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.
I’m in Växjö, a sleepy little Swedish town. Well, it seems sleepy, although I’m told it’s a lively student joint outside of the summer. Just my luck: you can have the sun, or fun, but not both.
I’m here for a cozy little grandmaster-norm round robin. Again, I’m the ideal attendee: a weak, amateur, foreign GM just ripe for the beating. And the beating, unfortunately, has commenced. Besides the obligatory three GMs, the tournament’s other seven participants are all young, talented IMs from Scandinavia and Germany. I was hoping enough time had passed since my horror loss in the last round of the Batavia tournament, but apparently I could have done with a few more months. My first game was a real shocker: with White, in a nondescript exchange French, I was lost after 15 minutes. A loss with White in the first round is of course the worst possible start, but after messing up a very promising position in my second game, I suddenly found myself alone on the bottom of the table with 0/2. Thus, I had managed to lose my last three games – 0-0-0.
This was the third time this has ever happened to me, and I can’t begin to describe how horrible it feels. It’s applied somewhat when you’re alone in a foreign country and know that the two-round-a-day slugfest will continue, whether you want it to or not. Unlike most grandmasters, who can maintain their professionalism and composure game by game, I’ve always been a momentum player, prone to epic rolling highs and inescapable lows. Liable, in poker terms, to tilting. That definitely was the case in the third round: I had the shakes for almost the entire four hours, absolutely convinced that every move I made was a blunder, despite my most thorough attempts at calculations. I wanted to be anywhere else but playing chess.
Fortunately, my opponent also got nervous, and in a double-edged time scramble I came out on top. Well, ‘fortunate’ feels a little generous: Quinten, a talented Dutchman, most probably won’t have a shot at the norm now, but the GM title can’t be far off for him. I’d say the same for my first two opponents, too – good thing I’m keeping up my end of the bargain by shedding points.
I’m definitely not out of the woods yet: tomorrow morning I’ve got black against the top seed, GM Tiger Hillarp Persson. But the bleeding has stopped, for now.
The tournament, I have to say, is really great. If I was a Scandinavian junior on the hunt for a norm, this would be the perfect opportunity. There are two IM-norm round-robins going on alongside the main event, and everyone is eager and playing aggressive, fighting chess. The venue is also really cool: it’s held right next to the town’s beautiful concert hall, in a building from the early 18th century that used to be the city baths. The players are very well taken care of, and there’s a nice display and commentary room for the spectators. It doesn’t change the fact that I wish I was on a beach somewhere and definitely not playing chess, but it’s great for the rest of the players, and makes a tilt just a little bit easier.
Ah, Australia. The sunburnt land. The land down under. The lucky country.
Don’t worry; I promise this post isn’t about the latest Federal budget, though many of you are aware how much I have to say about that. Cutting $8 billion for foreign aid to the world’s poorest? Sure, why not; they can’t vote anyway, right? Sorry; I promised not to.
No, this is about a topic that many Europeans would consider to be far more important than anything else: the upcoming football World Cup. By ‘football’, I of course mean soccer. That round-balled game whereby players stare at each other for 45 minutes, score a goal, celebrate like they’ve won the shirtless lottery, and then stare at each other for another 45 minutes. Nah, I’m joking (well, partially). During my time in Europe, I’ve come to appreciate the game a lot more – the skill, the nuance, the culture, and even the sheer scale of the soccer world in business terms. (Incidentally, the total salaries of the English Premier League last season topped $3 billion. If the annual salary of the average player was reduced by a third from $2.7 million to $1.8 million – still not a bad payday for kicking a ball – the savings would completely cover the $2 billion in foreign aid projects cut from next year. But, you know, I promised…)
Anyway, back to the World Cup. It’s a huge extravaganza, uniting the world for a month in a sea of nationalism and euphoria. And amazingly, Australia made it in as one of the 32 countries to compete for the cup. Given that we are currently ranked 62nd in the world on the FIFA Rankings, some might call this a lucky break – and they’d be right, as, to a certain extent, Australia’s qualification path is a little easier than some of the higher-ranked countries. But hey, once you’re in, you’re in, and then it’s anyone’s game. Well, at least the draw is done pseudo-randomly, such that there’s always the chance you get paired in a relatively favourable group, increasing your chances of making it past the group stage.
