Fool's Mate: Part I

"The game of chess, like the game of love, can be played in an almost infinite number of variations. Some are wins, some are losses, some are draws, and a few happen to end in a stalemate." -- Tim Rice

In my freshman year of college, my University Writing class chose the Iraq War as our collective final paper topic. Since I loathe political discussions almost as much as I loathe current events, I instead wrote a lovely essay comparing warfare to the game of chess. About a third of that paper discussed the use of the game as a metaphor for war as presented in Chess, a brilliant musical written by Benny Andersson, Bjorn Ulvaeus, and Tim Rice. It's set at the World Chess Championship during the height of the Cold War, and it tells the story of an American player, a Russian player, the woman they love, and their fight for control of each other and themselves. The show explores both battle and the battle of the sexes in terms of tactical chess theory, and while I spent most of University Writing class exploring the former, I've never given the latter its due. It's a pity, really; as a hopeless romantic and former competitive chess player who has experienced wins, losses, draws, and stalemates in both games, I'm an authority on the subject. And since a new concert version of Chess (starring Josh Groban and Adam Pascal) is coming to PBS next year and the song "You and I" has been running through my head on a loop for the past four days for reasons that I won't discuss here, what better time than the present? Like every chess game, this entry will be broken into three parts: the opening, the middlegame, and the endgame.

I. Opening Combination

"The one I should not think of keeps roaming through my mind, and I don't want to let that go. No lover's ever faithful, no contract truly signed, there's nothing certain left to know. But how the cracks begin to show!" -- Tim Rice, from Chess

Every chess game between two experienced players starts with an opening combination. There's no free will when it comes to chess openings -- every move should be made according to historical precedent if a player wants to stand a chance of winning. Thus, every chess student is at some point forced to memorize the most common openings well enough to play them automatically in competition.

Trouble is, there are thousands of openings and many are separated by mere subtleties, all of which determine your opponent's reaction. For example, if both players advance their King's pawns, white moves a Knight to attack black's pawn, and black moves a knight to attack white's pawn, both players are expected to follow the Petroff line of play. If black moves the other Knight and white pushes a Bishop to c4, it becomes the Giucco Piano combination. Move the Bishop out one more square to b5 and both players have committed to the Ruy Lopez opening. If white leaves the Bishop alone and pushes his Queen's pawn two spaces, it's the Scotch Game. Most romantic interactions start this way as well: two people size each other up, they introduce themselves, one offers to buy the other a drink. Accepting it opens one avenue of play, while declining it opens another.

Some people play common openings, some people play rare openings, some play them strictly by the book, some like to innovate. In my tournament days, I favored the sneaky approach and played established versions of uncommon openings. The Nimzowitsch-Larsen Attack was my favorite: I would push a pawn to b3 on my first move, fianchetto my Bishop to b2 on my second, and watch my opponent squirm when he had no idea what I was up to. I've always felt that a person's playing style can be ascertained by the way he navigates his opening combination, but maybe that's because my favorite opening represents me so well. I handle the first moments of personal interaction with a potential partner the same way I play the Nimzo-Larsen: I put something subtle and unique on the table and see how he reacts. If he's proactive and builds up his center, we end up with an interesting game. If he plays it safe and defends his Kingside, I almost always win, we shake hands, and we part ways. The opening is like a first impression: it shapes what happens in the rest of the game, but you don't really know who you're playing until after it's over.

In the musical Chess, four games appear almost immediately during the first half of the first act. First, we learn that the World Chess Championship will be played between an American champion and a Russian champion as both governments argue over the awaited outcome. Next, Freddie Trumper, the brash, immature American chess champion, arrives with Florence Vassy, an intelligent and diplomatic woman who has endured the torment of Freddie's company as his lover and tournament second for nearly a decade. Third, we become acquainted with Anatoly Sergievsky, the quietly brilliant Russian chess champion whose conscience battles against his knowledge that he's merely a puppet of his Communist government. Finally, we see the actual series of matches that Anatoly and Freddie play for the title of World Champion -- games constantly interrupted by Freddie's antics, Russian accusations, and dirty play from both sides. However, near the end of the first act, all of these pairings are revealed to be part of the opening combination, mere decoys designed to make the game more interesting. The true opponents in this game aren't the US and USSR, Freddie and Florence, or even Freddie and Anatoly.

In a development that shocked me when I first became acquainted with Chess, our players are actually Anatoly and Florence. They interact as skilled chess masters should during the show's first few songs – they follow traditional opening play, stake and fortify their positions, interact only when necessary. They make all their moves by the book, but as they play, Anatoly begins to appreciate Florence's smart, civilized, nurturing style and Florence can't help but notice Anatoly's quiet intensity and honorable nature. Catalyzed by Freddie's irresponsibility, Florence and Anatoly find that, though they are technically opponents, they can't think of anything they'd rather do than spend time with each other. There's a mutual attraction, but with Freddie hovering close by and the World Championship looming, they enter the middlegame at an impasse.

To be continued in Part II.