McCreadyandChess

 “Mountains should be climbed with as little effort as possible and without desire. The reality of your own nature should determine the speed. If you become restless, speed up. If you become winded, slow down. You climb the mountain in an equilibrium between restlessness and exhaustion.”  Pirsig – Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

One Sunday afternoon in the middle of April, the Spanish Grandmaster Jose Vallejo Pons stood clutching a prized golden king to his chest amid the final applause of the closing ceremony. It was he who finished as champion of the Fourteenth Bangkok Open, with seven and a half out of nine. He was the highest rated of the forty or so titled and two hundred, or thereabouts, untitled players and thus the favourite. The lead was shared from start to finish, except for round five, being eventually decided on tie-break by just half a point with Grandmaster Oliver Barbosa finishing as runner-up. The final standings can be found here http://www.chess-results.com/tnr130151.aspx?lan=1&art=1&rd=9&turdet=YES&flag=30&wi=984. An interview with the champion by my ex-colleague Alex can be found here. http://bangkokchess.com/archives/4354.

A sense of security, like pockets jingling?

In the months leading up to the tournament, political unrest threatened its very existence, with the streets surrounding the venue seized by thousands of anti-government demonstrators playing loud music and blaring out propaganda all night long. Media stations across the globe reported the fighting that ensued, the senseless killings that occurred, and the political malaise the country had, again, sunk into. Bookings were cancelled as fast as they were taken, adjoining nations were noticeably absent, sometimes entire groups just dropped out after following ‘official advice’. The 5-star Dusit Thani, generously offered to accommodate us elsewhere should the political crises worsen, but with two weeks to go both pro-supporters and anti-government protesters promised there would be no violence over the New Year holiday when the tournament was scheduled. A decision was then made for the tournament to go ahead in the capital. And go ahead without disruption it did.

Some say we’re born into the grave.

In Thailand at New Year, many choose to leave the capital and celebrate in the provinces but the anti-government movement stayed put. They moved to the park opposite the venue and kept in good company with various other creatures. The Thai New Year, or ‘Songkran’ as it’s called, is the longest of all its public holidays, and the only one in which an eight-day chess tournament can be held. Traditionally, it is celebrated by the throwing of water but in modern times this has got drastically out of hand. The celebrations now far exceed that necessary: most spend three days or so fighting with water non-stop, be that with ice, chili or flour to add impact, staying mostly drunk in the process. The Thais are a fun-loving bunch, Songkran is the cultural apogee of what they are about. Sadly, in the ‘land of smiles’ life is cheap and people die in their hundreds each year as a result, in all manner of tragic accidents on the roads. For the Thais, to die within a cacophony of celebrations is more acceptable culturally than to die within the din of political disquietude -it is better to die on the roads than in the streets, so many believe. There was no political violence but the country’s death toll rose way beyond anything a civilized nation would consider acceptable once more, as it will do next year, and the year after that of course. And will this ever be reported as extensively? Of course not because people are having fun when they die…its a sort of cheery death at Songkran.

Chess is a contributor to net human unhappiness, since the pleasure of victory is greatly exceeded by the pain of defeat.  –  Bill Hartston

We chess players, however, can pride ourselves on being too rational to be roped into such lunacy. We opt instead to see the Thai New Year in whilst sitting amongst our clan quietly, listening to the calming whoosh of air-con for hours on end in a softly lit ballroom. A stark, but sane, contrast to the madness outside the venue. After all, who wants to have fun when there’s hours of nerve-racking chess to be played? I joined them once more, read on if you want to see how it unfolded.

A few pre-tournament thoughts – doing it my way.

I haven’t played classical chess, proper chess that is, for exactly one year now. It was my birthday when I played last, thrashing some German doctor with my Dutch Defence. I want to prove that I can handle myself and perform without regular practice still, if only to myself. I want to play with consistency and improve on my score from last year but I am not sure if that is possible. There’s neither time nor motivation for preparation these days but I focus my mind much earlier this year to give myself every chance by removing as many distractions as possible. It has to be this way: the time put aside, the money spent on entry fees and transport, and my own determination insist. I cannot double-up as daddy or even official photographer during play if I want to remain focused and find my way through the tournament.