Unfortunately, in Australia’s case, that hasn’t happened. In fact, according to a recent New York Times article, Australia has received the unluckiest draw of any competing nation. I had already publicly declared (much to my Aussie friends’ shock) that Australia was in my opinion favourite to finish last, even before the groups were announced. But now I’m convinced; if we score even a single draw, I’ll be impressed.
Unfortunately, no, it’s not in alphabetical order, but rather in increasing order of luck. (Source: New York Times)
Australia’s opponents in Group B are: Spain, the Netherlands, and Chile. Yep.
Spain is the world’s best team and the reigning World and European Champions. That’s already an unlucky draw, but to be honest, we would have struggled against any of the other “Pot One” teams that we could have drawn, such as Germany, Argentina, Brazil or even Belgium. Bad luck, but not the end of the world.
No, the real pain comes in the form of the other two teams. To qualify for the group stage, we need to be in the top two finishes of our group, which basically means finishing higher than the teams other than Spain. In this case, we’ve drawn the Netherlands, the finalists in the last World Cup and one of the historically great football teams. A recent form slump has seen their ranking fall to a paltry 14th, meaning that they were candidates for our “Pot Four” team. We could have instead faced Bosnia-Herzegovina, or Croatia, or even Greece. Not a great result.
But the real pain comes in the form of our ‘weaker’ group member, Chile. Chile has had an incredible run of late, and is now ranked even higher than the Netherlands at 13th in the world. Moreover, it’s well known that South American teams tend to do much better in their own continent. They’re understandably the favourite to take the second spot in the group ahead of the Netherlands. In football parlance, we’re in the Group of Death.
Sounds bad, but wait, there’s more. One of our national legends of the game, Josh Kennedy, is out through injury. One of our new young stars, Tom Rogic, has also just been ruled out because of injury. Our old captain has just retired, but I’m sure our new guy, Mile Jedinak, will be up to the challenge. That is, if he recovers from his recent ankle injury in time.
Am I too pessimistic? Perhaps. On the other hand, several betting sites have Australia has favourite to finish last (you can get 4 to 1 odds in some places). Call me unpatriotic if you will, but I’m already thinking ahead to my ‘second’ team to support in the Cup. I’ve decided that if I’m going to double-dip, I should at least choose a team with which I have some innate connection, so England it is. I’m not sure it’s going to bring much more joy, though, particularly given I live in the Netherlands with flatmates who support Spain and Germany.
English football fans also have a history of disappointment
Still, on the plus side, Australia’s chances in the partially knock-out draw have to be higher than Australia’s chances of winning the upcoming World Chess Olympiad. At least, according to chess commentators Lawrence Trent and Jan Gustafsson in a recent broadcast, Australia finishing first would be nothing short of a ‘miracle’. Two years ago we could have had our best-ever finish, sneaking into the top ten, had I not stuffed up the final round. This year, we’re also fielding a team with only one Grandmaster, but things are a little different. The team has gone for youth, a good long-term strategy, and I’ll be easily the oldest (and the tallest) member of our team. The squad will hopefully bring a hunger and energy to the campaign that I’m looking forward to cultivating. If nothing else, perhaps we have a good chance in the informal soccer matches on the rest day. If we’re lucky.
Posted by David Smerdon on May 23, 2014 in Non-chess
Today was a good day. The sun was not only shining but actually warm, which is a rarity for the solar mass that usually takes an aesthetic-only approach to the Amsterdam sky. In fact, shorts and flip-flops were the order of the day, for the first time in the Netherlands since, well, about a year.
More importantly from my perspective, however, I could actually ride around and enjoy the rare good weather. Today was the first day in a fortnight I’ve gone without a crutch, after a nasty ankle injury at touch football. For the ignorant, touch football is the non-violent version of rugby union – basically, the form of the game that is supposed to prevent injury. Oh, the irony.
A fat ankle, pictured next to another injured patient
Anyway, that’s not the point of the story, although it does explain why I decided to take the afternoon off and go cycling around the nearby forest. I sat on the grass soaking up pretty much Amsterdam’s yearly quota of rays while practising some card tricks. Say what now? I may not have mentioned this before, but one of my 2014 New Years resolutions was to learn some amateur magic. Readers will know how seriously I take my resolutions – for example, see here, here and here. I’ve always been fascinated with magic, but I should mention that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing, having never so much as attempted to guess a card before a couple of months ago. Nevertheless, in what will no doubt prove to be an incredibly stupid move, I’m signed up to perform at the annual Tinbergen Institute variety show next week. What could go wrong?
