Herein A Lengthy Tale of my first OTB Tournament in the 1970's

In honor of International Chess Day, here's a semi-lengthy story about my first foray into the world of OTB Chess tournaments back in the late 1970's.

I've loved the game of Chess ever since I first learned how to play when I was about 10 or 11.  I've never been much better than a mediocre player at best, although I have had my moments during those times when I devoted a lot of time to study, practice, and analysis.

In the late 1970’s I was basically a 22-year-old surf bum, an aspiring writer, and a Journalism graduate (BA) living in San Diego. I lived with my parents in their apartment in La Jolla. I got a job managing a cookie store on Pearl St called “Lord Byron’s Chocolate Chip Cookies”. (It’s now Don Carlos Taco Shop.) I did some occasional freelance journalism on the side, but my primary focus in those days was surfing. An evening job managing the cookie store freed up my mornings for surfing. I was young, invincible, and felt like time was infinite so that I could always get a “real” job in journalism at some point in the future.

I became friends with a number of my co-workers at the cookie store. There was one woman about my age who I befriended.  I used to hang out with her and her boyfriend, Mike Mosely, whom she lived with. Mike was good looking, sandy blond hair, and looked like a classic surfer type. But Mike did not surf.  His big passion was chess.

Like most people in those days, my stereotype of a passionate chess player envisioned a pale nerdy guy with glasses. Mike was completely antithetical to that stereotype. What brought Mike back to mind after so many years was both the recent reawakening of my interest in chess, and the Benny Watts character in “Queen’s Gambit”. Although he didn’t have the same kind of fame as the fictional Benny Watts, Mike was similar to the character in many ways.

When Mike found out that I played chess, he insisted we start playing together. He was on a level way beyond my abilities of play and analysis. But his love of chess was infectious, and we used to play, analyze, and go over various opening variations together.

He was particularly fond of the Caro-Kann Defense and had devoted a lot of study to many of its variations. Probably one of the best legitimate games I ever played back then was against Mike when I played Black, used the Caro-Kann myself, and was actually able to force a draw. Normally Mike would handily beat me in most games. He was never arrogant, though, and very generous in going over games we had played and trying to help me improve my game.

There was an upcoming local chess tournament being held at some park recreation building in Pacific Beach.  Mike had played in tournaments before and was familiar with many of the better San Diego chess players of that time. He insisted I enter the tournament myself.  I hesitated at first, but finally agreed.

When we got there for the opening series of games, he pointed out a guy who was considered to be one of the best local players, and a favorite to win the tournament.  He definitely fit the standard chess player stereotype.   Mike, of course, had a single goal in mind, and that was to win the tournament himself. As for me, I just didn’t want to be humiliated too badly. Mike also pointed out a young woman, the only one in the tournament, who was also considered to be very good but not quite a favorite to win the whole thing.

If I recall correctly, the tournament was set up to be 5 rounds. Winners would advance to play other winners, and losers would end up playing other losers. I don’t recall the specifics of the games I played, but I do know that I was very nervous. Mike, of course, won his first game and I lost mine. After each round, we’d go over our games together and Mike would try to help me see where my mistakes were and how to prevent them. He seemed almost as invested in wanting me to win as much as he wanted to win for himself.

Because this was the late 1970’s, there was no internet, or readily available chess engines.  The newest lines of study had to be gleaned from magazines, International tournament reports, and books.  In a local library, Mike was able to find a new book on the Caro-Kann. It had a particular winning variation for black and Mike suspected it was a variation that the guy who was favored to win the tournament was unaware of. He studied that variation endlessly and planned to use it if he ended up facing “the favorite”.

Meanwhile, in my own studies, I had become interested in playing the English Opening.  Mike’s interest in the Caro-Kann for Black had interested me in using a “flank” style opening for White. I planned to use it in my next tournament game and Mike tried to help me prepare the best line to follow, depending on my opponent’s responses.

I got my chance in the third or fourth game of the tournament. I had yet to win a game, but I thought playing a less familiar opening might help me. My opponent was an elderly man. I opened with 1. c4 and I think my opponent followed with some standard variation of the English. I was on solid ground and did not make any glaring blunders until we entered the middle game when I suddenly found myself in uncharted territory. Learning an opening and its recommended variations provides a solid foundation and is all well and good, but at some point the game goes “off book” and you have to rely on your own powers of analysis and tactical vision.  (Like all tournament players, I recorded the moves during these games but, alas, my game sheets disappeared into the unknown many years ago.  I wish I could see what I played in those days.) I always seem to get to some point where I couldn't see far enough ahead to know if a given move was the the best one to play. In those instances I tried to rely on the basics of controlling the center, developing my pieces, supporting my pieces, and watching for obvious threats or the possibility of launching an attack. But the old man’s powers of analysis were greater than mine and I eventually worked myself into an unwinnable position and resigned.

I remember the elderly man looking at me after I resigned and smiling. He put out his hand and said, “Thank you. This is the first tournament game I’ve won in many years. You’ve made an old man very happy.” I shook his hand and he proceeded to help me by pointing out some points in the game where I could have made better moves. Of all the games of chess I’ve ever played, that one in particular stands out and the thought that I made that old man’s night by losing was more than enough compensation for the loss itself.  I’ve never forgotten that.

Meanwhile, Mike was advancing in the tournament by a steady stream of wins. His fourth game was against the only woman in the tournament. She was a very strong player and I think she was also undefeated up to that point. I don’t know what opening they played, but Mike eventually won. The final round for him would be against the local favorite, the only other undefeated player in the tournament.

In my fifth and final game, I faced someone else who had yet to win a game in the tournament. I don’t recall what opening we played, but I remember we hacked away at each other over the course of a long game. The game went on so long, in fact, that a lot of the other games were over and a number of other players came over to watch our game. It must have been painful for some of the better players to see the numerous blunders and squandered opportunities. Eventually, I was able to achieve a material superiority, and a more favorable pawn position, which I was finally able to exploit in the end game. It was my one and only OTB chess tournament win (so far). I remember Mike had come over to watch as well, and I knew that he was pulling for me to win. He later showed me where and why I could have won about 7 or 8 moves earlier than I finally did. He also told me that he too had finished 1-4 in his first chess tournament.

As for Mike’s final game with the guy who was considered the strongest player in the tournament? Mike had the Black pieces, played the Caro Kann, and was able to exploit the advantageous new line that he had studied in the book he found. Mike ended up winning the tournament.

I eventually quit Lord Byron’s, got a different job, and found my own apartment in Ocean Beach, a few blocks from Sunset Cliffs. I lost touch with Mike and his girlfriend, but I wonder if he’s still out there playing chess and what he might have thought of “The Queen’s Gambit” on Netflix.   

Nice story.

That was an interesting story. Thanks for sharing that with us!

Thanks.  I always enjoy hearing stories like that. 

Thanks for you interesting story.

awesomely written

I really enjoyed reading that story.  That was an awesome era of chess.

This has to be one of the best chess-related posts in a long, long time. It shows what a talented writer with real insight and a good story can produce. 

Thanks.

Do you by any chance remember the women's name? 

Thank you so much for the kind words!

I'm sorry, I did not get the woman's name, or anyone else's for that matter.   If my memory can be trusted, she was also in her twenties, dark brunette, shoulder length or slightly shorter hair.   Speaking of writing, I've read a number of your wonderful articles here, including some of the series you've written on the history of American women chess players.   I doubt that there are any records of the event I attended, but I'd be interested to know if that woman might have been one of the top players of that time.   I recall my friend speaking highly of her abilities.   Was there any woman you've heard of from that era who might have been from the San Diego area?