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Printer-Friendly ModeFischer's chess legacy will live on
January 28, 2008 —
Bobby Fischer was the Jesus Christ of chess. I'm not exaggerating. It's hard to describe to someone not familiar with the game or the culture the impact Bobby Fischer's death on January 17 had on millions of American chess players. His greatness was often overshadowed by the mysterious stigma that surrounded him because of outlandish demands, long disappearances, and an unparalleled contempt for his opponents.
In 1958 at age 15, Fischer became the youngest chess grandmaster in history. In "Miracle On Ice" fashion, Fischer dominated the seemingly unstoppable Soviet chess machine in 1972 to become the first, and only, American to be World Chess Champion by beating then champion Boris Spassky. The match was played in Reykjavík, Iceland, the same city where Fischer died last week. Much to the ire of the Russians, not only was Fischer American, but he crushed his opponents in unprecedented fashion. His victories weren't even close, and the gap between him and the rest of the world was massive.
"It began to feel as though you were playing against chess itself," said Walter Shipman, a fellow chess player, about playing against Fischer. Grandmaster Andrew Soltis put it another way, "You know you're going to lose. Even when I was ahead I knew I was going to lose."
After becoming World Chess Champion in 1972, Fischer made the most surprising move of all - he disappeared. The savior of American chess was gone. Twenty years later, he came out of seclusion in 1992 to play another match against his old rival Spassky, and after winning, he disappeared again. The match violated U.S. sanctions because it was played in Yugoslavia, and as a result, Fischer had become wanted by the U.S. government.
After the 1992 match, American chess lived on, but not as strong. There were pictures of Fischer in almost every local club, and hardly a night of chess went by without the stories of how young Bobby defeated the Russians. If you were really lucky, one of your local chess club members had even actually met him. Fischer had quite literally attained demigod status.
The demise of Fischer was, to the American chess player, tragic and confusing. The untouchable and legendary hero, almost worshiped in chess club circles from Huntington Beach to Manhattan, suddenly shocked the chess world, and most Americans, by resurfacing on September 11. I liken it to finding out your father is an axe murderer, and in the most serious sense.
"This is all wonderful news. It's about time for the (expletive) U.S. to get their (expletive) heads kicked in." Fischer ranted to a Philippine radio station on the afternoon of September 11, "Finish off the U.S. once and for all. (Expletive) the U.S., I want to see the U.S. wiped out … (Expletive) the United States, (expletive) the Jews."
To the average American, one look at those statements is enough to condemn him. However, to the chess player that has been groomed to idolize Fischer, those statements produced a violent internal conflict. Bobby's unique place in the chess player's mind is debated frequently. With half of those declaring Fischer a genius, and half declaring him insane, the only consensus is that his contributions to the game were invaluable, and that his later years were "unfortunate". It's also common for conversations among chess players about Fischer to purposely not mention his anti-Semitic comments or erratic behavior. It's become an unwritten rule analogous to the family who doesn't mention the black sheep at the dinner table.
The USCF (United States Chess Federation) experienced the confusion over Fischer's comments as well, and because of his comments, the USCF expelled him as a member in 2002. However, true to the internal conflict within chess players everywhere, in 2006 they reversed course and granted Fischer membership once again. The point was moot. Fischer hadn't been in the United States since the 1990s, let alone had he played any competitive chess in the USCF, however the USCF's struggle over what to think about Fischer is analogous to that of the individual chess player.
With his death, the conflict is far from over. Fischer's legacy lives on in his games and in his comments, and his death does little to change that. It's not any easier. American chess is reeling, and it is without question that the USCF needs another Bobby Fischer. The chess player in me is grieving profoundly. I think about him all the time. The same conflict of which I write exists within myself. Nothing soothes pain like the touch of a person.