An ambitious misstep

The 2024 World Rapid and Blitz Chess Championships, held on Wall Street in New York City during the final week of the year, aspired to be a defining moment for the sport—a bold showcase aimed at propelling chess into the global spotlight. Instead, it unravelled into a display of organisational chaos, overshadowed by controversy and FIDE’s failure to reconcile tradition with the demands of modernisation. At the centre of this debacle was Magnus Carlsen, whose actions revealed him as a polarising figure wielding his influence with little regard for the broader community. More tellingly, the fiasco laid bare FIDE’s systemic weaknesses, highlighting an organisation ill-equipped to manage the sport’s evolution while safeguarding its integrity.

The $1.5 million prize fund, backed by NASDAQ-listed Freedom Holding, marked a new high for financial investment in chess. Selecting Wall Street as the venue was a strategic gamble meant to imbue the championships with prestige, aligning the intellectual rigour of chess with the financial world’s high-stakes allure. However, the symbolism was overshadowed by logistical failings and internal discord. While the glitzy location added flair, it underscored FIDE prioritising image over substance. The grandeur of Wall Street ultimately felt like a hollow attempt to mask deeper organisational weaknesses.

FIDE’s introduction of a two-stage knockout finale for the Blitz Championship was designed to inject excitement into the format. While this innovation added drama for spectators, it inadvertently diminished the importance of earlier rounds, undermining the tournament’s competitive integrity. 

Magnus Carlsen’s role in the championships was both pivotal and divisive. His earlier disqualification for wearing jeans, after signing an agreement that prohibited jeans in this event, sparked widespread criticism, leading eventually to a U-turn from the FIDE President, Arkady Dvorkovich. In an era where chess strives to shed its elitist image, FIDE’s insistence on rigid formalities seemed both regressive and petty. This decision not only alienated fans but also shifted attention from the games themselves to a trivial matter of attire. 

Carlsen’s subsequent withdrawal from the Rapid Championship and initial refusal to compete in the Blitz underscored his dissatisfaction. His eventual participation, though welcomed by fans, highlighted the disproportionate influence he wields within the chess world. FIDE’s inconsistent handling of the situation—from rigid enforcement to eventual accommodation—painted the organisation as weak and easily swayed by its star players.

The controversy reached its zenith when Carlsen and Ian Nepomniachtchi tied for first place in the Blitz Championship. Carlsen’s proposal to share the title, and FIDE’s agreement to this unprecedented arrangement, flew in the face of the tournament’s rules. By allowing this compromise, FIDE undermined the spirit of competition and set a dangerous precedent.

The disparity in treatment between the men’s and women’s events compounded the issue. While the women’s Blitz Championship required tie-break games to determine a clear winner, the men were allowed to share the title. I don't believe that this glaring double standard exposed entrenched gender biases within FIDE, but the decision devalued the achievements and efforts of female players, and tarnished the organisation’s credibility further.

So who were the winners and losers? A hollow victory for whom? 

Where FIDE was concerned, I would say Loser to them. FIDE’s reputation emerged battered and bruised. The handling of the dress code incident, followed by its capitulation to Carlsen’s demands, portrayed the organisation as inconsistent and ineffectual. The emphasis on image over substance and the selective application of rules left a sour taste among players and fans alike.

As for Magnus Carlsen, he was also a Loser in my eyes. While his actions exposed legitimate flaws in FIDE’s governance, his behaviour risked being perceived as self-serving and arrogant. Leveraging his star power to force changes may have achieved short-term gains but at the cost of appearing dismissive of the broader chess community and its principles.

Amidst the power struggles and questionable leadership, the real losers were the players and the sport itself. The championships, intended to showcase chess’s brilliance, became mired in controversy. Players’ achievements were overshadowed and the event failed to project the modern, inclusive image FIDE had sought to cultivate.

The decision-making failures reinforced negative stereotypes of chess as an elitist and insular pursuit. Rather than inspiring growth, the championships highlighted the deep divisions within the sport and the urgent need for reform. 

