Let me ask you something. Have you ever woken up at 3 a.m.? Not for a flight. Not because of a bad dream. But rather because you just… wanted to. I did it today. And I’m doing it again tomorrow. Every day this week, actually. Not because I enjoy the sound of early morning silence or feel inspired by the moonlight (or sunshine if you live as far north as me). I’m doing it to reset my sleep schedule so that waking up at 3 a.m. feels natural. Because soon, it needs to be.
On May 18th at exactly 3 a.m., I’ll be starting a 24-hour livestream of myself playing chess from a bar in Stockholm. A full day. No naps. No breaks. No editing. Just me, a chessboard, and an internet connection. It’s called The Chessathon, and if you’ve ever been curious about what happens when chess meets sleep deprivation, this might just be your new favorite thing.
So what is The Chessathon, exactly? It’s my own personal one-day chess marathon that kicks off in the middle of the night at a place called Svarta Hästen. It’s a local chess bar here in Stockholm, and the vibe is perfect. Think candle-lit tables, casual blitz games between strangers, and walls lined with books and wine. That’s where I’ll be stationed, facing off against viewers, randoms online, and whoever happens to walk in the door and wants to throw down over the board.
To keep things legit, I’ll be using a ChessUp 2 board. It’s a smart board that transmits my moves online, so viewers from anywhere in the world can challenge me in real time. The cool part is that I’m still physically moving pieces like any normal game, but all of it is mirrored digitally. I’ll be streaming live on my YouTube channel ZigZagChess and my new Twitch channel, also named zigzagchess. Feel free to pick your platform. I’ll be equally exhausted on both.
Now, you might be wondering, why on earth start at 3 a.m.? The short answer is: opening hours. Svarta Hästen has its own schedule, and I had to work around it. I can only stay until 3 a.m. on Monday, which means the whole thing has to kick off exactly 24 hours earlier, at 3 a.m. on Sunday. Not ideal, but hey, logistics rarely are. Hence the weird sleep training I’ve been doing.
Once the stream begins, it’ll be a mix of everything. I’ll be playing live games against viewers who challenge me through ChessUp. I’ll mix in rapid games against random opponents online to keep the pace up. And once the bar opens and people start filtering in, I’ll also be playing over-the-board games with anyone who’s brave enough to sit down. All of this while trying to stay sharp, hydrated, and at least semi-coherent.
I’ll be talking a lot too. Some of it will be chess commentary, some of it will probably be caffeine-fueled nonsense. If I hit that strange middle-of-the-night second wind, I might start overexplaining why I love the King’s Indian or why I think most openings are just vibes. Who knows. It’s hard to predict what a human brain does after twenty hours without sleep, especially when it’s locked in a constant feedback loop of tactics and time pressure.
So, why do this to myself? Good question. It’s part personal challenge, part community experiment, part ridiculous stunt. I’ve always liked the idea of pushing myself in new ways, and chess is the kind of game that punishes even the smallest lapse in focus. So what happens when the whole point is to stay focused for a full day straight? There’s something oddly poetic about that. It’s also a chance to connect with people from all over the world through a shared obsession. Some of you might be grandmasters in disguise. Some of you might just be night owls with nothing better to do. Either way, I’d love to have you there.
If you want to watch, I’ll be live the entire time on both YouTube and Twitch. If you want to challenge me, you can do that too. I’ll be accepting matches throughout the stream. And if you happen to live in Stockholm or nearby, come by Svarta Hästen. I’ll be the one at the back table with heavy eyelids and a cup of something very strong. Come say hi. Play a game. Or just heckle me gently from a safe distance.
This whole thing is kind of absurd. But that’s what makes it fun. I have no idea how it’s going to go. I might win a few brilliant games. I might get wrecked by a ten-year-old from across the globe. I might say something deeply philosophical at 2 a.m. the next day and not remember it at all. But that’s the point. It’s unpredictable. It’s completely unfiltered. And for some reason, I think it might be beautiful.
So set your reminders. Jump in the chat or stop by in person. The Chessathon is happening. Let’s see what 24 hours of chess, community, and maybe just a little bit of chaos looks like.
