Prologue A Tournament Revealed

On a chilly Friday the week before Christmas, 150 adults and children drift into a pleasant if undistinguished Sheraton hotel in Atlantic City to spend the weekend in common cause. Th e diversity is impressive. First graders mingle with octogenarians. Present are college students, doctors, and those who, to judge from their clothing, are homeless. Some are dressed in coats and ties, and a few reveal their admiration for hip-hop; many wear T-shirts and jeans. Attendees are black, His- panic, white, and Asian. A few are women. Th is is the opening of the inaugural Atlantic City International Chess Tournament (“Imagine Your Dreams on the Board and on the Boardwalk”). Th ese gamers play six rounds over three days, and in the gaps in the schedule some stroll to local casinos, trying their skills in poker, a pastime at which many strategically minded chess players excel. For each tournament game, a player is allocated two hours, al- though those with digital clocks receive 115 minutes with a fi ve-second delay before the clock starts counting, allowing more time in the end- game’s rush. Th e organizers rented a ballroom for the formal games and a smaller “skittles” room for informal play. Some of those de- camped in the skittles room do not enter the tournament, fi nding the bets laid down in “street chess” more lucrative. A few men are chess hustlers like those at Washington Square. Organizers have also set up a bookstore, selling magazines, chess sets, and trinkets, and there is a tournament room where the organizers establish game pairings and resolve disputes over rules and judges’ decisions that inevitably arise. Th is is the tournament’s inaugural year, and I have been permit- ted to watch the planning from the start. Th e organizers, two well- x Prologue established tournament directors from Chicago, are nervous about attendance.1 Th ey dream of fi ve hundred and fear one hundred. Win- ter storms hold off , but the timing a week before Christmas dampens attendance. Choosing Atlantic City, a rough- hewn gambling town, might have dissuaded cautious parents. Th e fi nal numbers, slightly more than 160, are a real disappointment and a fi nancial blow (the defi cit is slightly above $20,000, not pocket change), given the prize money and advertisements. Th e organizers revel in dark humor about their misfortune, speculating on the responses of their families. For- tunately players book enough rooms to meet the contractual obli- gations with the hotel, so the Sheraton does not levy a penalty. Th e tournament promises $50,000 based on fi ve hundred players, one of the larger prize funds of the year, but, as at many tournaments, the organizers carefully promise only $30,000 if the number of entries does not meet expectations. Th e tournament was not held the follow- ing year. But tournaments are not about accounting; they are about com- munity, friendship, and rough competition. On Th ursday evening, the organizers have arranged a “simul” (simultaneous demonstration) with Gata Kamsky, a challenger for the world championship and the second-highest- rated American player. In a simul, a chess star plays all comers, making rapid moves as he visits each board in turn, giving less talented opponents time to consider their moves. Perhaps as a result of the low attendance, Kamsky, sometimes seen as shy or aloof, jokes, gives personal advice to each of his eight opponents, and de- scribes classic games. He is charming, and his opponents clearly enjoy the attention, even though the low attendance means that he will not receive much for the evening; he retains all registration fees for the event. Tonight there are no upsets, and Kamsky triumphs in his com- petition and chooses to play in the tournament. Simuls are a means by which lower- level players can touch the stars, and these events are a drawing card for many players. One can play (and lose to) a man who might someday be crowned the best in the world. World champions such as Garry Kasparov and Anatoly Karpov fi ll their simuls, but Kam- sky is not a suffi cient draw to encourage players to stay an extra night on the Jersey shore, even if rooms are a modest ninety-nine dollars. Most players arrive on Friday morning as the communal feeling slowly builds. Th e fi rst game starts on time at 11:00 a.m. Between rounds attendees greet friends, gossip about mutual acquaintances, A Tournament Revealed xi review games with past opponents (sharing disappointments and startling victories), play rapid and informal contests, sightsee, or study. Many parents bring children, and some analyze the children’s games, generally with good grace. Some children travel with siblings or school friends, resulting in running and wrestling, but no more than mild boisterousness. Still, this is an adult tournament; most chil- dren have attended similar tournaments and conduct themselves with dignity. Once chess tournaments were infamous for delayed rounds,2 but with the advent of computer programs, most events run smoothly unless complaints arise about pairings. Players oft en guess their op- ponent, given their rating and record, and become distressed (or de- lighted) if they guess wrong. Th ey also expect to switch the color of their pieces. Most players prefer white, which according to one study wins 58 percent of decided games.3 Th e major complaints this week- end involve color assignment, although some players object to playing those with greater or fewer victories. At the Atlantic City tournament, complaints only occur, as they oft en do, prior to the fi nal round when the results directly aff ect the fi nal