the blog quebecois

Reuters:

Chess's world governing body will introduce dope testing at the Asian Games this week, although the sport's top official in Doha said he had no idea how drugs could enhance chess performance.

"I would not know which drug could possibly help a chess player to improve his game," competition manager Yousuf Ahmad Ali said.

Me either. But maybe someone should have tested world champion Vladimir Kramnik before he played a game against the formidable Deep Fritz program a few days ago in Germany (via Colby Cosh):

The diagram shows Kramnik's (playing Black) disastrous 34th move, Qe3. To which Fritz responded, 35. Qh7 mate.

Far be it from me to second-guess a Grandmaster, but I think I know what happened. Most commentators thought the position was at best a draw, but Kramnik was aiming to exchange Queens, to eliminate the most troublesome White piece. From there, his superior Pawn structure (and Bishop vs. Knight on an open board) would have given him a victory in the endgame.

So in search of that goal, he fell victim to something that bites (I am happy to see) even the best players from time to time: Getting so narrowly focused on the immediate tactical situation that you become oblivious to the striking power of the Queen or Bishop on a long diagonal.

You wouldn't think it's easy to lose track of pieces on a 64-square board, but it does happen. (It afflicts players the other way, too -- forgetting that you have a devastating weapon in a far corner.)

Against human players, at least these mistakes will average out over time. Not against machines. They never miss the obvious. *

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* T'was not always thus. In 1977 or thereabouts the first commercially-available chess computer, the Fidelity Chess Challenger, came out. I was in Africa at the time, and two of the stronger players there were two Marines at the US embassy. Let me amend that somewhat. One guy, Dom Caruso from New York, was good. The other, John Hathaway from Texas, was unquestionably the best natural talent I've ever encountered. As I repeatedly nagged reminded him, he easily could qualify as a Master (a designation you earn by playing in officially-rated tournaments) with a bit of work on his opening theory. He would laugh, and then kick my ass all over the board with his deeply flawed opening theory.

Anyway, John ordered one of the machines from the States, and we all eagerly got together when it arrived a few weeks later. John was first to play (well, he did pay for it) and it tidily defeated him. Much nervous laughter. We weren't used to seeing John lose at the chessboard. Dom's up next, with the same result. So it was left to me to reclaim man's honor.

I was about a dozen moves into a standard King-side attack when I got a hunch. I made a move that didn't really make any sense. It didn't damage my position, apart from losing a bit of tempo. (The advantage the White player has by moving first, with the subsequent pressure on Black.) The computer whirred and clicked away for a full minute and then spat out a spectacularly-stupid reply. John and Dom and I looked at the move, then we looked at each other, then we looked at the move again. I checkmated it about four or five turns later.

When I got back to Canada, I immediately bought a Chess Challenger and tried the same stunt. Whoops. It was version 2.0 by then; they'd fixed that bug: It proceeded to stomp me but good.