This, also, is not the point. But we’re getting there. As part of my ‘magic research’, I stumbled on a fantastic little YouTube channel called ‘Scam School’. As the name suggests, it’s made up of a bunch of videos about how to play little tricks on people, “at the bar or on the street”, all ostensibly in order to meet people and score free beer. Well, you can check it out for yourselves, but it is pretty cool, I have to admit.
But then I came across the following sneaky little card trick, apparently based on probability theory…
Basically, the idea is that you flip over a deck of cards one at a time, each time asking your victim to guess the value of the face. If they get it wrong – a one-in-thirteen chance – they get to move on to the next card; if they get it right and hit a match, they lose. The video suggests you can give them pretty good odds (in the video, they give odds of “$30 if you win, a beer if I win”) and still be confident of winning. The reason for this, as any mathematician will smugly inform you, is that this ‘one in thirteen’ probability multiplies, so that the chances of your victim not getting a match if they randomly call out cards is (1/13)^52, or roughly 1.6%. Over 98% of the time, you’ll win a beer!
But then, tonight, I got to thinking: just guessing random cards isn’t a very good strategy at all. At the very least, our poor sucker should name the card that got shown on the last flip. Imagine the guy guesses that the first card is a 10, and we flip over a 6. He should definitely guess 6 on his next go, because, compared with every other choice, there are only three sixes left in the deck on which he could potentially lose, compared to four of every other card. That seemed like a much better strategy.
Unfortunately, with such a strategy, it becomes incredibly difficult to calculate the probabilities. And so I decided to spend the evening of my sun-filled day writing a small computer program to simulate the trick. Geek night had begun! And indeed, after half a million simulations of a virtual victim playing our ‘go with the last revealed card’ strategy, it turns out that our odds of winning that beer drop to 95.7%. This still seems pretty good, but think of it this way: our victim’s chances of winning have tripled, just by adopting the simplest technique possible.
But he can do much, much better than this. For example, if he knows that three of the queens have come out, and then a 10 is flipped over, he’s three times better off guessing ‘queen’ than ’10′. And, of course, once all FOUR of one card value are flipped over, one just has to say that card over and over again until all the cards are dealt out, with a guaranteed win.
It seems to me that the best possible strategy for guessing goes something like this:
Guess a random card on the first go (and hope you don’t get it right!)
On the second go, say the value of whichever card was flipped over first
From then on, guess the value of the card that has been flipped over MOST up to that point. If there are more than one value that has been flipped most (say, three kings and three queens), choose one of them randomly.
That’s it. It’s clear that this strategy is much better than the two rudimental approaches mentioned above – but just how much better? Is it worth the “$30 versus a beer” bet? For that, I went back to the computer code and got my virtual guesser to try out the strategy.
The result? A staggering improvement in the odds. The clever victim has a 27.1% chance of making it through all 52 cards without a match – incredibly, almost 20 times more likely to win than just by random guessing. In fact, unless our beer is worth more than $11, we’re expected to lose money on the bet. What sort of trick is that?!
For those of you who watched the original Scam School video until the end, you’ll notice that the host, Brian Brushwood, is aware of this little tick, and even asks viewers to calculate the exact odds of the trick’s success and send it to him. Unfortunately, seeing that the video was posted in 2011, I guess I’ve missed the boat there. Anyway, at the end of the video Brian has some suggestions to try and make it difficult for the scamee to remember all the cards that have come before. But even so, the chances of a clever volunteer ‘beating’ the trick are a little too high for my tastes. I’ll stick to the classics.
(For those with any morbid geeky interest, I’ve copied my code for the simulations below. It uses Matlab, but the structure will of course work in any language, even Microsoft Excel.)
Speaking of classics, check out Scam School’s sneaky Stanford chess scam. Not bad.
c=13; %number of card types
t=4; %number of cards in a type
n=c*t; %number of cards
s=500000; %number of simulations
results=ones(1,s); %results of simulations. A one means a win.
g1=1; %let the first guess be one
deck=b*a; %creates a deck of all the cards
guesses=g1; %vector of executed guesses
g=mode(shuffled(1:i-1)); %Use this for the optimal strategy.
%g=shuffled(i-1); %Use this line for the “use the last card” strategy
sprintf(‘On turn number %d the guess was %d and the card was %d’,i,g,shuffled(i))
Posted by David Smerdon on May 12, 2014 in Non-chess
One of my former schoolmates, Jonathan Ringrose, is going to cycle home. ‘Home’ is Brisbane, Queensland. His current location? Stockholm, Sweden.