I don’t play “real” chess tournaments all that often these days. The kind that last several days, maybe a week, with one or at most two games per day. It’s a bit tricky to fit into the rest of life, but I keep an eye on the calendar for opportunities. Because it really is a special experience to spend several days diving into oneself and just playing. There might be some socializing—there are almost always lots of old friends around—but for the most part I’m practically silent the whole time, playing my games and spending the time between rounds enjoying good food and reading a few books.
The result is rarely anything to write home about. I still play at a decent level, but it feels like the mistakes have become more dramatic and decisive compared to when I was younger. And if one is to believe what everyone says, the years do bring valuable experience—more patterns are stored, and one can draw from the memory of thousands of tournament games. But at the same time, the thoughts get slower each year, calculating variations becomes more sluggish, and the blunders seem to increase.
The last time I played for real was at the Reykjavík Open three years ago. We were a group of a dozen or so players from Uppsala SSS and had a real adventure—both on and off the board. Of course, we took a trip to the geysers and to Þingvellir, but the most enticing visit was to Selfoss, to see Bobby Fischer’s grave and the museum commemorating the 1972 match between Fischer and Boris Spassky. That match defined both Fischer as a player and Iceland as a chess nation, and its presence is still very much felt when one visits Iceland as a chess player.
A group of young Uppsala players shivering at Geysir.Here I am with Warg Skåhlberg Bjerknes Lima de Faria, sitting at the very board where the 1972 World Championship match was played.
The Reykjavík Open is one of the best open tournaments in the world. “Open” means anyone can register and everyone plays in the same class. It’s pretty cool, and if you’re lucky, you might get the chance to test your skills against a real star.
Two of the big names that year were the young Indians Gukesh and Praggnanandhaa. Both kept impressing, and news of their successes kept coming—yet they were only 16 and 17 years old! And when trying to figure out who I might be paired against in round one, it wasn’t out of the question that it could be one of them. That would have been so cool!
I ended up facing a very strong player in round one, though not one of those I had hoped for. Instead, it was an 18-year-old American I hadn’t heard of. His rating was over 2600, so he was clearly a star, and it was still an amazing challenge. His name was Hans Moke Niemann, and while he wasn’t very well known at the time, that would soon change—just a few months later he would win a beautiful game against Magnus Carlsen, but that’s a different story.
The top five boards were placed on a small podium, and I was to play there (Gukesh was at the board next to mine!). Playing black against the tournament’s third-highest-ranked player wasn’t likely to yield much beyond a cool experience, but that’s not so bad. So I sat down and got started.
Hans Niemann and I are just about to start our game in the first round.
Hans Moke Niemann – Carl Fredrik Johansson, Reykjavík Open 2022
Already this early, I go wrong. Advancing the e-pawn two squares here was much worse than I realized at the time. And I really found that out after the game. In the post-game analysis, Hans told me he had looked through a few of my games before the round. I was a bit surprised just by that information—since it was the first round of the tournament, you found out who your opponent was only shortly before the game started, so there weren’t many minutes to prepare. But what he told me made me understand much more clearly the gap between a regular patzer like me and a world-class player.
He had noticed that in similar positions, I had played the move e7–e5 in two games—and apparently both times I had played it almost instantly. His analysis, then, was that this move was “obvious” to me, and since he understood that it would lead to positions where White stands excellently and Black is stuck in hopeless, dull setups, he chose this opening—despite normally playing something entirely different.
7.c3 Be7 8.a4 Nf8 9.Bf1 Ng6 10.d4 Bg4
11.dxc5!
This move defines the central pawn structure, and it’s immediately clear that I would prefer to have either a pawn on e5 or on c5—in this case, having both means my pieces lack too many useful squares. I had dreams about 11.d5—with a closed center I felt I might get reasonable chances for play on the kingside—but that idea likely never even crossed his radar.
11… dxc5 12.Qxd8+!
A quick comparison of our pieces brings nothing but bad news for me. My dark-squared bishop in particular is quite miserable. Even in my wildest dreams, I can’t find a decent square for it. When a much stronger player makes a move like this against you, you’re left feeling like you understand absolutely nothing at all.
