Attitude Check #9--Perspective


Triple Self-Portrait, 1960--Norman Rockwell Museum

“Pete, how do we fix my game?” Bill (not his real name) queried.  He was in his early thirties, and had started playing again after college and the service.  “We don’t,” I said.  Bill looked crestfallen, so I added, “We don’t fix it because there’s nothing to fix.”  “Then why do I lose all these games?” he asked.  I thought for a moment.  “Suppose you’ve never spent any time in the wilderness and didn’t know anything about judging the weather from the wind and sky, or about handling bad weather at high elevations in the Cascades.  Now suppose you’re up on Mt. Hood by yourself, and the sky begins to darken and the wind starts to pick up.  You’re not sure if there’s a storm blowing in, or, if there is, what you need to do to get ready for it.  That’s a pretty uncomfortable feeling, isn't it?”  He nodded, clearly wondering what this had to do with winning or losing chess games.  I went on.  “Suppose, however, you had a wilderness guide with you who could not only show you what to do in that situation, but could also prepare you to handle a similar situation by yourself the next time?”  “That would be great,” Bill said, “and the next time I was out there, the same situation would probably feel like a piece of cake.”  “Uh huh,” I said.  “There’s nothing wrong with your chess, Bill.  There are simply places in the wilderness where you’ve never been, and skills you haven’t had the opportunity to develop and perfect yet.”  He smiled his understanding and said, “And that’s where you come in, right?  You’re my chessboard wilderness guide and skill trainer.”  I nodded, and then he and I got to work analyzing one of his recent games.

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Proper perspective is a critical part of the journey to successful chess.  There are many ways we can trip ourselves up with our thinking, and most of them seem rooted in how we characterize our successes and failures at chess, our progress as players, and the tremendously imprecise concept referred to as our “playing strength.”  

Years ago I was fighting to hold a tough ending against another master at the Marshall Chess Club in New York City.  I had been much better, perhaps even winning, earlier in the game, but had blundered.  Needless to say, I was upset with myself, and my stress level felt like a stockbroker's during a market crash.  I couldn't bear the thought of losing after having had such a good position earlier on.  With all this internal chaos going on, it was hard to find the focus and energy to handle the very real problems my opponent was presenting me with his moves.  My position wasn't wonderful, and the dialogue going on inside my skull was making it even worse. 

Then I had an epiphany of sorts.  Not blinding lights or celestial voices, but a clear thought in place of the confusion: "Who really cares whether I win or lose?"  I did, of course, and my opponent obviously did.  Other players in the tournament would also be interested, as would some of my friends, though mostly out of concern for my general welfare.  The simple fact was that most people, even most chess players, wouldn't even know, much less care, what happened in my game late that night in the playing hall at the Marshall.  The clean light of true perspective had broken through and the realization had hit that I wouldn't be drummed out of the chess world or ridiculed by every chess magazine in the country if I lost.  (This may sound extreme, but I'll venture that many strong players conjure similar hellish visions with regularity.)  Having shifted my perspective from one involving overwhelming stakes to one in which the cost of failure was far less dramatic, I was now free to fight on in a way I couldn't have only moments earlier.  The game concluded with a draw three hours, and forty moves, later.  I have no doubts that this outcome wouldn't have been possible had I not altered my original perspective.

The issue of seeing things as they are, as opposed to the way we think they are or would like them to be, is also a critical factor in successful chess study.  We watch a grandmaster polish off a tricky ending with consummate ease, or dazzle us with a brilliant combination, and we wonder why our own endings routinely get messed up, or why one tactical possibility after another passes us by without so much as a blip on our radar screen.  We decide, generally erroneously, that we're fatally flawed as chess players, and there's no hope of our ever playing well.  Such negative attitudes about our play reflect a poor perspective about the game, and about our progress as chess students.

My father used to tell a story about the pianist Artur Rubinstein which makes the same point nicely.  The famous virtuoso had just finished a concert when an elderly lady showered him with effusive praise.  When she gushed that she wished she could play as well as he did, Rubinstein smiled indulgently and replied, "No, madam, you do not; it has taken me eight hours a day for 30 years to be able to play this way."  When we look at a master's profound understanding and refined skills we must keep in mind the years of study and work required to achieve them.