“Sorry, Google says no.”
The Jonathan I remember was a quiet, friendly, well-liked kid at Churchie, who was pretty talented at chess as well. I’d lost touch with him since high school until his quiet, friendly, and bearded (!) face popped up on my Facebook feed, announcing day 1 of his adventure. In case you want to know what it’s all about, or more likely, want to know why the heck someone would want to attempt this, check out his first video post at his blog, http://www.mylongridehome.com .
Congratulations to Aussie (and Queensland!) IM Moulthun Ly for winning the very strong Sydney International Chess Open, and at the same time picking up a valuable Grandmaster norm. After this performance, and given his past history, I’m betting Australia isn’t that far away from getting its fifth chess Grandmaster. Finally!
Oh what, you haven’t heard of Moulthun? Really? Well then perhaps you’ve heard of ‘Molton’, his handle on both Chess.com and the Internet Chess Club. On both servers, he’s got a reputation as being an incredibly strong blitz and bullet player. When he came on the scene while I was still living in Queensland, I got to know him as ‘this quiet kid who’s a demon at 1-minute chess’. My opinion hasn’t chanced, except that I could probably scrap the ’1-minute’ and just call him GOOD.
Moulthun intimidating your author at the 2012 Chess Olympiad
For those of you unfamiliar with chess jargon such as ‘bullet’ and ’1-minute’, I’m talking about a form of extreme speed chess in which each player has (usually) exactly one minute to make ALL their moves. If you run out of your sixty seconds, you lose. So, for a regular 40-move game, that’s less than two seconds thinking (and moving!) time per move. If you play an 80 or a 100 move game…. well, you can do the math. On Chess.com, for example, Mighty Molton has the 15th highest all-time bullet rating (out of nine million players), one of the very few non-GMs on the list. Well, that won’t last for long.
But in recent years, Moulthun’s chess has really started to mature. The tricks and traps so typical in the style of bullet specialists are still there, but he’s supplemented these skills by developing a much better strategic and positional understanding – far surpassing my own. He has developed a patience and far-sightedness that is reduntant in speed chess, but critical for top-level long games, and his opening repertoire has also begun to ripen. The street fighter has become a heavyweight.
‘Heavyweight’ may seem something of a misnomer for the shy, slightly-built 23 year old. A painfully nice guy off the board, his on-board disposition often gives the impression that he’s about to fall asleep at any moment. But like the snake that fakes lethargy before it strikes, his mind is whirring at a hundred miles an hour during a game, calculating insane tactics in the blink of an eye.
The last round of the Sydney Open, then, was a little bit of a let-down for Molton fans expecting lava on the board. But, needing only a half point to clinch first place and the norm, Moulthun played it safe against his higher-rated GM opponent. Hard to argue with that. I’ve copied the game below, mainly for historical rather than entertainment value.
Check out Garry K’s eloquent interview on one of Australia’s major news channels. The interviewer, like most Australians, is predictably fairly ignorant about the chess world, but the questions are above average, and the answers are insightful.
(This is a short story/guide on the best way to install ChessBase on a Mac, including Macs without a DVD drive.)
Recently, I decided to embrace my inner hipster and get a Mac. (If you don’t know what a hipster is, this handy flowchart from the youreahipster tumblr might help:
You know you’re a hipster when….
If you don’t know what a hipster is, but you’ve seen American Psycho, check out:
If you don’t know what a Mac is, then the rest of this post isn’t going to be much fun for you.)
My new MacBook is smart, sleek and sexy. I’ve named her Adelaide. 12 years ago, after “a series of unfortunate events”, I started naming my computers after Australian cities. That’s another story, but I accept your judgement in advance.
However, there was just one tiny problem with my new toy, and it’s exactly the same reason as to why you won’t see any macs floating around at top-level chess tournaments, and the same reason why not one of my GM friends takes a mac to tournaments:
Macs don’t run ChessBase.
Well, technically that’s not true. A Mac is hardware, but the operating software that comes with a Mac – in my case, the imaginatively named “OS X Mavericks” – can’t handle ChessBase. Or, more accurately, ChessBase doesn’t produce an OS X compatible version.
