Bobby Fischer Goes to War

presciently enough:

He studied all day
and played all night.
But he wouldn’t play a match
unless things were just right.

Inevitably, chess metaphors spilled into other items in the news, most particularly into politics. In The New York Times, an opinion piece by Tom Wicker described President Nixon’s decision to choose Spiro Agnew as his vice presidential running mate in the forthcoming election as a sort of “king’s pawn opening.” Why a “king’s pawn opening” as opposed to a “queen’s” or “queen’s bishop’s pawn” was unclear and unexplained.

Predictably, diplomatic correspondents called on chess to describe negotiations between Washington and Moscow. One such article satirized the recent superpower summit, imagining it as a chess contest between Bobby Nixon and Boris Brezhnev. Far from shunning publicity, a la Fischer, Nixon courted it. “Nixon has insisted from the start that the match be held in as large a place as possible, that television cameras be turned on and kept on well before and after each game, that either he or his second be interviewed daily, and that all games be scheduled between 8 P.M. and 11 P.M., Los Angeles time….”

In Britain, a broadsheet daily The Guardian wrote, “Getting President Nixon and Mr Brezhnev together [in May 1972] was child’s play compared with the Fischer-Spassky chess summit.” The editorial assumption was that readers on both sides of the Atlantic had followed the chess drama. “Mugs sell mags” is the rule, and the tall, besuited genius made a compelling picture, while his personality and behavior could be relied on for a peg or angle to hook the reader.

The press attention given to the match was all the more surprising in the light of the competition for space.

Most important, there was Vietnam. As Kissinger shuttled between Washington, Saigon, and Paris in search of a peace agreement, Nixon pledged that there would be no letup in the bombing of North Vietnam without substantial progress in the negotiations, though he continued to withdraw American troops. Meanwhile, jury selection had begun for the trial of Daniel Ellsberg on charges of conspiracy, theft, and espionage of the top-secret Pentagon Papers, the seven-thousand-page study of America’s involvement with Vietnam.

The conflict in Southeast Asia was not the only fissile issue preoccupying the president: the election was looming. At 2:30 A.M. on 17 June of that year (Iceland’s Independence Day), five burglars wearing rubber surgical gloves had been arrested at the Democratic National Headquarters in Washington’s Watergate complex. The police found they were carrying electronic eavesdropping equipment, cameras for photographing documents, walkie- talkies, and large sums in consecutively numbered $100 bills. As the match went on, two young journalists, Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, were on the trail, their articles slowly forcing their way from the inside to the front pages.

Nixon was already involved in attempts to conceal the White House’s role in the break-in and continued to be at the center of the cover-up as summer turned into autumn and his thoughts were occupied with preparations for the Republican convention in late August (he was renominated by 1,347 votes to 1). The Watergate film All the President’s Men has the radio reporting Fischer’s forfeiture of game two as Woodward finds his first message from the secret source “Deep Throat” hidden in his breakfast New York Times. With the growing involvement of Congress and the courts and daily fresh evidence from the press, as the match ground on, Nixon became engaged in his own desperate game of chess, making move after move to save his presidential skin.

Chile was the scene of increasing anarchy (fueled, as we know now, by the United States) under the divisive and ultimately doomed government of the democratically elected socialist Salvador Allende.

In Northern Ireland, it was a summer of dreadful riots, paramilitary killings, and bombings. The psychopathic ruler of Uganda, Idi Amin, expelled the country’s fifty thousand Asian citizens on 5 August, accusing them of “sabotaging the country”—in fact, the Asian community was at the heart of Uganda’s business and commerce, as the country discovered to its cost after the expellees had grudgingly been given refuge in Britain by the Conservative government.

Readers seeking relief could turn to the sporting pages. Billie Jean King beat Evonne Goolagong in the Wimbledon women’s final, while Stan Smith defeated Ilie Nastase in the men’s. In golf, Lee Trevino won the British Open, and Belgian cyclist Eddie Merckx took the Tour de France for the fourth time. And as the chess match was drawing to a close, attention was shifting to Munich and the Olympics: Soviet hearts would beat faster when tiny Olga Korbut rippled her way to gymnastic gold. Among other American triumphs, Mark Spitz would capture seven swimming gold medals.

Munich would be remembered for the spilling of blood. A few days after the closing ceremony in Reykjavik, the Black September Palestinian terrorist group took eleven members of the Israeli Olympic team hostage and then murdered them.

If amid all these events, Fischer-Spassky found its way on to the front pages, it was not just because of the challenger’s personality, the chess itself, or the off-board antics. In the United States there was much more to it than that. The country was undergoing a fit of cultural pessimism, mainly because of Vietnam, but also because of social and racial cleavages at home. Now, in the words of George M. Cohan’s bouncy lyrics, here was “a real live nephew of [his] Uncle Sam, the kid with all the candy”—in other words, here was an undisputed, unalloyed world- class player who (once he started to play) appeared to be a kick-ass winner. When Americans bought into chess, they were affirming the American way. Fischer appeared to be a guarantee that can-do America could do it at a time when it was profoundly in need of that reassurance.

19. TO THE BITTER END

In a contest for the nicest guy in chess, Bobby Fischer would finish out of the money. But he is definitely the best chess player in the world.

—ISAAC KASHDAN

The match was following a path familiar from Fischer’s blitzkrieg to the final. Spassky appeared to be crushed. And experience told that once down, Fischer’s opponents never bounced back. The challenger was the master of the kill. In the face of weakness or injury, while others might ease up, he only raised the pressure.

Would history be a guide to this match?

Fischer opened the fourteenth game, again with the English. The realization must surely have dawned on Spassky that much of his opening preparation—such as it was—had been wasted. But the champion’s demeanor had improved. Maybe it was the arrival of Larisa that lifted his spirits, maybe leaving the hotel for its dachalike annex in which they could enjoy family life.

His more positive state of mind became evident in this game. On move fourteen he played a knight retreat (Ne7), turning down the opportunity to simplify the position and exchange knights. Chess books on the match give Ne7 an exclamation mark, meaning it is strong (a weak move is branded with a question mark). Perhaps taken aback, Fischer gave away a pawn. Six moves later, Spassky blundered disastrously in return, pawn to f6 (double question mark), in what should have been a hard but ultimately won ending.

Now it was down to rook, bishop, knight, and five pawns against rook, bishop, knight, and five pawns. The