Quiet presence, but powerful

I was pleased to see Uzbekistan win the Open section of the 46th Chess Olympiad in Samarkand yesterday. It was rather appropriate that the Uzbek team won the gold medal on home soil, especially considering the remarkable crop of young players the country has produced in recent years.

The five members of the team were Nodirbek Abdusattorov, Javokhir Sindarov, Nodirbek Yakubboev, Shamsiddin Vokhidov and Mukhiddin Madaminov. An exceptionally talented bunch, led by Sindarov and Abdusattorov, both still very young by any normal measure of things. Sindarov is only 21 and Abdusattorov 22, yet both have already established themselves among the world's strongest players.

But as I watched the matches over the past couple of weeks, I found myself noticing somebody vaguely familiar who wasn't actually playing. Didn't really recognised him at first, but there he was, Rustam Kasimdzhanov, the team's non-playing captain.

It was in 1998 that I first met Kasimdzhanov. He was just 19 years old and playing for Tashkent in the Asian Cities Team Chess Championship at Genting Highlands. I remember him because he spoke excellent English. He was already a grandmaster then, but of course nobody knew what the future held for this young Uzbek player.

I happened to be involved in that tournament as an arbiter, so I saw him around the event. Six years later, he would become FIDE World Champion. He subsequently went on to become a highly respected coach and second, working with players such as Viswanathan Anand and Fabiano Caruana in their world championship campaigns.

Now, nearly three decades after I first saw him in Genting, here he was again, this time supporting a new generation of Uzbek players. During the Olympiad, he was constantly around. He was there from the beginning of the rounds and when the games were over, he was still there. When one of his players won, he was there to congratulate him. When one of them suffered an occasional loss, he was there to offer some consolation.

He wasn't doing anything dramatic and for the most part, he wasn't the person the cameras were looking for. The attention naturally belonged to the four players sitting at the boards. They were the ones winning the games and collecting the points. But Kasimdzhanov provided the quiet, steady presence behind them.

I thought that was quite important in a team competition like the Chess Olympiad. These young players may be tremendously strong, but they are still playing 11 demanding rounds under considerable pressure. There will inevitably be good days and bad days, and having somebody with Kasimdzhanov's experience around throughout the tournament must have been useful, even if much of what he did would never show up in the tournament statistics.

And there was something quite nice about it for me. In 1998, I was watching an 19-year-old Kasimdzhanov playing first board for Tashkent. Yesterday, I was watching a 47-year-old man on the other side of the chessboard, so to speak, helping Uzbekistan's latest generation of young stars win the Olympiad.

The players received all the attention after their victory in Samarkand, but there was also the quiet man who had been with them throughout the journey, and whom not many people noticed. Perhaps after nearly 30 years in top-level chess, Kasimdzhanov knows that sometimes the most useful thing you can do is simply to be there when it matters.

Celebrating international chess day

When I walked into the playing hall of the 23rd ASEAN+ Age-Group Chess Championships on the 10th of this month, the place was already abuzz—players and spectators alike eager to dive into the day’s blitz games. It was the final day of competition and, fittingly, also days away from International Chess Day, as designated by the World Chess Federation (FIDE). I’d been assigned to take charge of the Seniors 65+ section as Arbiter. With just nine participants, the organisers had sensibly opted for a round-robin format, and I settled quickly into my role.

There were no real disputes, save for one moment when Rico Mascarinas made an illegal knight move. He immediately admitted it, and I added a minute to his opponent’s clock as per the rules but the gesture was more symbolic than consequential. Rico was clearly winning anyway. What amused me most was watching the top four players draw quickly among themselves, clearly saving their energy to pounce on the other five. It might seem tactical, but they were well within their rights.

So today, looking back at the short video clips I’d taken of the blitz events on that final day, here’s my small tribute to celebrate International Chess Day on 20 July 2025.

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.