(Notice that in what follows, I will continue to use impressive-sounding computergeek terminology in order to appear like I know what I’m talking about. Of course, in reality, I really don’t know very much about computers – besides which cities make appropriate names…)
You might well ask why ChessBase doesn’t make a Mac-friendly version. It’s a good question. Actually, ChessBase did make a Mac OS version a while ago, but apparently it didn’t sell very well, so they canned it. Part of the reason could be that Macs weren’t as popular a decade ago as they are now in our hipster-flourishing era. Or part of the reason could be, as was recounted to me, that the Mac Chessbase software was “perhaps the worst-ever commercial Mac software ever created.” In any case, it doesn’t exist for sale anymore, and ChessBase staff told me last year that they have no plans to introduce a Mac-friendly version any time in the near future.
Well, that’s an issue. There are other ChessBase alternatives that work on Macs, such as Shane’s Chess Information Database (SCID) and Mac Chess Explorer. For the casual player, these are quite sufficient. For a tournament player who is constantly using chess programs for on-the-go preparation, opening analysis and integrating other ChessBase products, this isn’t really an option. This is a real shame, because ChessBase as a program is objectively really terrible: it’s buggy, barely developed between versions, and gives the user neither decent control nor innovation. However, there’s simply no alternative out there for the serious player.
My next attempt to install ChessBase was to investigate running a virtual copy of Windows. This is basically the equivalent of running Windows from within Mac OS X. The main programs you can get are Parallels, VMware and VirtualBox (the last one is free). There are two main disadvantages of this method. The first is the cost: You’ll need to spend 50 euros or so on the virtual-machine software (unless you get VirtualBox), as well as buy yourself a copy of Windows to install. Well, so be it.
The second disadvantage, however, is the loss of processing power. Particularly if you’re going to do some heavy engine work, your computer isn’t going to be very happy with running two operating systems as well as blasting Houdini on full speed. Think of it like wearing a dinner jacket over the top of an old coat: Sure, it still looks pretty much the same, but things are going to get hot and tiresome if you do too much work. For the serious analyst, this is super annoying.
My next attempt was to check out Wine, which is a “compatability layer”. To be honest, I don’t know what that means. From what I can tell, however, it tries to take all the little itty-bitty Windows code in a program and translate it into something Mac-friendly. The result is that MOST features of MOST Windows programs will work on OS- mostly. Think of it like disguising your old coat to look like a dinner jacket: it’ll get you in to most things, and you won’t be hampered much, but there are going to be one or two functions you’d like that’ll reject you.
It’s free software that relies heavily on its user community, so as you can imagine, the most popular programs are the ones which get most of the work. ChessBase, unfortunately, isn’t one of them. Apparently, at least according to their program directory, older versions of ChessBase (such as CB9) worked “reasonably well”, so I thought I’d take my chances with my ChessBase 12, the latest version. I have to say, it’s not very easy to get the thing to run. It was originally designed for Linux people, who I associate with being far more computer-savvy than myself. After bumbling around for a couple of hours, I eventually got to the final stage of “running” my ChessBase through Wine on my Mac. Unfortunately, it was a no-go. To be fair, the Wine site says that this is a risk for untested programs, and it also might just be that I’m not sophisticated enough to get it to work. But if you too think of yourself as a point-and-click sort of user, take my advice: this isn’t the way to go.
(Intermission: If you think it’s hard being a hipster, you wouldn’t believe the stuff Australians have to deal with…)
Finally, I was down to my last attempt: Boot Camp. This is Apple’s integrated software to run a full version of the Windows operating system on your machine. Basically, when you turn on the Mac, you get to choose whether to run OS X or Windows, so there’s no loss of CPU power in ChessBase (you do have to allocate some of your harddrive space to a second operating system, of course). The problem for me was that my MacBook doesn’t have an optical (DVD) drive, so I couldn’t install a Windows disk, even if I had one (which I don’t).
Fortunately, a while ago Microsoft commissioned a company called Digital River to provide .iso downloads for all their Windows 7 versions. You can find the downloads here (and yes, this is totally free and legal). Basically, Microsoft wants you to be able to download and install Windows “for free”, because Windows only works for 30 days without an activation key – which you have to buy from Microsoft, of course.