12… Rxd8 13.Nbd2 O-O 14.h3 Bd7
I try to hold on to the few pieces that are still functioning somewhat reasonably.
15.Nc4 Bc6!
I was pleased with this move. White has to keep the e-pawn defended as long as I threaten it, and the tactic works.
16.Bg5
If 16.Nxe5 Nxe5 17.Nxe5 Bxe4, and suddenly my pieces are far livelier than they deserve to be.
16… h6 17.Bxf6
These kinds of exchanges impress me. One part of my brain thinks, “fewer pieces on the board = closer to a draw.” But the other, wiser part realizes that he’s simply exchanging pieces so that the remaining white ones are better than the black ones.
17… Bxf6 18.Na5 Ne7
Here I had calculated quite carefully the possibility that Niemann would play 19.b4, which looks natural. It gives White more space on the queenside and looks pretty scary. But my pieces were actually well-prepared to face it—even if I wasn’t entirely confident it would hold.
19.b4?
But the natural move was rushed—there was no need to hurry. I had prepared the coming sequence well, and I believe there’s only one path that keeps the game afloat.
19… cxb4 20.cxb4 b5! 21.Rac1 Rc8 22.Rc5 Be8!
I was very pleased with this move during the game, even though the engine now says 22…bxa4 was slightly better. In any case, Black has surprisingly gotten the pieces more in order over the last few moves. Since I can tactically hold both b5 and e5, White’s plan has faltered a bit—and if you look closely, his pieces aren’t that wonderfully placed anymore either.
23.axb5 Rxc5 24.bxc5 axb5 25.Bxb5 axb5 26.Rb1 Rb8
Somewhere around here, for the first time in the game, I could breathe a bit more easily. I knew I had weathered the worst storm and that the position was fairly equal.
27.Kf1 b4 28.Ke2 Ra8!
The start of a slightly tricky plan.
29.Ra1 Nc6 30.Nb3 Ra3!
I was really fond of this move, and in the post-game analysis, Hans said he had either missed it or seriously underestimated it.
31.Rxa3 bxa3
Now my passed pawn is certainly no less dangerous than his.
32.Ne1 a2?
Analysis diagram after 34…a2.
But just one move later, I gave the game back. Time was getting short—there was a time control at move 40—and the move I tried calculating was 32.Nd4+. It’s the kind of forcing move you should start analyzing first, but I couldn’t make anything work. So I thought: I can always play Nd4 on the next move, but the a-pawn needs to move anyway—and since I didn’t think it looked more vulnerable on a2 than a3, this move felt like the only reasonable option.
But unfortunately, I chose wrong. 32… Nd4+! is so much better than I had realized. After 33.Nxd4 exd4 34.Nc2 a2 (diagram), the knight is tied down to defending a1. White might be able to hold, but it’s not easy. For example: 35.g3 Be7 36.c6 Bd8 37.Kd3 Ba5 38.c7 Bxc7 39.Kxd4 Ba5+, and Black wins. So close, yet so far away.
33.Nc2! Bd8?
Not objectively terrible, but it shows I have no real plan. 33…Nd4+ could have still been played, although it’s not as powerful now that White’s knights are in position. 34.Nxd4 exd4 35.f4 and the game feels roughly equal.
34.Kd3 Kf8 35.Kc4 Ke8
Hans complimented this move after the game, but the variation he thought I had calculated—which required the king to go precisely here—was something I hadn’t thought about at all.
36.Nc1 Nd4 37.Na1
37… Kd7?
37… Ne6! was the last chance to save the game, with the idea of shifting play to the kingside via f4 when White tries to push the c-pawn. But I hadn’t seen the idea at all. I think it’s mentally difficult to realize that I should suddenly switch sides after the last 20 moves have been exclusively on the queenside. After 38.Nxa2 Nf4 39.Nc4 Nxg2 40.Nd3 g5, it’s not at all clear that Black is worse.
38.Nxa2
Now the passed pawn is gone, and I have nothing left. The rest of the moves are just a dreary road to the inevitable conclusion.