“You look at where you’re going and where you are and it never makes sense, but then you look back at where you’ve been and a pattern seems to emerge.”  Pirsig – Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

A motorbike trip to Myanmar has had consequences. I broke a tooth in half and chipped my glasses during sleep one night (don’t ask me how) and then got badly burnt in the lowlands on my way back after numerous delays. The allergy to sunlight has got me wrong again…I think I’ve been in this part of the world for too long, assuming my skin is a layer of sun-cream and mosquito repellent somehow -I never put that stuff on nowadays. When the tournament begins I’ll be on strong medication and covered up…I can console myself with a tan when the skin’s recovered -ah the perils of being too British!

The day just before the tournament.

My wife has agreed to help with the pre-tournament organizations again, so the little one is with me. I take Grace to the venue to gain her seal of approval. The Nappalai Ballroom is great for her, she loves its grandeur and spends hours running through the rows of tables, stopping only to feel the carpet below and stare into the chandeliers above. She gets so excited she whacks her forehead twice. We put ice cubes on it, which she proceeds to eat then runs towards the top boards, because they are cordoned off and have swivel chairs. She spins round and round in them until daddy stops her. She’s too noisy energetic for admittance during play, so she’ll come again when play is over…the hotel staff will like that.

The first day

So I am paired against a Chinese WIM, rated 2206. I can beat her my best, which I’m nowhere near yet.

Black plays 24…Rxh3!

The game then went 25 c6 Bxc6 26 dxc6 Qxc6 27 Rc1 Qd5, at which point, with barely two minutes left and 13 moves to be played still, I blundered with Qxe7. It didn’t matter as the position above is already close to lost. Fritz suggests that instead of 28 Qxe7?? I harass the black queen further with 28 Rcd1, then after …Nf3 (threatening to win the queen and mate) 29 Qg3 and Qxd1! (see diagram below)

The New Year festivities will start tomorrow, so I take advantage of the quiet before the storm and go for a quick drink with a fellow Englishman. We have a very typical ex-pat conversation, with the first half spent talking about where we have been since we last met, the second half talking about football and the other half slagging England off. All in an English pub whilst drinking English beer of course!

The second day 

There is something seriously wrong with waking up at 7 am to play chess but this is what I do on day two. It’s the dreaded double round day. Not a morning player, the brain doesn’t get into gear at any point. I am paired against a Fijian CM rated 2046 first.

     The first game that day

I’ve studied the McCutcheon more than any other line in the French but I’m not awake enough to play it as it should be played…I am not awake enough to play full stop.

In second game I face an unrated player. I never know what to do against them. Caution is the best policy, I suppose, but frustrated from being on the back foot in last two games I try too hard, over-extend and lose again… frankly, I was too tired to care -far too much chess in one day.

 The second game that day

Despite the material advantage a blunder 20 moves later means a third consecutive loss. I am finding my way still, so its okay. Three blunders per tournament is acceptable. I have played three games and made two in time trouble already. Not good.

Caught in a mosh!

I use public transport to go home as both the subway and sky train are close to the hotel exit. I chose the skytrain as it’s connected to a skywalk -a safe haven I thought? I’m carrying a laptop but there are water throwers everywhere. I’m still dry as I walk but the station ahead is shutting down, it’s in chaos: there are people too drunk to move off the floor, people arguing, people pushing through the turnstiles without paying, people being accosted by security, all ticket machines shut down, the floor is one massive puddle of dirty water and beer with rubbish strewn everywhere, like the street below, the skywalk is a never-ending mosh pit: squeezed between hundreds of wet bodies, I move where they do, the stench of alcohol inescapable. When I finally get on the skytrain it empties out as we head further and further into the city. There are no commuters just wet, pissed up party-goers and one dry, solemn chess player.

Defeated by three straight losses as I sit in a taxi heading into the northern suburbs. It is dusk. The roads are quiet. I am too tired to think about anything. I am staring across the expressway into the darkening sky in the distance. At speed the road’s smooth surface numbs my mind further, as I sink into my seat nothing is said between the driver and myself. I am feeling my way home through suburbia under a flat city sky, following vehicles in front at random until they disappear into the provinces beyond but somewhere, somehow I feel more alive to what is facing me tomorrow. It stays with me, that I realize as I suddenly reach home in double-quick time.

The third day 

I emulate Fischer off the board by arriving late but alas not on it. No one said rounds 4-9 are played at 2 pm and not 3.30. I arrived 17 minutes late thinking I was too early! In the game I walk into time trouble again -now there’s a surprise! I play the Sicilian Sveshnikov for the first time ever in classical chess against a fellow Englishman, who deviates early on. I should have played something I am more familiar with given the lost time. Nevermind, I enjoyed the game anyway. Look forward to playing it again.