There are lessons for the future. The 2024 World Rapid and Blitz Chess Championships were a case study in mismanagement. While FIDE demonstrated a willingness to innovate, these efforts were undermined by poor execution and wishy-washy leadership. Magnus Carlsen, for his part, acted as both a catalyst for change and a reminder of the dangers of unchecked influence in a sport built on fairness and intellectual rigour.

For chess to flourish in the modern era, FIDE must address its systemic issues, from updating outdated regulations to enforcing them consistently. Transparency, inclusivity and a focus on the sport’s integrity must take precedence over optics and star appeasement. Without these changes, chess risks losing its unique identity and becoming a mere spectacle of egos and excess.

Okay, I've vented enough!

#fide #carlsen #magnuscarlsen

World chess championship 2024

Recently, I spent an engaging four days in Singapore to attend Days Four, Five and Six of the World Chess Championship match between the defending champion, Ding Liren, and his challenger, Gukesh Dommaraju. I travelled with two chess friends, Tay Aik and Terry. While Terry opted for a hotel near the Vivocity shopping mall, Tay Aik and I decided on a budget hotel in Geylang. 

By the way, Geylang is no longer the infamous area it once was, although it still retains echoes of its colourful past. Singapore, in fact, had several questionable neighbourhoods decades ago, such as Geylang, but also Bugis and Desker Road. Anyway, our choice, the Ibis Budget Hotel, was clean, well-maintained and family-oriented, though the establishments around it still advertised their "special Eight-Hour promotional rates." Hmm...

The first day of our arrival was spent navigating our way to the match venue. Friends who had attended the match before us had suggested that we look for the Seafood Paradise restaurant, from where a free shuttle bus would take us directly to the Equarius Hotel on Sentosa Island. We arrived with plenty of time to spare, passed through the security checks and then relaxed in the Fan Zone before queuing up to enter the viewing gallery. In the Fan Zone, a simultaneous chess match was ongoing between a grandmaster and 10 players. On Day Four, Alexandra Kosteniuk was in the midst of playing her opponents; on the following day, it was Xie Jun, and on the third day, Viswanathan Anand was the main attraction. So, there were three days of former world champions facing their lucky opponents, drawn from those who had purchased VIP tickets. Once the games concluded, the tables were rearranged, bean bags were scattered on the floor for casual seating, and free-flowing coffee and tea were made available to everyone. There were also television screens in the Fan Zone streaming commentaries by David Howell and Jovanka Houska.

Inside the playing room, the players were seated at a central table, with one side of the room featuring a soundproof glass barrier that completely isolated the gallery from the playing area. On the left, two Arbiters sat at their own tables, while the Chief Arbiter—whom I'd rank as the third most important person in the room after the two players—was seated on the right. Just before five o'clock, a throng of photographers arrived and positioned themselves in front of the glass barrier, eagerly awaiting the entrance of Ding and Gukesh. When the players finally made their way into the room, both avoided each other's gaze and waited for Maurice Ashley to deliver the introductory statements. Every day, special guests were invited to make the ceremonial first move, with photographers snapping away madly. One of the Arbiters then carefully placed the moved piece back on its original square, and Ashley officially announced the beginning of the game. Both players shook hands, White made the first move, and then Ashley and the guest exited the room. After a brief moment, the signal was given for the photographers to scoot off as well. Amidst all this activity, the Chief Arbiter remained a peripheral figure, out of view and basically overlooked by both the photographers and the spectators in the gallery.

Meanwhile, in the viewing gallery, the audience was divided into VIP and general seating areas. Usherers guided ticket holders to their designated spots and placard holders raised signs asking everyone to remain silent. I found it curious that complete silence was required in the gallery, considering no noise could penetrate the soundproofed playing room. For the most part, the crowd adhered to the rule, though quiet discussions were ongoing among friends as they analysed positions and debated possibilities. Two television screens, positioned on either side of the gallery, displayed the game for all to follow, as it was impossible to see the actual chessboard from where we sat. At 5:30, everyone was ushered out of the gallery to surrender their mobile phones, laptops and cameras for safekeeping before being allowed back in. At the end of the game, applause erupted from the audience, and everyone would then rush out to retrieve their belongings.

