Who Hasn’t Heard Of Bobby Fischer?

Even those who have never played a game of chess know of him, just as Generation Z knows who Elvis Presley is, despite growing up with entirely different music.

He radiated an aura of uniqueness everywhere he went. Compromise was a foreign concept to him, both in life and at the chessboard. He wasn't afraid to pay the price for his consistency, whether it was financial, chess-related, or even facing threats from the powerful American administration. Bobby refused to let anyone claim him. He was his own man, entirely and exclusively. He always aimed for victory—in a game, in negotiations—but he was far from being unable to appreciate those around him. He respected his opponents, didn't hate them, though, in his own words, he wanted to "crush their ego." He believed his chess prowess justified the demands he made, which some considered extravagant, strange, or nitpicking. Yet, in the end, all chess players benefited from his battles. Prize funds grew, and the media paid more and more attention to chess.

However, it must be acknowledged that he was capricious and unpredictable. No one could say with certainty what Fischer would do or whether he would even show up to a tournament—and if he did, whether he would play.

With this blog, I aim to provide an overview of his career while shedding light on some lesser-known details of his life, events related to him, and the people who met or spent time with him and respected him.

Table of Contents

1. A Star is Born: The Road to Grandmaster
2. The Master of Conditions: A Game of Principles
3. A Duel of Giants: Fischer vs. Botvinnik
4. The Varna Olympiad: Drama and Disappointment
5. A Diplomatic Gambit: The Capablanca Memorial
6. The Auditory Genius: Fischer's Senses and Demands
7. Fischer and the Invisible Weights: A Chess Legend
8. The Return of the King: A Final Act of Defiance
9. Epilogue: The End of the Story of a Genius

A Star is Born: The Road to Grandmaster

The chess world first took serious notice of Bobby when he competed in the Interzonal Tournament in the then-Yugoslav city of Portorož in 1958, where he became a grandmaster at just 15 years old. At that tournament, he finished fifth and qualified for the Candidates Matches held on the shores of Lake Bled. From the moment his star shone brightly in Yugoslavia, it never dimmed, not even during his two-decade self-imposed exile from the public and chess. It warmed the hearts of chess enthusiasts again when, despite the absurd prohibition by American bureaucrats, Fischer played again in Yugoslavia against Boris Spassky, one of the greatest chess players and gentlemen to ever set up the pieces.

After Portorož, Bobby shared fifth place with Gligorić at Bled, while Mikhail Tal went on to challenge the world champion. Tal defeated Fischer 4-0, which would be his only victories against Bobby in his career. However, the following year, Tal temporarily dethroned the patriarch of Soviet chess, Dr. Mikhail Moiseyevich Botvinnik.

But Bobby knew that somewhere in the future, the world champion title awaited him, and he worked tirelessly, subordinating everything to that goal. In 1972, he defeated Spassky, earning the champion’s laurel crown. Yet, although many expected him to reign longer than Lasker, he didn’t even attempt to defend his title because FIDE didn't meet all 63 of his conditions for the match. They accepted 62, except the last one—that Fischer would retain the title in case of a 9-9 tie. When he learned they hadn’t met every single condition, he didn’t respond to them again, despite everyone urging him to compromise a little. Principled or stubborn? You decide.

The Master of Conditions: A Game of Principles

There's no one who knows even a little about chess who is indifferent to Bobby. When he first burst onto the chess scene, many dismissed him, believing that more experienced players underestimated him, which led to their losses, or that he somehow got lucky. But the vast majority agreed that the demands he placed on organizers were excessive and bizarre.

Soon, greater recognition followed for his maturity as a player, but so did increasing complaints about his ever-growing demands. Eventually, everyone acknowledged he was one of the greatest ever, but they didn’t stop criticizing his fussiness and capriciousness.