After a long game, it’s not uncommon for the players to head to an adjacent room (the “analysis room”) to go through the game together—discussing their thinking and seeing if there was anything smarter they could have done. But when an older man (me), nowhere near elite level, has played against a young superstar, it’s not exactly expected. I honestly thought Hans might just move on to hang out with his peers or prepare for the next round. But when I humbly asked if he’d be willing to go through the game together, he replied, “Gladly,” and we brought a board to the bar in the basement of Harpa (a very cool venue), grabbed a beer each, and sat for an hour talking about the game.
Johan Sigeman joined us, and in addition to analyzing the game, we had the chance to chat with a true chess professional about all sorts of things. Hans told us he felt like a nomad, with roots in Germany, Denmark and Hawaii, spending nearly the entire year on the road, traveling from tournament to tournament and just playing. It didn’t bring in big money, but grandmasters often don’t pay for lodging or meals during tournaments, and it was clearly a lifestyle that worked for him. With low expenses, even small prize winnings could significantly raise his standard of living.
Just a few months later, the whole world knew who he was. And despite how poorly he’s been treated by chess.com and many others, he has continued climbing the rankings and is now ranked among the world’s top 20. A nomadic chess life clearly suits him.
Here we are at the bar, trying to make sense of what we’d just gone through. The photo was taken by Johan Sigeman, who also added to the pleasant atmosphere at the table.
In a few weeks, it’s time for another chess event. In Stavanger, Kjell Madland has for many years organized Norway Chess, one of the few events that reliably attracts the world’s top players each year. It’s fair to say that Magnus Carlsen’s participation is a major draw, but it’s a beautifully organized tournament and they go all out to make both players and spectators feel welcome.
Last year, Norway Chess was played in both an open and a women’s group, with everything equal between the two—including prize funds. This rightly garnered attention, and the same format is planned again this year. In the men’s group, we have Magnus Carlsen (ranked no. 1), Gukesh (World Champion), Hikaru Nakamura (2), Arjun Erigaisi (4), Fabiano Caruana (5), and Wei Yi (8). Among the women: Ju Wenjun (World Champion), Lei Tingjie (4), Humpy Koneru (6), Anna Muzychuk (8), Vaishali (16), and the Spanish/Iranian outsider Sarasadat Khademalsharieh.
Six players in each group, playing double round-robins—something truly special to follow.
Here’s what it looked like in the bar after the final round of a previous Norway Chess edition. Fabiano Caruana and Jan Gustafsson playing bughouse against Levon Aronian and an unknown star.
Alongside Norway Chess this year, there will be an open tournament, which I’ve registered for. Aside from giving myself a proper chess week, it will be great fun to watch the superstars up close. There will be a few grandmasters in the open tournament too, but their playing strength is nowhere near the galactic level of the top-tier names. Maybe I’ll get a chance to play one of them—how fun that would be.
My tournament is nine rounds over seven days. Even with a tight schedule, there should still be some time to explore what Stavanger has to offer. Or maybe just some quiet days together with a few unread books. One that’s definitely coming with me is Susan Polgar’s latest, Rebel Queen, with the irresistible subtitle The Cold War, Misogyny and the Making of a Grandmaster. She has so many stories to tell—and if she manages to maintain some distance to herself in the book, it promises to be a very interesting read.
When I was younger and significantly more ambitious than I am today, I devoured every chess book I could find. Simply put, I truly believed that all I had to do was read and absorb what the masters had written, and then—just like that—I would be as good as they were.
Book studies were supposed to be a guaranteed way to achieve success. Especially in the opening phase. Hadn’t I all too often been tricked into positions I disliked, didn’t understand, or where I was simply worse?
One book I had high hopes for was An Opening Repertoire for the Attacking Player by Raymond Keene and David Levy. I imagined it would suit me like a glove. After all, wasn’t I an “Attacking Player”? And here was a book that would tell me which openings to choose in order to always play attacking chess and always end up in positions I liked. Little did I know then that Keene is one of the most prolific writers of low-quality chess books in history. Nor did I, in my youthful naivety, consider that a complete repertoire book should probably be much thicker and more detailed than this thin little volume.
Nevertheless, I learned the masters’ variations as best I could, gaining a brilliant level of confidence in the process. 1.e4 was the magic solution, and then there were suitable attacking responses to all of Black’s attempts to dull the game.
