Bethel McGrew

It is perhaps the most famous world chess championship match in history--Bobby Fischer vs. Boris Spassky, Reykjavik 1972. It was an achievement unparalleled at the time and never equalled since--an American winning the World Championship. No American chess player has ever gone so far, so fast as Fischer. No American chess player has dominated the world of chess so completely, with such ease as Fischer. By the time he came to face Spassky, he had already whitewashed Mark Taimanov and Bent Larsen 12-0 and crushed Tigran Petrosian 6.5-2.5. Now, only the incumbent champion stood in the way of the ultimate crown.

But there was much more that hung in the balance here than a world championship. It was a clash of two worlds: America and Soviet Russia. It was a struggle that had captured the hearts and minds of the American people--the picture of Fischer, brilliant, laconic, a lone wolf without training or trainer, singlehandedly taking on the super-power of chess that was the Soviet Union. The American spirit swelled with indignation at the Russians’ cheating tactics, and Fischer himself wasted no opportunity to speak out against the methods whereby Russia had obtained its stranglehold on the world of chess. Now, here lay a golden opportunity for the free world, a chance for a victory that would stretch beyond the boundaries of the chess board and leave its mark for years to come.

Perhaps it would be of interest to the reader if we turned our eyes to examine the incumbent champion himself: Boris Spassky. Dark, clean-cut, compact and athletic, the 35-year-old Spassky is hardly your stereotypical chess player. He is also not your typical Soviet Russian. Unlike many of his colleagues in the chess world, Spassky has never joined the Communist Party. He carries himself with quiet dignity, speaking in low, courteous tones. He takes his game seriously but has refused to become obsessed with it, spending four hours a day at the most in preparation for the crucial match. Gently self-deprecating, he describes himself as a "lazy Russian bear" who does not take months to prepare but "make[s] up for it by working much harder while the game is in progress." His feelings at the board are a mixed bag of emotions. In his own words, "Sometimes I feel a great spirit of fight which drives me on." But "deep down, I lack faith in myself." Though he maintains the same stiff poker face regardless of the position, Spassky insists that appearances are not all as they seem: "Actually I feel very nervous inside during a game--as if there was an explosion in progress...During a game I seem very unruffled, but this is not really so. It is like a clown’s face put on for the occasion. When I appear particularly calm, I am really feeling especially nervous." Yet it appears that Spassky must be a very good actor indeed, for Fischer describes his playing demeanor thus: "Spassky sits at the board with the same dead expression whether he’s mating or being mated. He can blunder away a piece and you are never sure whether it’s a blunder or a fantastically deep sacrifice."

The 29-year-old Fischer, by contrast, cuts a tall, broad-shouldered, gangling figure. Ever since his childhood years, he has held the world in contempt. He is a recluse who shies from cameras and prefers to live in his own isolated world. His manner is blunt and often rude, his compliments few and far between. As many a tournament organizer will tell you, he has more than once caused trouble by making exact demands for tournament conditions and threatening not to participate should they go unmet. He amuses himself with ping-pong, bowling, and swimming, but none of these things can take the place of his one consuming passion: chess. Fischer lives and breathes chess morning, noon, and night. "All I want to do, ever, is play chess," he declared once as a boy, and his life’s desire has not changed with age. A solitary genius, he prefers to prepare alone. For his match with Spassky, only one or two have been allowed into his private circle, while the champion is surrounded by a team of seconds who are constantly churning out ideas for him. However, while Spassky is unwilling to make any predictions for the match, Fischer is confident of victory. For him, it is "when," not "if" he beats Spassky. This is ironic, as he has lost to Spassky no fewer than three times in individual tournament encounters. Yet he claims to have been "world champion in everything but name for the past ten years," though he grudgingly admits that "next to me, Spassky is the best." He goes on to defend his statement by saying, "I don’t say that to brag. I think it’s true. I love the game--and I hate the Russians because they’ve almost ruined it. They only risk the title when they have to, every three years. When I’m champion I’ll take on all comers." What is Spassky’s take on Fischer? "I like Fischer’s style very much. I like the purity of his play--very logical. His personality is very explosive. He’s a real fanatic. I feel fond of him."

The match is set to be 24 games long, and the first player to earn 12.5 or 13 points will be the winner. If the match is tied, Spassky will retain his title. Each player will be given 2.5 hours to complete their first 40 moves, then another hour for every 16 moves beyond 40. Each player has drawn lots, and Spassky will have the white pieces for Game 1.

To play through the game with full annotations, click here.