Even Botvinnik was astonished that Fischer’s insistence on, for example, unnaturally bright lighting was quietly accepted, while he, the world champion, was mocked for the simple request of a desk lamp. At the 1958 Munich Olympiad, Botvinnik lost in the first round to the little-known Austrian Diekstein, after which he requested a desk lamp because the lighting in the hall was dim. His request was granted, his results improved, but many made jokes about his “magic lamp,” especially Tal and Petrosian.

Because of his insistence on 63 conditions and his withdrawal from the match over just one unmet demand, many called Fischer unfair. But he didn’t act out of malice; he acted in accordance with his understanding of principle. After all, he had stated in advance that he wouldn’t play unless all his conditions were met. In that regard, his decision wasn’t surprising. He also showed that his principles mattered more to him than money. He flatly refused $1,650,000, which he would have received even in case of a loss—a sum greater than the total prize money awarded to all world championship match winners in the previous hundred years, including Fischer’s own triumph in Reykjavik.

Admittedly, even his most ardent fans must acknowledge some inconsistency in Bobby: he publicly criticized earlier champions for playing too little and retaining the title in case of a drawn match, yet he himself didn’t defend his title and demanded that a challenger not only win 10-9 but triumph by a two-point margin to claim the title.

A Duel of Giants: Fischer vs. Botvinnik

As a young player, full of burgeoning strength but not yet in a position to play for the title, Fischer was fixated on facing the then-champion Mikhail Moiseyevich Botvinnik across the board. He believed that even a single victory would earn him recognition as the supreme chess player, but the opportunity didn’t come. The Russian patriarch, as he was called, was already 51 years old, and the Olympiad was being held in Varna, a beautiful city on Bulgaria’s Black Sea coast. Fischer, a 19-year-old young lion thirsty for blood, played on the first board for the American team, while Botvinnik played for the Soviet team. Bobby feared that Mikhail Moiseyevich might avoid the duel, skip the round, or let someone else take the first board out of fear for his reputation as world champion. Fischer desperately wanted that match.

Botvinnik didn’t back down. He sat across from the American youth, and the game began. In his memoirs, Botvinnik wrote about this game:

"For the first and last time, I faced R. Fischer at the chessboard. He played the black pieces, the Grünfeld Defense (Smyslov variation). Long ago, I had prepared a continuation that posed difficult tasks for Black. I needed to recall all the tactical nuances—Fischer played according to my analysis, but, unexpectedly: on the 17th move, Fischer, with an apparent queen sacrifice, won a pawn—that’s what I overlooked in my analysis! In essence, the evaluation of the position didn’t change—White could still maintain an advantage. But the oversight disheartened me, and I quickly fell into a lost endgame. On the 38th move, Fischer made a routine move in haste—that sharpened my focus. (Time control, author’s note.) The time control passed, but Fischer continued playing (he had time to spare), his entire demeanor showing how displeased he was that I didn’t resign… In the end, the American recorded his 45th move in a rook endgame, in which, after midnight, Geller suggested a brilliant counterplay idea. Overnight, I thoroughly worked it out, preparing a cunning trap in case my overconfident opponent didn’t notice the finesse. Fischer slept on it and fell into the trap the next day—tears welled up in the young man’s eyes. I approached the team captain, L. Abramov, and reassured him—a draw. Fischer rushed over to protest against the agreement! But there was no incident."

This game wasn’t truly over even years later. Botvinnik, in a published analysis, argued that a draw would have been the outcome even if Fischer hadn’t fallen into the trap. Seven years later, Fischer, in a collection of his games, included comments claiming he should have won the game. Seven years after that, GM Larry Melvin Evans, a collaborator on Fischer’s book, who had been defeated by Spassky at the same Varna Olympiad, asked Botvinnik to respond to Fischer’s analysis. Before publishing his response, Mikhail Moiseyevich showed the position to young Russian chess players, and the quickest to find the path to a draw was the then-13-year-old Garry Kasparov. Perhaps because of this, Fischer didn’t include Botvinnik among the top ten chess players of all time.

Can you find the trap?

Here is the position after Fischer's 45th move. Can you spot Botvinnik's brilliant counterplay?