In a tournament in Lugano in the spring of 1985, I was set to face the Dutchman Gert Pieterse, whom I knew played the Caro-Kann as black. Naturally, Keene and Levy had a guaranteed winning variation against this as well, so all it took was a quick look in the book of truth for me to feel completely prepared.
Carl Fredrik Johansson – Gert Pieterse Lugano Open, Lugano, Switzerland, 1985
1.e4 c6 2.d4 d5 3.exd5 cxd5 4.c4 Nf6 5.c5?!
Yes, this is exactly how it should be played. It was called Gunderam’s Attack, and nowhere in the book was there even a hint of a chance for Black to equalize. White’s queenside pawns would swallow Black, who would struggle just to move his pieces. At least, that was the idea.
5…b6 6.b4 a5 7.b5 bxc5 8.dxc5
After 8… Qc7 9. Be3, the authors then write that “Black is already helpless against the combined strength of the pawns.” And 8… e5 9. c6 does not help either. So it was that simple. I’m crushing him!
8…e6!
That wasn’t in the book, but e6 or e5 shouldn’t make much of a difference. I continued as Keene had done.
9.c6 Ne4!
And suddenly I realized what a huge difference it makes whether Black’s pawn is on e6 or e5. White’s greatest weaknesses lie on the dark squares behind the ambitious pawns. If Black is to exploit this, the f6–a1 diagonal must not be blocked. That wasn’t mentioned in the book.
10.Qf3!?
The alternatives aren’t any better: a) 10.Nd2 Nxf2 11.c7 Qxc7 12.Kxf2 Be5+ 13.Kf3 Bg1 14.Rxg1 Qc3+ winning. b) 10.Bb2 Bb4+ wins immediately. c) 10.Nf3 Bb4+ 11.Nbd2 Qb6 12.Qe2 Rc3 13.Rb1 Nc6 and everything collapses. d) The best I have been able to find for White afterward is the following variation: 10.Be3 Bb4+ 11.Nd2 d4 12.Bf4 e5 13.Qc2 O-O!, but it seems like Black gets a much better position in all variations.
That was hardly what I had dreamed of before the game. So everything seems terrible. But those who don’t think for themselves always have only themselves to blame. Here ends the moral lesson. As Bent Larsen said – I don’t think you should burn all chess books, just the theory books.
Despite this opening debacle, the game actually lasted much longer than I deserved. For those who want to see an example of real Hawaii chess, I’m happy to share the rest of the adventure.
10…Bb4+ 11.Nd2?
The only way to avoid an immediate loss was 11. Kd1. But how fun does that look?
11…Qb6!
Threatening 12… Rc3 13. Rb1 Nc6! Already here, Black is winning. But it’s not enough to have a winning position; you also have to win.
12.Bd3
12.Rb1 fails to 12… Nc6 13.bxc6 Rxd2+ and 14… Qxb1
12…Qd4! 13.Rb1 Nxf2 14.Rb3!?
A crazy move. But 14.Qxf2 Qxd3 15.Rb3 Qxb5 is also completely lost. The most reasonable thing would be to resign, but instead, I went for what looked like the only possible swindle.
14…Nxh1 15.Ne2 Qh4+ 16.Kf1 Qxh2 17.Qg4!?
Should he avoid 17… g6, 17… Bf8, or some other move that secures his winning position, or should he let me stay in the game a little longer?
17…O-O??
Thank you, thank you. Now “resign” is no longer an option.
18.Nf3!
18…f5!
A piece sacrifice, but if 18…Qc7 then 19. Bxh7+! Kxh7 20. Qh5+ Kg8 21. Ng5 Rd8 22. b6! and I am the one winning.
19.Qxb4 axb4 20.Nxh2 e5 21.Kg1 Rxa2
It’s hard to get the pawns moving. 21… e4 22.Bxe4 Ra5 23.Rxb4 Ba6 24.bxa6 Nc6 25.Rb6 and White stands absolutely better.
22.Bb2 Nxc6!?
