Chess²

Short fiction (with Memoir elements)

Opening phase of the game, is one of the most important parts of chess. This is the part that decides players intention. Who wants to win, who just wants a draw. The move d4 is one of the most common first move in the modern chess. It is a very solid opening and it comes with many surprises. This is a real chess game played by my favourite GM -- Danil Dubov. This game itself showcases the dynamics of chess. Written from the first person of the kid - the main character, who is late. He shares about chess psychology, his own childhood, and shows how deep the game can really become.

I’m late.

On purpose.

I learned this when I was five, when my dad taught me the game of chess. We would sit at our small kitchen table that barely fit the board, and he would teach me how people think. Don’t play the odds, play the man. 

At that time, my older brother was better than I was, and he would always manage to convert even the most hopeless positions. He learned faster, played faster, and won without overthinking it. I hated that. Instead of studying, my first goal in the chess world was to beat him. Beat him as soon as I can, but the irony was that the moment I first beat him, it wasn’t dramatic. There was no celebration or a prize, he simply nodded, reset the pieces, and stared again. At that moment, something inside of me clicked, and the goal was no longer winning against him. The board became larger.

Chess started feeling like a system and game of squares, not pieces. It became more positional, more emotional. Silence was louder than words, and I finally got the grip of the game. People say chess is for intelligent/smart people. I never bought that. I have seen so many “smart” and “prepared” people panic, just because of slight pressure from the “average” players. It is not an IQ test, it’s a test of nerves, patience, and ego. A test of who can make a heartbreaking blunder and sit still like a stone.

Chess is weird like that. It punishes emotions, but it also exposes them. I learned to sit still and act like a gentleman, up until a time scramble, when I would literally do anything just to win the game -- throw pieces, play dirty and manipulate the opponent. I learned to wait, to let my opponent fill the space with their own thoughts and finally, when the right time comes, attack like a lion chasing its prey. My dad always said comfort is dangerous. The moment someone believes they are winning and starts relaxing is the moment you gotta strike back.

That’s why I am late today.

I always imagine my opponent sitting alone at the board, watching other games and contemplating what to do in that situation. He looks at the clock. He looks at the empty chair. Does he start the time? Does he wait? Maybe I won’t show up. Maybe he already won. That thought settles in, soft and reassuring. And as a rule, the moment my opponents think about easy wins is the moment I appear on the horizon and the mental momentum shifts immensely.  When I arrive, I don’t rush. I don’t apologize. I slowly adjust the pieces one by one, making sure everything is ready and only then… do I ask for water and start pouring it into the cup.

Being late isn’t disrespect. It’s information. It tells me how my opponent handles uncertainty. Some people get angry -- a win for me. Some get nervous -- a win for me. But some very trained people just don't care, they are the ones who crack very rarely, it feels like it is poker not chess. In that case, you have lost some time, and now you are the one who is not confident anymore. Suddenly, you are under clock pressure and during the game, you have to handle all the stress, and moreover, try to find weaknesses in opponent's eyes while playing the game.

Finally, I play the first move.

1. d4

Not aggressive, not passive. Just patient. A move that is considered one of the most solid choices in modern chess. A move that says I’m willing to wait longer than you are.

People think I'm good at tactics. They’re wrong. What I'm good at is waiting. I am ready to sit at the chessboard for ten plus hours and still be focused. Those early childhood lessons from my dad have shaped the person I am today. It decided my style of playing, and my intuition.

In chess, players start from the same position, with equal material. The only thing that is different is the mental state of a person. Life doesn’t work like that. There are usually external factors that you can’t control. Some forces that collapse or balance our lives. They are the forces that make us humans.

The pieces are developed. The position is balanced. Nothing has been won or lost yet. And that’s the most dangerous moment of all when the game feels stable, and you believe stability will last…

Screenplay

This section represents the moment where the kid stops trying to undo the loss. After an awful tournament performance of 0.5/5, the kid encounters an old man near the scoreboard sheet. The old man exposes the difference between a result and an identity. The kid is using the scoresheet's result as a way to explain the pain, while the old man, feeling that something is wrong, correctly notices and explains that the problem comes from the breakup and immense pressure from family's side. The turning point is not a win or a comeback, it is a change in kid's perspective of this world.

I still don’t know who the old man was.

I searched for him after the tournament. I asked the staff, players, and organizers. Nothing. No registration that matched him, not even a slightest memory that lined up with mine. It was like a conversation that happened in the middle of everything but in the middle of nothing. For a while I wondered if that was the point, that he was there to just be heard. 

Maybe that’s why his words stayed with me. Forever. Because everything after that was loud.

Suddenly, there was a realization moment, that was almost magical. Which led to my name going up the scoreboard. It felt like I didn’t change anything, but the “failure” loosened the stakes from me, and with no expectations, I started doing what I like, and what I deserve. I started winning.

What was fascinating to me that the moment people started noticing my talent, is the moment they began writing my personality. They build a version of me that fits their own logic, and they treat that version like it is real.

“He never gets nervous.”

“He’s naturally gifted.”

“He’s cold. He doesn’t care.”

“He’s a genius.”

“He’s always confident.”

“He’s built for this.”

Most of it was nonsense, because they were about the idea of me. The public doesn’t have time for a whole person, it only wants an eye-catching headline that will get more views. A label that makes it feel predictable.

The weird part is how quickly people protect that label. Everyone looks at the world through their own lens. They see something in me that may or may not be true, and then they adjust everything around it to make their lens feel correct. They see what they want to see. They believe in what they want to believe. This is a core problem in modern society that individuals look at this world only from their limited small window, that most of the time doesn’t tell the whole story, and they don’t even realize they’re doing it. They’re not trying to lie. They’re trying to make the world make sense.

No one asked for my personal life. Not at all. No one cared what it costs to sit at a board for eight plus hours and perform. No one asked who I was playing for, what my mental state was and maybe I have some other hidden talent. They only cared about performance. They only cared about whether i delivered.

That’s what attention does. It turns you into a result.

It also changes how you play. Once people expect you to win, you start playing like you’re defending a reputation. You stop taking some risks. You simplify earlier. You choose moves that look confident. You learn how to keep poker face in even the worst situations. You somehow start to become the person that they want to see in you. 

I would sometimes catch myself doing it and feel like I was watching someone else. That’s when I thought about old man again. The fact that I couldn’t find him. The fact that maybe he never existed outside that one singular conversation. Maybe he was the only voice that wanted more than just a win from me.

People called it overnight success. The engine evaluation was +5.6. A winning position. And on paper, in fact it was. But success always has a hidden side. The one that doesn't show up in any standings or analytics.