outcome. Most tournaments are not a single event, but, as in the case of the Atlantic City tournament, multiple tournaments run in parallel. Each is limited to players of a particular strength level. Th e elite compe- tition is the open section for the top players, although anyone can register. When other players complete their games, they drift to the tables in the open section, where they watch the marquee players. Other sections are for players with ratings under 2200, under 2000, under 1800, under 1600, under 1400, and under 1200. Open section matchups are based on ratings from the World Chess Federation; the others use ratings from the United States Chess Federation, fi gured diff erently and slightly more generous. Th irty- three players partici- pate in the open division, including eight grandmasters (players with a World Chess Federation rating over 2500 and at least three tourna- ment “norms,” or strong results) and six international masters (excel- lent players who have not yet achieved suffi cient ratings and norms to be grandmasters). Th e outcome is as expected, as the two top-rated grandmasters, Gata Kamsky and the Dutch star Loek van Wely, tie for fi rst (splitting $3,600). Oft en chess tournaments conclude without a single champion. Th ere are no major upsets, but players can watch chess at its highest level, comparable to a contest at an elite interna- xii Prologue tional tournament. Th eir prizes are neither glorious nor insignifi cant. As grandmasters they don’t pay an entry fee, but a fee is deducted from their winnings (seven of the eight grandmasters win money this weekend). Because of how the rounds are paired, Kamsky and van Wely played in the third round, rather than in a climatic sixth round, although the fi nal round was tense, as it was clear that the order of fi n- ish would be determined by these contests. However, at some tourna- ments the two top players face each other during the fi nal round for the cash prize and bragging rights. On these occasions the table is sur- rounded by those less gift ed whose games have concluded. Th e top six boards at which those players with the most wins and highest ratings compete are set on individual tables set apart from the other boards, which are placed on long tables. Th is supports the concentration of top players. Yet, at the end of the fi nal round attendees crane to see the top boards, edging as close as possible. Th is is where the action is. As the clocks tick down in the deciding game at some tournaments, the players rush to move with a whir of hands and a clattering of pieces, but more oft en these games end anticlimactically with a resignation by one player who can see the end in sight or an agreement to a gentle- manly draw, dividing the prize. Leaders of other sections also receive monetary prizes, less lucra- tive than the open division. While all games are played in the same ball- room, spectators rarely observe the lower- rated sections. Th e lower the rating of players, the more likely their games will end quickly. Th e ballroom empties from back to front. As at many tournaments where players fi ght for cash prizes, those with weak records oft en withdraw from the fi nal rounds, seeing no point in playing for its own sake. Th is is so common that excuses are not necessary. Nine of the thirty- three players in the open division depart before the fi nal round, an indica- tion of the fi nancial considerations of chess competition. Th e most emotionally intense moment is the late-night blitz com- petition in which twenty- one players compete in a rapid- fi re event in which each player has fi ve minutes to make all his moves, and in which many games end with a player running out of time. In contrast to the deliberate silence of the main event, blitz is a bodily rush, slamming of clocks, and a wash of good fellowship. Sometimes this fellowship is forgotten—I have seen pieces and boards thrown aft er particularly distressing defeats. Each competitor plays an opponent twice, once as white and once as black, for a total of ten games. Blitz competition, A Tournament Revealed xiii now found in most multiday tournaments, is a collective favorite that seems more like video games than thoughtful deliberation. Th e fact that these competitions are held late in the evening adds pungency, separating day from night. While success in blitz correlates with skill in traditional chess, some players are renowned for their skill in speed chess. On Sunday evening the fi nal games end, checks are distributed, and players depart. Th e Atlantic City tournament did not have a conclud- ing drama of a battle between two champions or the cachet of leading events: the World Open in Philadelphia, the National Open in Las Ve- gas, or the United States Open. Yet joy and quiet sadness were evident, along with restraint and decorum. At minor tournaments few stories enter chess lore. Th e expected players win, and the upsets are not so dramatic as to reveal a new chess star. Th is tournament typifi ed most midsize events. People networked, but there was suffi cient diversity of backgrounds, abilities, and inter- ests that not all participants belonged to one community. Even top players did not know more than a few dozen others. While the tour- nament seemed a single event, in fact it was a collection of nodes, bound together on this occasion. Th e eight grandmasters and other titled players had competed against each other, but many players knew only a few others. Th e world of competitive chess is built on clusters of tiny publics, wispy groups that appear for a pleasant week- end and vanish like the snow.