This looks desperate, but Black simply cannot afford to let the knight remain trapped. Here we can actually see the only small point of the opening moves reflected in the game. The b- and c-pawns were at least somewhat useful. At the same time, it is not at all easy for Black to move the beautiful central pawns without weakening them. An example is 22… e4 23. Bxe4 Ra5 24. Rxb4 f4 25. Kxh1. Materially, it is roughly equal (believe it or not), but my passed pawns are just as dangerous as Black’s.
Here one might consider investigating the interesting endgame with three pieces against a rook and four pawns, but it felt like there had been enough strangeness for one game. That investigation will simply have to wait until the next time the opportunity arises. Instead, I simplified with another piece sacrifice.
28…exd4 29.Bxd4 Rxc7 30.Rxb4
Neither I nor Mr. Pieterse really understood what had happened. It is still the same game! A lot has happened in just 30 moves. Now it should be a draw, but we fought on for a few more hours out of sheer habit.
In a game where a rook, three pieces, and an exchange have already been sacrificed, it is only natural that the final move is also a sacrifice. After 61…Rxg7 62. Bxg7 Kxg7, all the pieces are gone. So, finally, we could rest.
½–½
In the winter of 1939, a cold and anxious silence hung over the corridors of power in Moscow. At a desk sat Mikhail Botvinnik, 27 years old, with a simple yet monumental dream: to play a world championship match against Alexander Alekhine, the titan of the chess world. He had received the green light from the highest level – a personal blessing from Stalin himself – but every step forward felt like walking on ice that threatened to crack.
A Meeting in the Heart of Europe
It all began in late 1938 during the prestigious AVRO tournament in the Netherlands. The event had gathered eight of the world’s best players to determine who was the leading contender to challenge world champion Alekhine in a future title match. Among the participants were legends like José Raúl Capablanca, former world champion, and Paul Keres, a rising star from Estonia. Alekhine himself had a mediocre tournament, finishing sixth, while Botvinnik impressed and ended up in third place.
After the tournament, a meeting was arranged between Alekhine and Botvinnik at a hotel in Haarlem. It was a cold November evening, and the smoky hotel bar buzzed with chatter from tournament players and spectators. Botvinnik, nervous but determined, took the initiative.
“I have an idea,” said Botvinnik, leaning across the table. His Russian broke through the French conversation.
Alekhine looked up from his glass of red wine and smiled faintly, a mix of curiosity and weariness in his eyes. “An idea? If it’s about chess, I’m always interested.”
“A match,” Botvinnik continued. “You and me. In Moscow. Let the world see what the Soviet Union has to offer.”
A moment of tension followed. Alekhine, an exiled Russian who had left his homeland in 1921 and never returned, knew that such a match would be more than just a game. It would be politics, propaganda, and prestige. But his love for chess—and perhaps a longing to reconnect with his homeland—made him nod.
“I accept—if Moscow does.”
The Status of a World Champion
At the time, Alexander Alekhine was still a mythical figure in the chess world, even though his position as world champion was beginning to be questioned. He had first claimed the title in 1927 by defeating José Raúl Capablanca in a legendary match, but his playing strength had declined over the years. Critics pointed to his age, increasingly inconsistent performances, and his reputation as an alcoholic.
Still, Alekhine remained a charismatic figure. His style, which blended brilliant creativity with deep tactical understanding, had inspired generations of players. Though he was beloved in the West, his relationship with the Soviet Union was more complicated. Many there viewed him as a traitor for having left the country during the chaos of the revolution. But in later years, he had tried to mend his reputation by sending friendly messages to Soviet players and even expressing a wish to return.
Soviet Chess’s New Hope
On the other side of the board stood Mikhail Botvinnik, a product of the Soviet effort to turn chess into an ideological weapon. Botvinnik was not just an exceptional player—he was also a symbol of the new Soviet man. His disciplined and scientific approach to the game reflected the Communist dream of a new kind of human being: rational, hardworking, and loyal to the state.
Despite his international successes, Botvinnik had not yet proven himself to be the world’s best player. His ambition to face Alekhine was therefore both personal and political.
Approval from the Kremlin
When Botvinnik returned to Moscow from the AVRO tournament, he immediately became a man on a mission. He used his government contacts to push for the match. Among his allies was Nikolai Bulganin, a high-ranking politician with an interest in chess. In January 1939, the breakthrough came. A telegram arrived from Molotov’s office:
“If you challenge Alekhine, we wish you success. The rest can be easily arranged.”
