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When I was young, I thought lawyers were people who memorized all the laws. What else would they do? I am a lawyer now and know that memorizing laws is not what practicing law is about. Beginning law students are told that the reason they are in school is to learn to think like a lawyer, which is a whole new skill set. Young attorneys soon realize that professional actualization comes only with real-life learning experiences.
When I started studying chess several years ago, I soon figured out that gaining any mastery whatsoever would require me to learn to think like a chess player. Almost anyone can learn the moves and physically play a game. But when confronted with the depth of thought strong players undergo, I knew that learning to think like a chess player wouldn't come easy.
And it hasn't. Attempting to excel at chess has been harder than law school, probably because this time, aside from my books, I'm pretty much on my own. Being your own coach, when you don't know enough to be a coach, makes for slow learning. But some one said the purpose of life is to endeavor to persevere, and if you want to improve in chess, this must be your creed. Plus, you should attend chess club regularly, to draw upon the play and kibitzing of stronger players, and to get your can kicked so you have many real-life learning experiences to help you think like a chess player.
One thing I did learn quickly is that I am not a natural. Poor visualization skills. Paltry sense of space. Little native ability to see strategic themes or tactical opportunity. So why am I playing this game? Other than the shear fun of it, the learning process is just as rewarding as it is slow. Serious chess is a demanding mental discipline, requiring much study and concentration. In some small ways, the practice is beginning to pay off. I'm seeing things on the board now I could not see before, sometimes even things a master would miss.
Like the time I was playing someone rated about 300 points higher than me. Coming off upset wins in the first two rounds of a Swiss format tournament (that in successive rounds pairs up players with similar records), I was thrown into a bracket with tough opponents who were also playing well. For most of the third round I held my own, but toward the end it became obvious my opponent would slowly queen a pawn and win. Time was slipping by. I desperately needed a game-changing move but the pressure of the relentless chess clock had me seeing nothing but a disordered array of soldiers on an unconnected maze of squares. All my self-training in analyzing the positional nuances for a logical continuation was reduced to simply looking for a move that didn't immediately lose.
Then suddenly, like an epiphany, I saw a glorious rook move that had gone unnoticed. Flash of genius. The eureka chess players live for. How could I have missed it before now? I started to get an adrenaline rush. This move was so good it could be winning. I didn't want to hurry lest there be a hidden trap. But the more I studied it, the better it seemed.
Poker-faced, I reached for the piece and pushed it to the fine square I had spotted, anxious to see my opponent's reply. By his expression I could tell he had not seen this coming. He stared for a few seconds in disbelief, then slowly looked up and deadpanned, “Excuse me, that's my rook."
The instant flash of complete and total embarrassment filled my soul. Indeed, the fantastic, game-wining move didn't exist at all. The whole thing was a hallucination, where white had been black for a few splendid moments in my rather exhausted mind. Embarrassed, I moved my opponent's rook back, apologized, and laughed briefly at my stupidity.
I went on to lose that game, and several more after it. The highly rated players I had to face that entire tournament brought to mind what some have called the Swiss Gambit -- when playing in tournaments using the Swiss pairing formula which pits winners against winners and losers against losers, don't win the first round lest your remaining opponents be too difficult. Not really a good philosophy. Our goal should be to get better, not to have easy opponents.
I try hard to move only my own rooks now. The mental grind of a difficult tournament does still cause me at times to suddenly wonder where I am and why I'm there, but I do try to make sure my analysis considers the color of the pieces. The road to improvement is slow and filled with many real-life learning experiences. A hundred or so more rating points to make C-class, and a lot more to go after that. This stuff is work. But as with everyone who really cares about chess, it's a labor of love.