Once you have the Windows 7 .iso file, the Boot Camp instructions are incredibly simple to use; you can google them for yourself, if you have any troubles, and there are plenty of websites offering advice. Next, boot your computer holding down the ‘Option’ key and choose to boot to Windows. Then, install ChessBase. Obviously, make sure you have a downloadable version if you don’t have a DVD drive. If you’re using an .iso file, you’ll have to install VirtualClone (free!) to mount it: http://static.slysoft.com/SetupVirtualCloneDrive.exe
One final problem: If you don’t already own Windows 7 (and thus an activation key) you might be wondering what to do to keep your Windows copy going after the 30-day trial. Believe it or not, it’s actually really difficult to legally buy a licence from the Microsoft website. Your best bet is actually to go to any computer store and buy a brand new copy of your Windows 7 version (make sure you get the same one; don’t buy Windows 7 Home if you downloaded and installed Windows 7 Professional!). You won’t need the disk, of course, but just the code on the back. Then you can manually activate it like this: http://www.wikihow.com/Activate-Windows-7
Note that Microsoft DOES NOT sell individual activation codes. If you google around, you’ll find plenty of sites willing to sell them to you; these are most likely illegal (although, apparently, most likely safe as well). There are also different sneaky ways of disabling Microsoft’s ability to check after 30 days whether you’ve got a legal copy or not, including how-to videos on YouTube by 12 year old kids (seriously, kids, what are you doing?!). It doesn’t matter about the method; after 30 days, if you’re running Windows and you haven’t bought an official copy, technically you’re doing something illegal.I wash my hands of thee.
Anyway, finally, you’ll end up with a full-power version of ChessBase on your Mac, and of course, now you have the ability to install any other Windows-only programs you might have as well. You can be both a chessplay AND a hipster! Hurray!
(You made it this far? Well done. Here’s your reward: The Bondi Hipsters. Steer clear if you’re easily offended.)
While on holidays in Australia in January, I got invited to play a small round-robin tournament in Amsterdam. I get these invitations every now and then, but it’s worth mentioning that such invitations are usually not as flattering as they first appear. These events are usually have the goal of providing an opportunity for the local talents to earn a grandmaster norm, the requirements for which involve having a field with at least three existing grandmasters and at least three nationalities represented.
As an Australian, part-time grandmaster with a ‘regular’ job, I’m thus the perfect target candidate to get beaten up by the talented norm-hunters. Normally this isn’t such an appealing prospect, but unfortunately I was in serious danger of missing the 30-game minimum threshold to apply for the Australian olympiad team. That fact, combined with the invitation coming from my jovial Dutch friend Merijn van Delft, encouraged me to accept. And so, immediately after the 24 hour flight back to Amsterdam, I found myself in a very pleasant bar in the centre of Amsterdam, caffeined to the eyeballs, sitting opposite the latest Dutch junior star, the European under-14 Champion Jorden van Foreest.
Did you notice I said ‘bar’? Yes, the tournament was actually held in a bar, and not just any bar. Cafe Batavia is a fantastic drinking establishment, right off the central station of Amsterdam. It’s got a very nice vibe to it (“gezellig”, the Dutch would say),with a cool, chess-loving owner, and on any normal day you’re likely to find a couple of the local patrons making use of the chess sets on offer. During this particular fortnight, in addition to this, the elegant, quiet back room was decked out for the tournament, nicely juxtaposed with the lively main bar next door.
Anyway, in the end I managed to win the tournament, despite losing the last round against the tournament cellar-dweller and my peer, Steven Geirnaert. (Actually, this brings Steven’s life score against me to 2/3, with us having played before in India when we were 17, and in Spain when we were 11!)
As fun and enjoyable as the tournament was, it was also the first time I’d tried to combine work and chess on such an intense level. Having just taken a month off work, there was no way I was going to be able to swing another fortnight away from the office. After each afternoon game, I would have to go to the office to work late into the evenings. Then I’d get some more work done in the mornings, do a bit of prep over lunch, play my game – and wash, rinse, repeat. The tournament had one rest day, but in order to catch up, I spent 12 hours in the office, so it was probably the least relaxing day for me of the fortnight.
In hindsight, it was a pretty rough decision. My games were riddled with oversights, and in the last game Steven smashed me so badly that I’m sure I would have struggled to manage a single point if the tournament had’ve been further extended. Of course, coming first was ostensibly a powerful result, but if you look below the surface, I was really incredibly lucky to get most of my points. Against the Netherlands female number one, Zhaoqin Peng, I managed to swindle a draw from two pawns down. In the game with the top seed, GM Sipke Ernst, my opponent missed a clear win in the diagram with the sneaky 23.Qxc4! Qxg6 24.Qc5, forking my two rooks. And against Merijn, I was clearly worse after 10 moves and had to grovel my way to another half a point.