Botvinnik smiled. He knew that these words, though signed by Molotov, were Stalin’s own. Plans began to take shape. The match was to be held in the Column Hall in Moscow, a symbolic venue of Soviet power and culture. A thousand spectators would fill the hall, and the match would be marketed as a triumph of socialism’s superiority.
The Power Struggle Begins
But not everyone was enthusiastic. Vladimir Snegov, head of the All-Union Committee for Physical Culture and Sports, saw the match as a potential disaster. If Botvinnik were to lose to Alekhine—a defector and symbol of Tsarist Russia—it would be an ideological defeat. Snegov began actively stalling the process. He pointed to logistical issues, questioned Alekhine’s loyalty, and demanded more details about the budget.
Botvinnik, frustrated but determined, tried to navigate around the obstacles. He wrote letters, held meetings, and even visited the Kremlin personally to get things moving. But every step forward was followed by two steps back.
A Match Date That Never Came
By the spring of 1940, it seemed the match would finally happen. A date was set for the autumn, and preparations were nearly complete. But then world politics intervened. Nazi Germany invaded France, and Alekhine, who was in Paris, became trapped in occupied Europe.
In June 1940, Vyshinsky, one of Stalin’s right-hand men, drew a line through the document containing the match details. “This matter is no longer relevant,” he wrote briefly.
Epilogue
After the war, in 1946, Botvinnik made one last attempt to arrange the match. He sent a telegram to Alekhine: “Let’s do this. The world is waiting.” But Alekhine, gravely ill by then, never had a chance to reply. He died in March that year, alone in a hotel room in Portugal.
Botvinnik would later become world champion, but he always knew that his greatest challenge never came to be. The match between him and Alekhine remained a dream—a match that only ever played out in the imagination.
Throughout my life, I’ve taken part in countless chess camps around the world and learned from some of the best coaches out there. Each coach has their own unique philosophy and teaching methods, but there’s one exercise that almost all of them have consistently recommended.
American grandmaster and renowned coach Gregory Kaidanov called it “Solitaire Chess,” which is where I first heard about this exercise, but it may be more widely known as “Guess the Move.” During a camp led by Ramesh R.B. (founder of Chess Gurukul and coach of talents like Pragg), I learned his preferred way of using this exercise.
I’ve shared insights from that camp, including a detailed mind map, in a previous blog post: What I Learned from One of the World’s Best Coaches. But here, I’ll focus specifically on “Guess the Move.”
How to Practice ‘Guess the Move’
1. Choose a Player Start by selecting a specific top-level player whose games you’ll study. Ramesh suggests picking someone whose playing style is similar to your own. This makes the exercise more relevant and effective. For a deeper guide on how to choose the right player, check out the video I made:
2. Study the Game from Their Perspective Choose games that the selected player won, and focus solely on guessing their moves.
3. Skip the Opening Moves You don’t need to guess the opening moves, as they often follow well-known theory. Start the exercise after the first 4–5 moves.
Step-by-Step for Each Move
Understand the Opponent’s Move Ask yourself: Why did my opponent play this move? Identify three possible reasons within 15–20 seconds. This trains you to think prophylactically and anticipate your opponent’s ideas.
Evaluate the Opponent’s Move Look for potential weaknesses.
Does the move create any new weaknesses?
Did you miss anything important?
Identify Candidate Moves Come up with three possible moves for your player. Briefly analyze each one and rank them from worst to best.
Check the Actual Move Compare your top-ranked candidate move with the one the player actually played.
If you guessed correctly—great!
If not, think about why you missed it.
If the move wasn’t even on your radar, see it as a chance to learn something new.
Repeat and Refine Repeat the process for every move, using the same structured analysis. Over time, this exercise will sharpen your understanding of positional subtleties and strategic planning.
It can feel overwhelming to choose the right chess opening and study it effectively. Many players struggle with this very issue and often fall into traps that hinder their progress. This guide offers practical tips for selecting openings that suit your level and for studying them in a way that truly improves your play.
