Korchnoi, Karpov, Euwe and me

Make no mistake: the second volume of the Korchnoi biographical saga Viktor Korchnoi: Year by Year (1969-1980) by Hans Renette and Tibor Karolyi (published by Elk and Ruby) is a must-buy for any serious chess enthusiast. Viktor Korchnoi was one of the chess greats, possibly the greatest not to have won the world championship. His rivals for this accolade include Johannes Zukertort, Siegbert Tarrasch, Aron Nimzowitsch, Akiba Rubinstein, David Bronstein and Paul Keres. In each case it was their bad luck to contest the limelight with the supreme wizards of the chessboard: Wilhelm Steinitz, Emanuel Lasker, Alexander Alekhine and the Red Czar of the Soviet Chess Imperium, Mikhail Botvinnik. It is an interesting fact that of the ten Grandest of Grandmasters cited above, no fewer than eight emerged from the rich traditions of pre-Second World War European Jewish culture.

Korchnoi’s games and results were both extraordinarily complex and strikingly brilliant. His strength of will and fierce determination were a byword and if chess is a pure fight, as Lasker maintained, then Korchnoi was the Godfather Incarnate of mental combat. Paul Keres’ chief claim to preeminence consisted of four consecutive silver medals in the world championship qualifiers in 1953, 1956, 1959 and 1962. Korchnoi arguably went one better, with three consecutive shots at the world title itself: in 1974, 1978 and 1981. In each case his challenge ultimately foundered on the immovable object represented by the golden boy of the Soviet chess establishment, Anatoly Karpov.

Let me quickly enumerate two suggested improvements which might be incorporated in what will doubtless be the third and final volume. First of all, I would have preferred to see fewer drawn games included, in favour of more complete games rather than fragments.

Next, and here volume three will create a perfect opportunity for restitution, I would love to see a statistical record of Korchnoi’s most important tournaments and matches, with the full scores given. That would make it considerably easier to follow the narrative. Ideally, volume three could embrace all such events from the start of Korchnoi’s career, notably his Soviet Championship laurels, his Candidates tournament and matches and, of course, his attempts at the world title.

The highlight of volume two is, of course, the colossal 1978 battle with Anatoly Karpov for the world championship. This produced one of the most bitter struggles ever witnessed for the title, both on the chessboard and off — a predictable outcome, given the stand-off between a loyal Soviet citizen and a dissident who had defected.

At the climax of this 1978 World Chess Championship, I was approached by Dr Max Euwe, a former World Champion and longtime President of FIDÉ (the World Chess Federation), with a singular proposition. Having started catastrophically by going four wins to one down, Korchnoi, the ex-Soviet émigré, had fought back to level the scores at five wins each against the defending Champion, Karpov.  In the light of what follows, it is crucial to remember that the first player to score six wins would take the match and thus be crowned World Chess Champion.

With the two matadors of the mind on five wins each (with 21 drawn games), both Korchnoi and Karpov were poised on a cliff edge, when just one more victory for either side would determine the outcome of the contest. It was at this tense moment that Euwe, who was responsible for the administration of the world championship, came to me to suggest that the current match be cancelled, with a resumption to be scheduled for the following year, with Karpov to remain Champion during the interim and scores to start at 0-0.

As Chief of Korchnoi’s delegation, I now had a difficult decision to make. In the first instance, should I even inform Korchnoi of Euwe’s offer? If I did convey the offer, I felt that it would place him in an impossible situation. Should Korchnoi refuse the offer, the lost opportunity of acceptance might haunt him in the game, or games, to come, especially if he were to find himself at a disadvantage at any time. On the other hand, having won three games from the past four, accepting the offer would forfeit the benefits of the victorious roll on which Korchnoi found himself. To continue the match might well represent Korchnoi’s last best hope of conquering the chess Everest, which had been his lifelong ambition. He was by then 47, two decades older than Karpov. A further consideration was that, in my experience and contrary to the opinion of those less well informed, Korchnoi played dreadfully when stressed or angry. Continuing the match, with the nagging thought at the back of his mind that he could have bailed out, would have been a very bad idea.

My major qualm, though, was the court of public opinion. The match had reached a peak of excitement. To rob the feverishly expectant global audience of the final coup de grace, from either side, seemed to me to be a moral dereliction of our sporting obligations to the planetary community of millions of chess fans, not to mention those new to chess, who had been captivated by the drama of Korchnoi’s phoenix-like resurrection.

Consider sporting parallels: what if the Wimbledon final were called off during the final tie-break, because both players were looking a bit tired? They would have been lucky to leave Centre Court with any reputation or dignity intact, and the umpire responsible would have been (metaphorically) lynched, first by the crowd and then by the media.

Korchnoi had won by four wins to one from the point when I had taken over as Head of Delegation. With Karpov clearly struggling, Korchnoi was about to play as Black (with which it is harder to win). My plan was to draw this game quickly and then keep on a relentless attack as White in the next game against the mentally fatigued Karpov.

Having considered all these facets, I therefore discreetly declined Euwe’s offer. But things did not go according to plan. Advised by others in his camp, Korchnoi went hell for leather in the next game as Black. In the process he over-exposed himself. Thus he lost the 32nd and (as it turned out) final game.

As readers will have deduced from the above, I play a significant role in this epic narrative, since I functioned as Korchnoi’s chief second for his crucial matches in his 1977/1978 world championship campaign. For his matches against Polugaievsky and Spassky, I acted both as chief second and Head of Delegation. Against Karpov,  Korchnoi retained my services as Chief Second, but initially replaced me as Head of Delegation by his colourful companion, Petra Leeuwerik. She was a virulent anti-communist, incarcerated for ten years in the Vorkuta labour camp for attempting to blow up a train in Soviet-occupied Linz.

As this book clearly manifests, Petra was more concerned with scoring propaganda points against the USSR, given the opportunity of being able to speak from a global platform, than with the more humdrum task of winning a chess match. At the halfway point, after a disastrous start, Korchnoi placed me in charge once again. During Petra’s reign Korchnoi had lost four games and won just one. Once I regained control, Korchnoi won four games, with just two losses, and came to the brink of becoming world champion.

The book also recounts many instances of suspected betrayal, wild allegations and manifold dark and secret deeds. My advice is to take most of such allegations and poor excuses for losing with a double pinch of salt, not least because that well known paragon of mental good health, Bobby Fischer, is even reported here as having concocted the ludicrous assertion that Korchnoi was a spy for the US government. As The Tempest has it, more or less, if the government is brained like this, then the state totters.

For this week’s games, follow the links to the three Korchnoi wins which brought him to the brink of the world title:

Karpov vs. Korchnoi (game 28)

Korchnoi vs. Karpov (game 29)

Korchnoi vs. Karpov (game 31)

Ray’s 206th book, Chess in the Year of the King , written in collaboration with former Reuters chess correspondent, Adam Black, appeared late last year. Now  his 207th, Napoleon and Goethe: The Touchstone of Genius (which discusses their relationship with chess) is also available from Amazon and Blackwell’s.

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