A case of chess nostalgia

For roving chess players, nostalgia is usually an emotion felt about time, not space. 

Wistful longing for the days of classical time controls, adjournments, and high quality endgames are common.  And it’s also not that rare to hear an experienced player complain about how databases and computer programs have destroyed a lot of the magic of the sport – usually just after they’ve been beaten on move twenty of a Najdorf by a young whippersnapper’s computer preparation.

Coffeehouse blitzers will bend your ear for hours as they reminisce about the Fischer-Spassky match of 1972, debate whether the heady heights of Tal’s tactical prowess or Petrosian’s defensive brilliance will ever be matched, and proudly announce to all passers-by that “Botvinnik-Capablanca, game eleven, 1938” was, without doubt, the greatest game of all time.

Games, players, eras – those are what makes the chess stalwart’s eyes water and mind wander.

But places?  Well, for a travelling chess professional, exotic cities and far-out countries are merely different stages on which the familiar scenes of five-star hotels, lax personal hygiene and vicious contests of the greatest game of all are acted out.  One city is just as good as the next when the daylight hours are entirely spent hunched over wooden men, and the night-time over the laptop.

However, as I make preparations to move to Europe in the next few weeks, I’ve found myself becoming increasingly nostalgic about the most peculiar things.

For example, this weekend sees the annual Doeberl Cup, Australia’s premier chess weekender, in Canberra.  Being in my home town, and given I’ve played every one for as far back as I can remember, you’d think there would be no reason to feel any extra sense of attachment as I prepare for yet another Easter weekend in the less-than-glamorous suburb of Woden.  And yet, running through my subconscious is the constant reminder that this may well be my last chess tournament on Australian soil, at least for the foreseeable future.

It’s a fitting way to leave things, given that the Canberra chess community (and Canberra more generally) has been very kind to me.  Representative of that in my mind is the Doeberl Cup, and so, perhaps for the first time ever, I’m beginning to feel an emotional attachment – to a chess tournament.

This could perhaps imply some sort of insanity, although one might counter that, given a man once went to court in order to legally marry a comic book character, I might be allowed a little leeway with my emotions on this one.  In any case, my nostalgia most probably has more to do with the hectic coming weeks as I plan my departure, and then the subsequent months as I gradually make my way to a new home in Europe.   

The current route, by the way, looks as follows: 

Chile (to see my good friend and occasional guest blogger, Tristan Stevens)  –  Argentina  –  Uruguay  –  South Africa (for the Commonwealth Chess Championships, featuring my mate and occasional chess adversary, Gawain Jones)  –  Namibia  –  Botswana  –  Peru (to teach a chess program in the Huaycan district for the Light and Leadership Initiative – and yes I am aware of the geographical stupidity of this order)  –  Spain  –  EUROPA.

For fellow chess nostalgics, chess enthusiasts, or just local Canberrans hanging around for the long weekend, I suggest you drop in on the Hellenic Club in Woden to check out an Australian chess institution.  Three sections, six grandmasters and a prize pool close to $18,000 head the attractions.  Plus, the Hellenic club is known for occasionally featuring an odd Bon Jovi cover band, named, ironically enough, Ivoj Nob. 

My nostalgia doesn’t quite extend that far.