The Common Pitfall: Memorization vs. Understanding One of the biggest mistakes players make when studying openings is focusing on memorizing move sequences. While that can be useful in certain situations, it’s not a reliable path to improvement. The key to mastering chess openings lies in understanding the ideas behind the moves.
Every move in an opening serves a purpose: to control the center, develop a piece, or improve the king’s safety. Ask yourself why a particular move is made. When you understand these underlying principles, you’ll be better prepared for deviations and surprises on the board.
Learn Through Model Games A highly effective way to internalize opening principles is to study model games. By observing how strong players navigate your chosen openings, you can discover recurring ideas, common moves, and strategies. An excellent resource for this is chessbook.com, where you can upload your opening repertoire as PGN files and get games related to those openings—allowing you to guess the moves. To learn more about this type of training, check out my post The Best Exercise for Improving Positional Understanding.
The Importance of Practice Playing your chosen openings frequently helps you understand their typical structures and plans. After each game, reflect on the positions that arose and analyze how they developed. This analysis will deepen your understanding of the opening and improve your ability to handle similar situations in future games.
If you’re struggling to consistently reach your chosen openings, you can practice with tools like noctie.ai. This AI simulates human-like play, allows you to specify openings, adapts to your level, and analyzes your games for feedback. It’s an excellent way to refine your opening repertoire.
Choosing the Right Openings For beginners and intermediate players, the objective evaluation of an opening is less important than its potential to help you grow as a player. Dynamic openings that lead to unbalanced positions—such as opposite-side castling—are especially valuable because they encourage deep calculation and complex play. In contrast, overly symmetrical or “dull” positions can slow your development.
For more detailed recommendations, feel free to check out my YouTube video:
In December 2022, I took part in a weekend chess camp in Uppsala. The coach for the camp was the legendary chess author and trainer, Grandmaster Ramesh R.B. He is known for having trained many of India’s chess talents, the most famous being the young super grandmaster Rameshbabu Praggnanandhaa.
He began the camp by getting to know us: our names, our rating strength, and how often we studied chess. At the time, I barely studied at all and was just below 2000 in rating. Then he asked us about our short-term and long-term goals in chess—meaning our goals for 1 year and 5 years ahead.
I went first and said that my short-term goal was to reach 2200, and he looked at me with a disappointed expression. I thought I had been too ambitious and defended myself by saying I had peaked at 2100. Then he leaned back in his chair and said something to the group along the lines of:
“Listen… Gaining 300–400 Elo points in a year isn’t particularly hard.”
I was speechless. I’d been hovering around 2000 for a year, and becoming an FM felt completely out of reach. But spoiler alert: one year and 19 days later, I had reached a provisional rating of exactly 2300, which earned me the FM title. Ramesh was right.
Then he started talking about how we should train and improve at chess. But just a few minutes into his lecture, he suddenly stopped and said:
“I think you should take notes. You’ll remember better that way.”
We obeyed, and since I was such an innovative and sophisticated person, I thought it would be cool to draw a mind map. I’ll show it to you—and don’t worry, I digitized it right after the camp, so you won’t have to struggle with my terrible handwriting.
Part 1: Evaluation
There’s a lot to learn, so I’ll need to divide it into different parts. Let’s start with one of the most important aspects of chess: accurate evaluation of a position, which is essential for both calculation and understanding. Ramesh, along with many other strong players, uses a priority checklist to determine what needs to be analyzed in order to correctly assess a position.
1. King Safety King safety is the first thing you should look at when evaluating a position. For a king to be safe, it should typically be castled with 2–3 pawns in front of it and ideally protected by a minor piece (like a knight or bishop) for support. Of course, this can vary depending on the position and which phase of the game you’re in, but here’s one example.
2. Piece Activity Some would argue that material should be the second priority, but Ramesh prefers piece activity. You have good piece activity when all your pieces are placed on useful squares and are actually doing something. An example of activity vs. passivity might be this random blitz game I played.
3. Material This point is fairly self-explanatory. A player who is up a pawn is almost always better—unless the opponent has a safer king or superior activity. One big advantage of having more material is that you can always give it back to gain activity or to force exchanges of pieces.