The Varna Olympiad: Drama and Disappointment

But the Varna Olympiad wasn’t over yet. Although the gold medal was already decided, it was unclear who would claim the remaining medals. At the previous Leipzig Olympiad, the USA had taken second place behind the Soviet team. Hopes were high, dreams of gold were alive, but reality set in, and the battle was now for silver.

Almost everyone considered Fischer the moral victor over Botvinnik, and he was brimming with confidence heading into the match against Yugoslavia. Among the direct contenders, the silver medal would be decided in the final round. Could there be greater drama?

The Yugoslavs had accumulated half a point more, and a 2-2 draw would suit them, but achieving that against Fischer’s quartet was no easy task. All eyes were primarily on the first board, where Fischer had the white pieces against Svetozar Gligorić, and he was eager to avenge his loss to him in Leipzig two years earlier, although the American team had defeated the Yugoslavs and pushed them off the runner-up spot.

Gligorić, at the time, favored a solid variation of the Spanish Game, but the question was whether to play for a draw or try something bolder. The popular “Gliga,” a partisan officer from World War II, chose to be combative and opened with c5. However, the position soon favored Fischer, who seemed to have the point in his pocket. Watching from the audience, GM Borislav Ivkov, who had already adjourned his game with Robert Byrne, and Rudolf “Gica” Marić were observing. Marić remarked to Ivkov that Fischer’s pawn on f6 looked like something out of a horror movie, like a villain shoving a foot in the door so the victim couldn’t close it.

But little by little, the position shifted, and now Gligorić’s queen was slicing through diagonals, with his rooks transitioning from defense to attack. By the adjournment, Fischer found himself in a worse position. The score was 1-1, with two draws in the completed games, but Yugoslavia had the upper hand in two adjourned games.

Around 2 a.m., the captain of the American team knocked on the door of the Yugoslav team’s headquarters. He proposed to the Yugoslav captain, Karaklajić, that the Byrne-Ivkov game be drawn, and Fischer would immediately resign. Grandmaster Ivkov recounts the event:

"It's not just about sportsmanship, as I objectively have a winning position at the moment when a draw for both Gliga and me is enough for silver. I also have three subjective reasons: first, at the previous Leipzig Olympiad, I lost a significantly better position to the same Robert Byrne, of course, in time trouble; second, before our match, they were so confident, even arrogant; and third, why should I harm Argentina, practically my second homeland, where I became a grandmaster at 22…"

The continuation of the games brought losses for the Americans, and Argentina overtook them, leaving Fischer and his team without a medal.

This didn’t stop Fischer from socializing with the Yugoslav players. He even visited their modest hotel to play five-minute blitz games, with a twist: the loser would stand up, and another player would take their place. The games were played for $1. On the first evening, Ivkov led Fischer 4-0, but by the end, Bobby won back his money and relieved the Spaniard Pomar of two whole dollars.

He especially enjoyed analyzing games with the Yugoslav grandmaster Dragoljub Velimirović. He loved incorporating Velimirović’s ideas and inspirations into his repertoire. In the third game against Spassky in Reykjavik, Fischer used one of Velimirović’s moves and won. Fischer also used one of Velimirović’s moves against Gligorić, who had been seconded by Velimirović for seven years. Ironically, Velimirović had warned Gligorić before the game about that very possibility, but Gliga dismissed it with a wave of his hand. Later, he had to extend that hand to Fischer in resignation.

A Diplomatic Gambit: The Capablanca Memorial

In 1965, the Capablanca Memorial was held in Havana. Due to politics, no one from South or North America, except perhaps Fischer, would play there, and even for Fischer, it would be his first appearance since the Candidates Tournament in Curaçao in 1962, where he was dissatisfied with his placement behind Petrosian, Keres, and Geller.

All countries in the Americas, except Mexico, boycotted Cuba, so it was uncertain until the first move whether Robert James Fischer would play or not. The State Department denied him a visa for Cuba. But did Fischer care? The solution was—a teletype! Bobby would play from New York, while the other 21 players would send and receive moves via teletype.

