My first tournament season

I almost didn’t write this blog. But as the season for the London Chess League is wrapping up, it felt like a semi-momentous occasion, so I wanted to make a note of it and not let the moment pass.

For my first rated game, I didn’t exactly write a recap but a slightly weirder blog about hallucinations in chess. It was something like this:

‘The hallucination is therefore both an abundance and scarcity. We simply think too much and make an error, seeing things that are not present, distorting the reality of the position. All this happens because the game is played at the edges of our imagination, where things begin to blur. The patterns and plans unfold in the dark of our mind’s eye.’

I’ve been hesitant about writing more about chess, in part, because I already write in other contexts and something of the educational focus of chess writing is a little boring, and perhaps cringe.

Since that piece, I’ve played a lot of games and might have continued not writing about the experience, but the close of the season doesn’t feel like nothing, and that’s interesting enough. So if for nothing else, I wanted to write to mark this moment, if only for myself.

What is the London Chess League?

Every year, clubs across London participate in a tournament, and this is the first time I’ve taken part. It was also the first year that I made the shift from online to over-the-board chess.

In total, I played nine rated games, although five of these were in the league and four were part of monthly games at the Hackney chess club.

I joined by attending my local club and being invited to join a ‘team’. Each club might put forward several teams who all take part in the league. These are organised either through email, WhatsApp groups or something similar by the team captain.

From what I remember, the main team I played for did badly, and another one that I joined later did a little better. At the end of the day, it hardly matters to the individual player – you show up on the night to play your own games, and your rating isn’t impacted by the performance of your team mates. But the team aspect adds a sense of fun and camaraderie, and indirectly creates a structure where more experienced players help newer people join and participate.

My first rated game

This game took place in my local chess club rather than the London-wide league, which was quite a good way to get started.

My opponent was relatively strong as a player provisionally ECF-rated 1701p.

Yet I remember being way more nervous than I expected the first time I played OTB. My anxiety had less to do with winning or not. In fact, I fully expected to lose, as most people do when they make the switch.

I didn’t want to make a stupid mistake, like hanging a queen or checkmate, and even while walking to the venue, I remember suddenly feeling a sense of total amnesia about the little opening prep I had done.

What if they pull an opening trap and I crumble right away?

Funnily enough, they did, I fell for it, and it didn’t matter anyway as I ended up winning. This solidified advice I had heard previously – openings don’t matter that much at the amateur level – and my experience throughout the season reaffirmed this again.

The first tournament game

I really dodged a bullet with my first tournament game against a 1627 ECF-rated player.

We had a fairly standard opening, and were both getting our pieces developed. I was trying hard to think of a way to make some chances, especially as I wasn’t really sure what to play for.

They pinned a piece to my king that was defending something else. Easy. I’ll block the pin and move another piece, I thought, before forgetting entirely that I hadn’t done that when moving something else.

My opponent paused and then took the free piece. I moved something else, trying to act calm. They retreated their piece, and it was my turn – down an entire piece with no compensation at all, not even a pawn.

The stakes of the game were clear at this point. I have to mount a really serious attack before they can get developed, otherwise they’ll simply get their pieces out and crush me with ease.

But somehow, that’s exactly what happened. In hindsight, I prepared the attack too hastily, developing pieces on the kingside before they had even castled onto that side of the board – but for me to win this, everything had to go in my favour. But they not only castled into my attack, but traded pieces that allowed me to open a file.

It still wasn’t easy. I ended up sac-ing one piece and hanging two others, either to gain time or distract their pieces.

By the time checkmate was inevitable, their rook and bishop were still on their starting square, so rather than me being the one who was down material, they essentially played the whole game down eight points of material.

My first tournament loss

Lots of people are embarrassed by their losses over the board. There’s a lot more effort required to show up, really sweat over the board for an hour or two and have someone else pull your game apart.
But mine was much worse.

My opponent was late. As in, we each had an hour and 15 minutes on the clock and the organiser said I had to wait an hour before the opponent defaulted. They arrived with about 20 minutes on their clock, and I still had the full hour and 15. It only took them about five minutes on their clock to win decisively.

They began with an opening I’m less familiar with, but typically transition into something more comfortable. I made what I thought was a normal pawn push before I castled, and then one check led to another before everything crumbled.

And I wasn’t even trying to push them with the clock. At least then I could blame not spending much time on my moves in the hope that they’d run out of time, but this would have been a bad strategy, and goes against the spirit of what makes classical chess interesting anyway.

No, I spent a lot of time on my moves but it didn’t matter. I can see online that I played into a relatively common mistake in that line,

Their rating was provisional due to inactivity, but they were 2015p when we played.

An accidentally perfect game

I’ve had a few other wins and losses since, but one of the most surprising games was one that was almost perfect.

As I’ve been playing OTB, I’ve wanted to avoid using the computer to analyse my games entirely. Since I’ve spent so much time playing over the board with another person, it makes sense to try to spend as much time as you can studying it to figure out what went right (and wrong).

Occasionally I’ve not been able to resist temptation. I used engine analysis for my first game, and more recently for what turned out to be my last game of the season.

I wasn’t aware that my opponent was much higher rated than I am. They’re 1964 ECF, while my provisional rating is hanging around 1800, although it has yet to fully settle.

But when I went over the game afterwards, and eventually used the engine analysis to check my notes, I saw we each played with an accuracy of 97% and an average centipawn loss of 8.

Now, of course, these kinds of numbers should always be taken with a grain of salt. A much stronger player would have played more difficult and tricky moves to add pressure, and either of us would have crumbled.

We agreed a draw on the 29th move when there was still a pawn island and several pieces on the board, so either of us were likely on the verge of a major mistake if we played through the complexities of what was on the board.

Yet I was still shocked when I saw those numbers.

PS.
If you enjoyed this, let me know! I might start writing about chess a little more...