget is a budget.
The innocent victims I mentioned are, of course, the players. And not just the Russians, either. Other teams affected include the Afghani women’s team, which has itself overcome its own internal problems in the past just to be able to play, and several African teams that have had to jump over many well-publicised visa hurdles to secure their place. And, of course, if the whole Olympiad is moved or cancelled, literally thousands of chess players and fans will be affected.
I really have no idea what’s going on, and it’s even possible that the ‘facts’ I’ve re-quoted above have been massaged somehow by their sources. But what I can do is apply some basic game theory to the situation to make a prediction about what’s going to happen. For example, it’s highly unlikely that the Olympiad will be cancelled or moved. There’s just no way that FIDE would accept the negative publicity in the run-up to what will be one of the closest-fought FIDE elections in recent history. Secondly, I find it very hard to believe that these teams will ultimately not be allowed to play, for similar reasons. If the Tromsø organisers just wanted to make a point, it’s been made: this story has been widely publicised in all major media outlets in the chess world. If it’s a budgetary issue, either the money will be found somehow, or the Norwegian organisers will cave in; after all, they would have had to have budgeted for these teams a couple of months ago, when they thought that these teams would register. The unfortunate reality is that perhaps without the Russian team being affected, the organisers might have gotten away with denying the other countries a place; as it stands, although ‘no exceptions should be made’, the might of Russia is a tough beast to fight against.
So, my prediction is that the Olympiad will go ahead, and the teams will play. The real question to me is, how are we going to get there? Who is going to cave first? And which side of the election is going to come out of this looking better than the other?
I, a lowly chess blogger, have no idea. But it’s all very exciting!
Yeh I know, I need new material. But come on, I love this guy.
My tournament in Växjö (pronounced “Vair-kshh”, as I was quizzed on by the organisers in the opening ceremony) was not an overwhelming success. I finished middle of the field on an even 4.5/9. Certainly an improvement on my 0/2 start, but the second half of the tournament could be classified as a comedy of missed opportunities. Nevertheless, overall I’m not that unhappy to have sacrificed a handful of ELO points for my first Swedish chess experience. My three losses were at the hand of three of the youngest participants in the field: Mads Andersen (DEN), Aryan Tari (NOR) and Svane Rasmus (GER), three talented IMs who were super close to picking up GM norms in this event. Mads is a little older than the other two, but his play in particular really impressed me. He went on to win the tournament with 5.5 points, narrowly edging a big group on 5, and I expect we’ll hear a lot more about him (and the others) in the future. My best, or at least most entertaining, game of the event was against the top seed, GM Tiger Hillarp Persson. Tiger is one of the most unusual grandmasters I’ve met. I first ran into him at breakfast in the hotel on the opening day; I, an economist by trade, had brought a chess book to breakfast to read and relax over my meal, while the professional had brought a heavyweight macroeconomics book! I guess the grass is always greener somewhere else. Not only does Tiger share my interest in economics and particularly inequality, but he is, as he puts it, “very much a political animal”, expressing considered (and strong!) views about many topical social issues on which your average grandmaster would usually steer clear. The 43 year old is also an unusual chess professional for having started extremely late, around 25 years of age (a fact that many find especially shocking at first, seeing as he looks about 30).
Tiger (right) in a post-mortem with Victor Nithander (source: Lars OA Hedlund)
Given that we were two of the three old GM punching-bags in the event, one might be forgiven for predicting an energy-saving draw in our individual encounter. And I must confess, going into the game, I would have been very happy just to take a reasonably non-confrontational half-point. However, it quickly became clear that the tournament favourite was out for blood and fireworks (not necessarily in that order), which he himself hinted at over breakfast by declaring, “Let’s have some fun!” Tiger unleashed an inspired and dangerous attack after the opening, which I only managed to diffuse by way of a rare middle game promotion on b1. This was enough to hold the balance, depute Tiger achieving his own new queen. However, the game had a few more twists in store, and by the time I achieved a second (!) promotion on b1, I had accidentally fallen into a winning endgame. Here are my notes on the game that I recently sent off to New In Chess for the next yearbook.
It turns out Tiger has his own blog and he annotated the game over there as well , so for some higher-quality chess commentary, check it out. All in all, not a horrible Olympiad-prep tournament, and an enjoyable start to the Scandinavian Summer. Next stop: Denmark!
My conquerors in the first two rounds.
In the midst of the playing hall: screens for the spectators. Why don’t all tournaments have this?
Early leader and new father, Axel Smith, before our game.