An interesting detail is the exchange of less-than-diplomatic telegrams between two prominent figures of the time, Bobby Fischer and Fidel Castro. Both telegrams were published in the book Chess Kings, and I reproduce them here:

"To Premier Fidel Castro, Havana,
I protest the news published today in The New York Times mentioning some kind of propaganda victory, and in connection with these circumstances, I must withdraw from the Capablanca Memorial Tournament. I will participate in the tournament only on the condition that you immediately send me a telegram stating that neither you nor your government will make political capital out of my participation in the tournament and that no political comments regarding this result will appear in the future.
Bobby Fischer"

Fidel replied immediately, as Bobby had demanded:

"To Bobby Fischer, New York, USA,
I have just received your telegram. I am surprised that you attribute to me some kind of statement regarding your participation in the tournament. I haven’t said a word about it. I only know about it through your telegraphic communiqué via an American news agency. Our country does not need such ‘propagandistic victories.’ It is your personal matter whether you participate in the tournament or not. If you are afraid and wish to back out and not play, then it is better to find another excuse and have the courage to remain honest."

The tournament began on time, except for Fischer’s game against Lehmann, which was played with a delay. By the end of the tournament, Fischer had 12 wins, five draws, and three losses. Capablanca’s son moved the pieces for Fischer. One of Fischer’s conquerors, Grandmaster Ivkov, was two rounds from the end in a position to win the tournament with a single draw. In the penultimate round, he played against the last-placed Garcia from Cuba. In that game, one of the most painful grandmaster oversights was seen, and Ivkov lost to the outsider. Disheartened, he also lost in the final round, missing out on the winner’s trophy he had seemed destined to claim.

The Auditory Genius: Fischer's Senses and Demands

Fischer often complained about noise from the audience and had bizarre demands regarding it. Many criticized him for this, but it wasn’t a whim—it was an objective need. Bobby had an incomprehensibly acute sense of hearing. What an ordinary person barely noticed would pierce his eardrums. Grandmaster Ivkov, mentioned earlier, testified to this, recalling an evening spent with Bobby at the home of the Sedlar couple, engineer Milan and actress Ljiljana. "Good music!" Bobby suddenly said. No one understood, as there was no music, just conversation. Then Fischer pulled a small transistor radio from his pocket, from which, completely inaudible to others, the sounds of a jazz melody were emanating. Only then did he turn up the volume. He explained that he heard far better than was comfortable for him, and even the slightest noise disturbed him and broke his concentration. Hence his demands to be distanced from the audience, for cameras not to click, and so on.

In Sousse, 1967, during a game with Kavalek, with a very sharp position, Fischer heard the sound of a camera from over ten meters away. He pointed at the photographer and shouted, “Either he leaves the hall, or I won’t play further.” At that tournament, before the 11th round, Fischer announced he was withdrawing. This particularly pleased Stein, as his loss to Bobby would be erased from the standings. It was also pleasing to Sammy Reshevsky, who sat across from an empty chair meant for Fischer, waiting for a full point. Only five minutes remained. Then, like a genie from a lamp, Fischer burst into the room. Reshevsky, stunned, couldn’t compose himself and fell into a losing position. An American embassy official, to avoid a scandal, intervened with Fischer, saying, “You represent the United States here!” “I represent myself here,” Bobby replied, slamming the door. Fischer definitively withdrew from the tournament, Reshevsky’s loss was erased, but the game remained, and some say it was the most beautiful of the second half of that year.