Lady Luck also manifested herself in more subtle ways. In round 5 I was paired against Twan Burg, my main rival and the eventual second-place getter. Usually, with the white pieces I would be planning to play for a slight advantage out of the opening, and slowly and carefully try to nurse it to a full point.
Unfortunately, I also had a meeting at the office five hours after the round started, so a long game was really not on the cards for me. This made my opening preparation a lot easier, as I chose a line that I could play very quickly and that would most likely lead to a quick draw – unless my opponent fell for one of the traps, in which case a quick win would result. As Caissa would have it, the latter happened, and I could put one hand on the trophy.
In general, I can take away three key lessons from the event. Firstly, despite the result, I’m really not as tactically sharp as I used to be. I don’t know whether it’s rust, or age, or both, but the blunders are becoming more frequent, and so probably I need to adapt my style to try to cover up this new weakness. Secondly (and perhaps obviously), a full time simultaneous work/chess schedule is ridiculously stupid. I was completely spent by the end of the event, by which time I was enjoying neither the games nor my research. The lesson is trivial after the fact, and certainly my conscience had a good time telling me “I told you so” after the last round.
And finally: the chess culture in Amsterdam is really incredible. I’ve frequented two well-known chess cafes in Amsterdam, but I didn’t even know this one existed. All of the participants were jovial and friendly before, during and after the games, irrespective of the results. As much as I was already homesick on my return, there’s just nothing like this sort of chess atmposphere back in Oz. Seriously, you’ve got to try it. Imagine a warm, crowded bar, packed with chess-loving locals and tourists kibitzing with each other over the fast-paced blitz battles taking place at the tables. Then, listen to Daft Punk.
The March 2014 FIDE rating list has Magnus Carlsen at a new record rating of 2881. A phenomenal milestone for our new World Champion, though one should not forget that the world’s number two also achieved a personal best this period. Levon Aronian is now rated 2830, which, despite being over 50 points behind the astonishing Norwegian, gives him an impressive buffer of over 40 points to the rest of the world’s elite.
It reminds one of the beginnings of the Federer-Nadal rivalry after the turn of the century. The dominance for over half a decade by those two tennis greats over the rest of the world’s best has of course become legendary. For over 430 weeks, the world number one spot was held by either Federer and Nadal, before Novak Djokovic finally broke the dynasty on July 4, 2011. Of course, I’m perhaps not making a fair comparison to modern chess, as I’m sure some of the top ten might argue. Hikaru Nakamura, the United States’ top player, for example, is currently sitting in seventh spot at 2772, and arguably in the best form of his life. And he recently, infamously, claimed to be the prime contender to dethrone Magnus as World Champion.
Now, I should say that I like Hikaru. Nobody would ever accuse him of humility, to be sure, but he shoots from the hip, and it’s refreshing to hear blunt, honest opinions without the annoying obfuscation that occasionally rears itself in interviews of of other elite players. A couple of days ago, Hikaru participated in a Reddit.com “AMA” (“Ask Me Anything”), essentially an open, online forum where he answered questions from anyone. That’s something I can respect, and I wish other grandmasters would do more of: raising the profile of chess, giving an insight into the thoughts and workings of the stars, and breaking down the fourth wall between the elite and the public. (The full thread can be found here.)
But of course, the risks that go along with public openness is exposure to criticism – say, for example, by a grandmaster blogger. My gripe is not to do with Hikaru’s unbridled optimism about beating Magnus; such (over)confidence is actually very heathy for a chess player’s performance. (Incidentally, there has been plenty of research done in behavioural economics and finance about the benefits of overconfidence in occupations where risk aversion can be a hurdle.) Moreover, he might just prove me wrong – certainly, it would be a foolish man to bet against his reaching 2800 on the live ratings at some point this year.
No, the one comment that annoyed me on the Reddit forum was in response to a question about Fischer. The question was:
How do you think Fischer would do against top players like yourself, Carlsen, or Kasparov?
This is a pretty common “pub topic” among chess players: comparing the greats across eras. It’s a tough question to answer, and everyone is entitled to their opinion. But Hikaru’s answer made me grind my teeth:
“Fischer would almost certainly lose to all of us, but this is due to the fact that the game has so fundamentally changed. If Fischer had a few years to use computers, I think he would probably be on the same level.”
