I played a match against Miguel Najdorf
Throughout my life, I have had the chance to meet and even play with some legends of chess. It is very likely that in the future I will tell you about other encounters I was fortunate enough to experience, but today I am going to talk about the day I played a match against Miguel Najdorf. Sometimes one does not realize how historic and unrepeatable a moment can be while living it. In this case, I must admit that I enjoyed it fully aware that something magical was happening.
It happened 30 years ago. Back then, at 24, I played on first board for the now-defunct Escuela de Ajedrez La General (later Escuela CajaGranada). It was a respected club in the city of the Alhambra, where GM Pepe Cuenca and other titled players got their start. Chess in Granada owes a lot to Julio Ferrer, a chess coach now retired, who was in charge of the club.
That day, I traveled with the team to Seville, where we faced Círculo de Labradores in one of the rounds of the Andalusian League. Their first board was GM Daniel Cámpora, a chess player I have always admired deeply and who would be my opponent that day.
As soon as we arrived at the venue, the news spread from one person to another, creating a small murmur: “Miguel Najdorf is here!” So we were going to have a very special spectator. Someone mentioned that “el viejo,” as he was affectionately known, was spending a few days at the home of his good friend Daniel Cámpora.
I do not have the scoresheet of my game from that day. Maybe someday it will appear in some folder or drawer. I do remember that in the early middlegame, Cámpora offered me a draw in a position where he was not worse. The only reasonable explanation for that, considering the difference in level and rating, is that he did not feel like playing much and probably preferred to spend time with his distinguished guest.
For me, the best part of the game (aside from that valuable draw) was what Najdorf did during it. The first time it happened, I froze. At one point, Cámpora made a move and got up to look at the other games. While I was thinking about my reply, his chair was occupied again, but when I looked up, it was not my opponent I found in front of me. It was Miguel Najdorf, one of the greatest legends of our game, focused on the position with his elbows on the table and his hands on his head, as if it were his own game. I could not believe it. It was almost like playing against “el viejo,” although that moment was still to come.
It happened several more times during the game. Cámpora stood up, and Najdorf took his place, naturally, acting as if he were truly my opponent. Then the real adversary of that day would return to the board. Many years later, Cámpora told me that Najdorf often did that. And the best part came at the end of the game!
After signing the scoresheet I stood up and saw Najdorf walking toward me. He grabbed my arm and said:
— “You made a draw with my friend. Now you will have to face me!”
There are few proposals harder to refuse than that of a true legend who wants to play with you. At 85, Miguel Najdorf, a myth of the 64 squares and one of the best players in the world for several decades, challenged me to a match. “El viejo” quickly set the conditions of his challenge:
— “You get five minutes and I get one in every game. I will win the match if I reach ten wins. You only need to win one to win the match.”
The rules seemed very favorable to me. So much so that accepting them felt like having a real advantage, even against a rival like him. But it was not the moment to argue. I would have accepted any condition he proposed. We took a clock and went to a large adjoining room. A few spectators came with us, among them Little Daniel, GM Cámpora’s son, who appears in the center of the photo at the top of this article. The players from both teams joined the show as they finished their games. My friend and teammate Enrique Borrego is also in the picture. The photo, by the way, was taken by Teresa, Daniel’s wife.
Najdorf was still incredibly strong at that time, although naturally not as powerful or fast as he had once been. When he won a game, he added a point to his score. When I reached a good position or, simply, when he ended up lost, he would say:
— “I accept a draw.”
And he reset the pieces while everyone laughed. Of course, Don Miguel won the match, and I earned the beautiful gift of an unforgettable day.
