My personal journey with chess began at the end of 1968. The government examinations were over, but there were still weeks to go before the school year ended. Bored, I remembered that a classmate in primary school had once introduced me to chess. So, years later, I decided to give the game a second look. When 1969 rolled around, I joined the school's chess club, got drafted into the junior chess team, and promptly lost every competitive game I played. What an introduction to Caissa.
That same year, Tigran Petrosian was defending his world chess championship title for the second time against Boris Spassky. Petrosian had been an immovable rock in 1966, but in 1969, even rocks could be weathered away. Spassky became the 10th world chess champion. A few thousand miles away in Penang, hardly anyone knew the title had changed hands. In fact, most of us didn't even know there was a world chess championship—or a world chess champion. We were cocooned in our own little chess world.
All that changed in 1972. Bobby Fischer had turned the chess world on its head with his antics, his demands for better playing conditions and his relentless march toward the world title. Suddenly, the championship wasn’t just a quiet event in the background—it was headline news. And with that, we came to know the name Boris Spassky. The excitement was infectious.
Spassky passed away yesterday in Moscow at the age of 88. He will always be remembered for that 1972 World Chess Championship match against Fischer, a historic encounter that captivated the world at the height of the Cold War. That match didn’t just elevate global interest in chess—it also reaffirmed my own passion for the game, first sparked three years earlier.
Born in Leningrad on 30 January 1937, Spassky showed exceptional talent from a young age. He became a Grandmaster at 18 and claimed the world championship in 1969 after defeating Petrosian. But his reign ended with the legendary 1972 match in Reykjavik. The Match of the Century was more than just a battle on the chessboard—it was a Cold War showdown between the United States and the Soviet Union. Despite the political undertones, Spassky remained the consummate sportsman, even applauding Fischer after losing the sixth game. When Fischer refused to play the second game and forfeited it, I still remember Spassky saying, "It’s a very pity." Not exactly perfect English, but it captured the emotions of the day. When Fischer eventually won the match, it became one of the most defining moments in chess history.
After losing the title, Spassky remained a force in the chess world. He emigrated to France in 1976, obtained citizenship in 1978, and represented the country in several Chess Olympiads. In 1992, on the 20th anniversary of their historic match, he faced Fischer once more in an unofficial rematch in Yugoslavia, which Fischer won. Despite health struggles in his later years, Spassky remained a revered figure, known for his adaptability and deep understanding of the game.
His legacy lives on—not just in his games, but in the inspiration he gave to countless chess enthusiasts worldwide, including me.
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