I couldn't overstate how helpful it is to have a proper perspective about the fundamental nature of chess.  It may be 'just' a board game, and most board games are fairly easily mastered; however, chess is different.  It is one of the most complex games ever created (for starters, there are more than 160,000 possible combinations for the first two moves alone).  It's hardly Monopoly or parcheesi.  Frustration easily ensues when chess proves far more intractable than other strategy games.  Consistent success at the chessboard requires an arsenal of well-developed skills and specific knowledge.  These qualities are not gained overnight.  Growth as a chess player requires concerted effort over an extended period of time.  We named our organization, Chess Odyssey, with this thought in mind.  Building practical chess-playing strength is like a long and arduous voyage, proceeding along a path which is anything but smooth and straight.  It is an 'odyssey' testing our resolve and ingenuity, just as Odysseus (called Ulysses by the Romans) was tested during his ten-year journey home after the Battle of Troy.  One of my college buddies was seriously injured in a rock climbing accident.  He was on a face beyond his skills and abilities, and was almost killed when he fell.  The same sort of thing can happen on the chessboard.  Most of us find ourselves in positions, at times, which are beyond our skills and knowledge.  Sometimes we are forced into such situations by our opponents.  However, having an objective assessment of our current playing level, and the discipline to avoid positions and strategies beyond our current capabilities can go a long way toward avoiding “fatal falls.”  

For instance, without the proper finely-honed tactical skills, weeks of theoretical study, and a really good memory, the 'Poison Pawn' variation of the Najdorf Sicilian is a deadly minefield to pursue.  It's extremely dangerous even with the proper skills and knowledge!  So, in this case, proper perspective would rightly lead us to choose an alternate line more likely to bring us success, in order to avoid a fate on the chessboard similar to that of my college friend on a steep rock face.  I can almost hear someone objecting, "But I like to play sharp, theoretical lines like the Najdorf 'Poison Pawn;' playing safe takes all the fun out of the game for me!"  OK, then play the line you want to play; however, understand what the likely consequences will be from your choice of opening.  Realize you are walking into a minefield without a map or a fully functional mine detector, and so don't be surprised if you get blown up.  

I'll wrap up with an example from a game. Consider the following position from a study composed by V. Kantorovich in 1987.  Take a few minutes to assess the position and decide the likely outcome.  It is Black to move.

At first glance, one might assume that Black is winning easily.  After all, he has a queen against the two White bishops and both sides have connected passed pawn racing towards promotion.  However, if we break through such automatic assumptions and see things as they actually are, we find the reality is much different.  Allow me to quote Grandmaster Eduard Gufeld from his recent book Chess Strategy: 

With passed pawns on opposite wings, the question of who plays first may be of crucial importance, as the player who queens first generally wins.  In the diagram position it is Black to move.  Despite this, it is practically impossible for him to save the game.  The bishops support their own pawns and hinder the advance of the hostile ones.  So does the queen.  But in this case the bishops are not just equal to the queen, they are stronger.  The point is that White can always give up one of his bishops for a dangerous passed pawn, while keeping the other in reserve; whereas if Black has to give up his queen for a pawn, he is finished.

There are many more practical examples of the power of proper perspective in chess, and the danger of poor perspective.  However, hopefully I've made my point clear--i.e., a key aspect of success is to strive to see things as they actually are, both as chess students and in the larger context of our lives as a whole. 

Past Attitude Checks include:
-Attitude Check #8 --Sticks and Stones                     
-Attitude Check #7 --Regaining Your Courage            
-Attitude Check #6 --A Matter of Heart                     
-Attitude Check #5 --The Fourth Freedom                  
-Attitude Check #4 --The Third Freedom                   
   -Attitude Check #3 --The Second Freedom                    
-Attitude Check #2 --The First of the Four Freedoms 
-Attitude Check #1 --The Four Freedoms                    

© 2002-2004 Pete Prochaska. All rights reserved.

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