The city empties for a final time…why can’t it always be like this? Why can’t everyone just stay up country and never come back? Bangkok feels like a ghost town -I love it.

In the park opposite the venue, a guard was shot and killed last night.  No one knows why…probably there wasn’t a reason. It happened during a concert, the show went on regardless I’m sure…how can someone do something like that?

The fourth day 

I was awoken by electronic renditions of ‘She’ll be comin’ round the mountain’ from the little one’s bicycle….must remember to take the batteries of that thing. Such a dubious tune reminds me not to open youtube and play 80’s tracks for the little one as I get dressed. Is there anything worse than playing chess all day with some dodgy pop song stuck in your head? Anyway, I don’t care who I play anymore or how good they are, I will attack with the white pieces. I enjoy it being on the front foot more and a win at some point would be nice!

The fifth day 

I have remembered to arrive on time! Among the also-rans, I play some Norwegian dude who never speaks to anyone. Like his skinny Singaporean counterpart with his 1980’s felt sun-shade playing on the board next to us, he plays irrational, incoherent chess which makes for nothing other than hard work. I have the black pieces today.

Another victory pushes me up the table again. An incident occurs before the game. A Dutchman walks along the tournament hall whilst eating a prawn sandwich with a strange bird-like manner. He leaves a trail of prawns on the carpet and walks off without picking them up. Nobody else does either. Everyone’s just sitting around, waiting for the next game to start.

The heavens open on the way home but people still throw water in the streets. It is the pinnacle of pointlessness. A semblance of normality to return tomorrow?

The sixth day 

I play with the white and come up against the French. My opponent is just under 2000. In the analysis room afterwards, he tells me he’d received some Ginger GM training in his pet line courtesy of skype. I haven’t played against it before and am at a disadvantage. I spend the opening adorning my new tan whilst occasionally looking at the board -not!

I am outplayed -it happens. The FIDE no talking rule is chosen at random and enforced today meaning that no one is allowed to talk to anyone during their game. It’s just another measure to try and stop people cheating but no one pays attention. The new FIDE rules regarding dress are never mentioned, even though dozens of players would fall foul of them.

The seventh day

I play with black against some Austrian with a longer name and bigger body than Schwarzenegger, he’s around the 2000 mark (Elo not Kg’s). I can harness the nervous energy I feel before each game now. I’m fully focused, it’s Good Friday, I unleash a holy terror.

The problem with this move is that it weakens the kingside. I disregarded Nc5 (which looks okay) in favour of Bh4! White’s position is a mess already, I know I can exploit that with a well-timed sacrifice and begin looking at a sac on g3. I looked 5 moves ahead at the following position.

Spent about 5 minutes thinking about this position and thought the sacrifice could be justified for the following reasons in order of importance.

1 Black’s minor pieces have strong squares.

2 White is not well coordinated.

3 White cannot castle.

4 Black has already gained 3 pawns for his piece.

5 Black can take control of the center.

6 I cannot think of a coherent plan for white.

However, my opponent deviates with a very dubious move indeed.

I get a respectful handshake from my opponent. My chess is back to normal as is the city -hurrah! With the subway as packed as ever, I stand all the way home contented!

The final day 

I play some 13-year old Indian boy rated 1996 who demolished an IM, drew with an FM, then comfortably beat another player over 2300 in his first three games but that was at the beginning of the tournament and now we are at the end. His more recent results suggest that he is another who has lost their way during the tournament and now he is playing someone who has found his. It is that which is most important. I woke at 4.30 am for some reason and could not get back to sleep. I have the black pieces again. I see a GM picking his nose by the Concierge. Such shameful behaviour makes me wonder if he is behind the park shooting….I’ll consult an arbiter.

I finish with four out of nine and forty-five places above where my rating suggests I should be. Most of my opponents were over two hundred Elo points above me though only two out-played me. A shame it ends just as I pick up form…for once I go home sad! But before that, my daughter returns to the tournament hall to cause mischief once more. This time she climbs up on the stage just before the winners and steals the S.Korean flag off it.

There is traditional Thai dancing for those who stayed on…and then the tournament ends. Everyone leaves, no one really knows anyone so nothing other than a few polite goodbyes are said, until next year… .