AMarch 17 1977
Democrat and Chronicle, Rochester, New York, Thursday, March 17, 1977
Arthur Bisguier makes his way around the tables, as he plays 61 persons in a simultaneous chess match at the U. of R. D*C photos by Steve Groer
A Pawn in a Duel of Queens, Bishops
By LARRY KING D&C Staff Writer
Bobby Fischer once said during an interview that, for him, the high point of a chess match came when he began “to crush the other guy's ego.”
Anyone who wants to know what a crushed ego looks like can examine mine.
I played chess Tuesday night with Arthur Bisguier. So did 60 other people. Bisguier rolled over our egos like a German tank crossing the Polish border.
Bisguier, 46, of New York, is the resident grandmaster of the United States Chess Federation. The USCF sponsored a visit by him to the University of Rochester, at the invitation of the University of Rochester Chess Club.
He pitted himself against 61 foes way around the tables, as he plays in a duel simultaneously. The idea was to promote the game of chess by showing us what some high-caliber competition was like.
With some of his opponents, the idea may have backfired. I'm thinking about giving up chess for something less demanding, intellectually. Hopscotch, maybe.
You see, a grandmaster such as Bisguier is to chess what an All-Pro quarterback is to the NFL. I am to chess what Woody Allen is to the NFL.
The match took place in the Psychology Building on the U. of R. River Campus. Tables were set up along three walls of one room and along two walls of a smaller room next to it.
THE MATCH BEGINS at 7:30 p.m. Bisguier first announces some simple rules.
He has white and therefore the first move on all games. We are not to reply immediately to his opening, but to wait until he approaches, so he can see our move. He then will move and we will wait until he walks around again, and so on.
However, he says we can make his first move for him, provided it's a standard opening move and not something completely irrational. This, in effect, negates any advantage he might gain by having the first move.
I decided to be generous and allow Bisguier to make his own opening move.
He does, using the king's pawn. It is a conventional opening; my reply is equally conventional, using my queen's pawn.
The next four moves go like that, the usual jockeying for position. I realize, though, that I'm getting nervous each time Bisguier approaches. I'm scared of being humiliated.
This is what Fischer meant about crushing egos. Chess is a game of mental warfare. Luck is not involved, only the intellect.
If you lose, the inescapable conclusion is that you were defeated because you're dumber than your foe.
BEFORE THE MATCH started, Bisguier predicted he would win 90 per cent of the games. That would leave 54.9 of us feeling like idiots.
His fifth move leaves me feeling like something less than a mental giant. I'm baffled.
Worse, he made it without a pause to examine the board. Apparently, he didn't even need to think about it.
My hopes, never high, are being scaled down. I want now only to make him stop, think about what I've done, express some uncertainty.
My reply to his fifth move is conservative, something to buy time. But when Bisguier walks up again, he stops and thinks briefly.
Hah! Pressure getting to you, Bisguier?
He moves a pawn into a position that I immediately see is going to cause me grave problems.
SITTING ON MY LEFT is a young man named Jim Klingenberger, a member of Rochester's City Chess Club. He's in more trouble than I am.
At least I haven't lost any pieces yet. Bisguier is mowing down some people like tall weeds.
On the 11th move I lose a knight, but I immediately take one of Bisguier's. The match has taken an hour and 20 minutes so far.
Klingenberger's in bad shape. He's down a pawn and his over-all position on the board is poor.
At the table across from us, Bisguier wins his first match. He does it by checkmating his opponent, rather than by the opponent giving up.
My heart leaps as Bisguier comes to make his 14th move in our match. He stops, winces, looks at me, mutters under his breath, and finally moves.
Something like confidence returns. The next series of moves quickly destroys it. He captures a knight; I can't retaliate.
Klingerberger resigns.
FURTHER DOWN THE table, somebody else is checkmated.
I gamble on my next move, offering a bishop in exchange for a knight but putting my queen into an attacking position.
Bisguier looks at the board, frowns; looks at me. “You mean it?” he mutters. He ignores the offered exchange.
His move eliminates the potential threat of my queen, and does irreparable damage to my ego.
There is excited babbling at the other table. Bisguier has lost a match! He resigns to Scott Maid, a junior at the U of R and a member of the Chess Club. Maid wears the smile of a small boy who has just caught a very large fish.
Maid's victory gives me a surge of self-confidence. It is unfounded.
BISGUIER'S NEXT FEW moves progressively weaken my position. He is not pausing, now. My king is hiding behind a pitifully weak pawn. On his 24th move, Bisquier thrusts a rook down to my end of the board.
I gaze morosely at the position. I play out various combinations in my head. The best I can do is to prolong being checkmated for another five moves. Assuming Bisguier does not suffer a nervous breakdown, which he seems far from doing.
He has already beaten 20 opponents, lost to one, and accepted a draw from another. It is past midnight.
Bisguier approaches. I contemplate the three moves I could possibly make. Two are deadly; one is merely crippling.
I resign.
Much later, the entire match ends. Bisguier ends up winning 50 games, drawing eight, and losing three. He missed on his 90 per cent prediction by about five games, unless you split the difference and call half the draws wins.
Must have been an off night.
Arthur Bisguier and opponents ponder boards. D&C photo by Steve Groer