The three games we witnessed in Singapore were all drawn, which left us feeling slightly underwhelmed. A friend who attended during the first week had the fortune of seeing two decisive games out of three—and even bumped into Gukesh on the rest day! No such luck for us, unfortunately, as we were there in the second week. Game Four concluded with a repetition of position, as did Game Five. In Game Six, there was a fleeting moment where it seemed the game might end quickly. When Gukesh spurned the repetition of position, an audible gasp rippled through the gallery—a clear expression of admiration for the Indian player’s fighting spirit as opposed to his opponent's non-aggression strategy. It was obvious he wanted to continue playing. Inwardly, I couldn’t help but think that, had the game ended in a quick draw, the audience would have been deeply disappointed—some might even have booed. Thankfully, we were spared that scenario!

With the Chief Arbiter, Hamid Majid

Former world championship contender Boris Gelfand

Former women's world champion Alexandra Kosteniuk

Photographers inside the playing room

Bean bags in the Fan Zone

Fan Zone

With the world champion's trophy

Former women's world champion Xie Jun

VIP seats in front, general seats at the back

Deposit counter for all mobile phones, laptops, cameras and other electronic devices

Stringent security check for sharp objects

Reliving old times by exchanging notes with Filipino grandmaster Eugenio Torre on chess personalities like Tan Chin Nam, Florencio Campomanes, Hasan, Matsumoto, etc

An old friend from Kuala Lumpur. Vooi Giap and I go back to the MSSM days of 1972

Teenage champion

I would want to congratulate Gukesh Dommaraju, who, at the age of 18, has become the 18th FIDE World Chess Champion. He triumphed over the defending champion – now the former World Champion – Ding Liren, in a 14-game match that captivated chess enthusiasts around the globe, no less many from Malaysia seeing this as an opportunity to cross into Singapore and witness a classy World Chess Championship match, so close to home.

Fortune often favours the bold and the foolhardy, but in Gukesh's case, it was the courageous who were rewarded. Throughout the match, the 18-year-old Indian challenger maintained relentless pressure on the Chinese defending champion. In nearly every game, Ding Liren found himself perilously behind on time – with each player allotted two hours to complete 40 moves. However, except for the final game, Gukesh often found himself burning his own time, searching for the perfect move, but without success. This impatience led to two losses, as Ding capitalised on his opponent’s inaccuracies. Ding's own three losses to Gukesh were the result of catastrophic blunders, always at critical moments when his time management was in disarray. As the saying goes, the final blunder is always the most fatal. In the end, after nearly four weeks of intense chess, Gukesh emerged victorious with a 7½-6½ score, claiming the coveted title.

With the World Chess Championship title now moving from China to India, it seems to me that the so-called Big Dragon Project has ended with a whimper. While not a complete failure as it did achieve several goals, its eventual decline has been disheartening. I had hoped that Ding Liren’s tenure as World Chess Champion would inspire the Chinese Chess Association to greater heights. Yet, in the past year, I have seen little to convince me that the game is thriving within their population. Is Xie Jun still the President of the CCA? If so, it seems she is not functioning effectively enough. The signs of decline were already apparent a few years ago. Even before the onset of the Covid-19 pandemic, the number of Chinese players attending the annual Malaysia Chess Festival was reducing. The subsequent lockdowns only exacerbated the issue, and, since the reopening of international travel, few Chinese players have ventured to compete. I believe that, in the years to come, the decline of chess in China will become ever more apparent. Meanwhile, with Gukesh’s victory, the centre of gravity has undeniably shifted more definitively towards the Indian sub-continent.