Robert J Fischer, considered by many to be the greatest player ever to take the board. Bobby Fischer, who won the World Championship against all the odds, forfeiting one game and giving tie-odds. Who demolished two of the world’s greatest players, Taimanov and Larsen, in the Candidates by the unbelievable scores of 6-0, 6-0. Who won 20 consecutive games against the world’s elite, including a former World Champion (these days, winning three in a row is considered a streak.)
Now, let’s return to the tennis example. How would Jimmy Connors (who was the world tennis number one around the same time as Fischer) fair against Nadal and Federer, if they played at the same time? How would Bjorn Borg or John McEnroe? Lendl, Becker, or Sampras?
It’s almost impossible to make this comparison, even though the game of tennis has undergone far more “fundamental change” over its modern lifespan than chess. Of course, I’m assuming that the old greats would be allowed to use a modern racquet in our hypothetical contests, but even without access to today’s fitness regimes, vitamin supplements and so forth, it’s hard to claim that the legends of tennis from decades past, at their peak, couldn’t match it with today’s top guys.
One might be tempted to use chess ratings as an objective measure of strength across periods, but unfortunately ELO inflation rules that out, in exactly the same way that comparing the “world’s richest people” doesn’t make sense without adjusting what a dollar means today to what it meant in former times. 2700chess.com‘s list of the world’s highest ever live chess ratings has only two of the 13 players not currently active – Kasparov and Fischer. All but four of the ratings were achieved in the last three years, and only one was not recorded this century: Fischer, way back in 1972.
Spot the odd one out.
There have of course been many attempts made to compare the best chess players of all time. The subjective ones don’t really add much weight to my criticisms, although I should add that almost all of them list Fischer in the top three. For example, Keene and Divinsky’s book Warriors of the Mind puts Fischer third behind Kasparov and Karpov, but the book, like most of Keene’s work, is of dubious integrity.Jeff Sonas, on the other hand, does an impressive statistical job on Chessmetrics, whose list goes Fischer-Kasparov-Botvinnik. Of the current players, only Anand and Kramnik make the top ten, although this was done in 2005 before Carlsen (or, to be fair, Nakamura) had matured.
Perhaps the most credible measure, at least from academic standpoints, is the recent approach of comparing a player’s chess moves to the choices of top computer programs. This technique has only been possible in recent years, now that computer engines have so completely superceded human ability. It’s not hard to believe that more of this sort of research will be done in the future. And it’s also not surprising that, to date, Fischer has been either first or second in all independent studies of this kind.
So what does Hikaru mean by “the game has fundamentally changed”? Unlike tennis, there have been no changes to the equipment we use to play a match. Neither have there been any groundbreaking physical training advancements. Considering his following comment, I can only assume the American number one is referring to the use of computers, and the development of theory, to aid a grandmaster’s preparation – and this is undoubtedly true. But how much of a role does that really play? Carlsen himself has shown that victory can be achieved without ever striving for an advantage in the opening.
Moreover, if one really wants, one can construct an opening repertoire based around variations that are light on theoretical developments and unlikely to be refuted by home-cooked computer analysis. They may not be the most ambitious lines, but grandmasters such as Alberto David, Luke Mcshane and even Carlsen are happy to just get playable positions out of the opening, and let their true playing strength decide the result.
If Fischer was transported from his peak to today’s chess scene, would he do the same? To be honest, probably not. But I’d wager it’d take no more than a couple of days, rather than a couple of years, for him to get up to date with modern opening theory around his repertoire. And, after that, I doubt anyone of the modern elite other than Carlsen would be able to match it with him.
Consider the relative dominance of the world number ones throughout history. Carlsen is 50 points clear of Aronian at present, which seems a huge margin – and it is. When Fischer achieved his top rating in July 1972, he was 125 points above the number two, who was the incumbent World Champion, Boris Spassky. One hundred and twenty-five points. Then he won the World Championship, despite forfeiting the second game. And then he quit.
When it comes to comparing champions throughout history, everyone can make a claim, and everyone can have an opinion. I have mine. Our transported Bobby has his own ego issues to deal with, and might well have a go at a highly theoretical Sicilian Najdorf or King’s Indian instead of playing it safe; this would pave the way for Hikaru to grab a draw or two, or maybe even a win, in a six-game match. I’d wager 4.5-1.5 to the eight-time US Champion. (That’s Fischer, in case you were wondering.)
And after a day of theoretical catch-up? 6-0. Game, set and match.