A Kind of Immortality
Submitted by
on Wed, 06/25/2008 at 6:29pm.
Almost everybody who ever studied a chess primer has seen the Immortal Game—a spectacular sacrificial binge Adolf Anderssen (pictured) perpetrated on Lionel Kieseritzky in London, in 1851.
As good as he was, Anderssen wasn't invincible and, seven years later, found himself on the receiving end of 17-move drubbing at the hands of Paul Morphy. When the game ended he was a piece up and threatening to win the exchange but Morphy had it all covered.
Even Fischer wasn't immune. In the eleventh game of the World Championship match of Reykjavik in 1972, playing the Poisoned Pawn variation of the Sicilian Fischer allowed Spassky too much rope and could well have resigned on move 23. It's been said that he only played on to avoid losing the shortest game of the match.
So their games, like literally millions of others, have survived for us to enjoy, study and assimilate.
Being an incorrigible underdogger, I often spare a thought for the losers in such games and while Kieseritzky, Anderson and Fischer need no commiseration on their respective losses, there are many people who would rather not see their games immortalised on the Internet.
On his “King's Indian Defence” DVD, Andy Martin played through one of his correspondence games and, when his opponent resigned, challenged us to find the winning continuation before he showed it. It was certainly beyond me. However, when he showed it he said, “You can see why he resigned. You wouldn't want to see THAT on the chess board.”
I'll bet you can remember a game you played that was so bad you wouldn't want anybody else to see it, too. I know I can. And guess what? Thanks to chess.com all those blunders will be there forever, for anybody to see. It gives us a kind of immortality, doesn't it—but a kind, perhaps, we could do without.