Fischer’s actions also affected other players. Hungarian Bilek accused Yugoslav Matulović of taking back a move. There were no witnesses, and Matulović claimed he had clearly said “J’adoube” before touching the piece. Bilek argued otherwise, and just when it seemed his persuasiveness would prevail, Matulović played his final card: “Fischer partire, io partire.” Fearing another scandal, the arbiter didn’t force Matulović to play the touched piece, and Bilek didn’t speak to him for years afterward. At the Hungary-Yugoslavia match in Szeged, Bilek refused to shake Matulović’s hand, leaving the Yugoslav’s hand hanging in the air. Frustrated, the Yugoslav easily lost. But revenge came. Before the second game, Matulović removed his chair and, as if playing a simul, played the entire game standing. This time, Bilek was the one rattled and suffered a defeat.

Fischer was also irritated by time trouble. On one occasion, he said, “Gligorić is a gentleman, but Ivkov always gets into time trouble.” Thus, he considered falling into time trouble a lack of manners, probably because a player, desperate to escape the looming flag (younger readers may not know that games were played without increments, with 40 moves in two and a half hours, and if the moves weren’t made in time, the game was lost), would flail their hands across the board, loudly slam the clock, which, for someone with such refined senses like Fischer, was surely very disruptive. He was also annoyed that some players first wrote their intended move on the scoresheet before playing it and demanded this be banned. Hearing of this eccentric request, Grandmaster Larsen said that, if he felt like it, he wouldn’t just write moves in advance—he’d write them from right to left.

Fischer and the Invisible Weights: A Chess Legend

There is a famous story about Bobby Fischer that perfectly captures his intense mindset and unique approach to mental effort. Once, someone saw Fischer in a pose that looked like he was lifting weights — red-faced, breathing heavily, muscles tense — but there were no weights in his hands.

Curious, the visitor asked Fischer, "What are you doing?"
Fischer replied, "I’m lifting a 75-kilogram weight."
"But there’s nothing there," the visitor insisted.
Fischer explained patiently, "The weight isn’t physical. It’s the mental strain, the concentration, the effort it takes to hold that position in my mind, as if I were lifting the real weight. Without that, it wouldn’t be the same training or challenge."

Then the visitor asked, "Can you lift 100 kilograms?"
Fischer answered, "Not yet. I haven’t trained my mind to handle that load."

This story, whether literal or metaphorical, highlights how Fischer equated the invisible exertion of intense mental focus with physical exercise. It’s a vivid illustration of the unseen burdens grandmasters bear during their games — the mental weight of calculation and strategy as demanding as any physical strain.

The Return of the King: A Final Act of Defiance

Boris Spassky says he received a phone call at his home in Grenoble. On the other end was Robert Fischer. “Would you like to play a match in Yugoslavia?” Bobby asked. “Absolutely. Definitely. Yes,” Spassky replied, and that was that.

At that time, Yugoslavia was under a UN blockade, dictated by the Americans. Even the sale of UNICEF postcards for endangered children was prohibited. The Walt Disney Company banned the delivery of its comics to Yugoslav children. Yet the American, Robert James Fischer, came to play in that Yugoslavia. He received a letter from the U.S. Treasury Secretary threatening him with a massive fine and even imprisonment, and Bobby, in front of TV cameras, spat on that letter.

He defeated Spassky. The games weren’t at the highest level, but the world buzzed about the match. Bobby contributed to this with his sharp statements, like: “Kasparov is no champion; he’s a fraud. He rigged all the matches he played against Karpov. The statements he made during those matches are full of lies… That statement (about Fischer’s clock) just shows how disgusting he is, what a liar he is.” “Kasparov lies like a dog,” Bobby shouted at one press conference.

Epilogue: The End of the Story of a Genius

Although many hoped, Fischer didn’t return to chess. After this match, he never played again. He ended his life as a hunted animal, wandering from one place to another, constantly hounded by the U.S. government, which wanted to crush him and take revenge for his defiance.

The great genius found his final refuge in Iceland, though he wanted to settle in Montenegro. But even the intervention of Grandmaster Božidar Ivanović, a former minister in the Montenegrin government, failed, as the regime sought to appease the Americans.

Whatever one thinks of Fischer, in chess and beyond, no one can deny that he was a genius, the kind rarely born.

What do you think? Was Fischer a principled genius or a stubborn renegade?