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By Larry Parr
Chess Life Editor 1984 - 1988
Author
The
Uneasy Art of resigning a Lost Position (I)
Blame
it on a journalist!
The villain is one John B. Bogart, city
editor of the New York Sun from 1873 to 1890.
“When a dog bites a man,” he used to tell cub reporters, “that is
not news, because it happens so often. But
if a man bites a dog, that is news.”
Plausible, logical, and wrong.
Big news is and always has been dog bites
man – news such as Hitler attacks Poland.
As for Poland attacks Hitler, that would have been nine-day novelty news
and would have provided nothing like the newspaper sales from 1939 to 1945 that
resulted from real-life dog bites man. Yet
in chess, writers never overlook a master resigning a won or drawn position, but
they are mum about players resigning lost positions.
No one writes, “The big news is that Lasker resigned a lost position to
Capablanca,” and the truth is that because of the dog-bites-man mythology, no
one gives a milk bone about players resigning lost positions.
High
drama is supposed to be giving up in a winning or drawn position. Mundane stuff is supposed to be resigning in a lost position.
The most storied resignations,
however, are surrenders of lost positions.
In an attempt to get a leg up, as it were, on the dog-bites-man mischief,
I have made a list of the most famous resignations (see Chess Beat 4.2) in chess
history, and only one was clearly unjustified.
Another point is that while it is by no means easy for a man to bite a
Doberman (or scratch a flea behind his ear with his toes), it is surprisingly
easy to resign a won position. Typically,
there is none of the agony involved in the uneasy art of resigning a lost
position.
The player who resigns a won position
is totally convinced that he is completely lost.
“Shred the scoresheet, I want out now,” expresses his attitude. If Jefferson said of the ultimate lost position, “Our last
resource is resignation,” then the player who resigns a won position says,
“My first resource is resignation.” The
player giving up without reason experiences none of the uncertainty plaguing
those about to surrender a lost position.
Let’s look at the facts.
First, there is the utter unconcern of the
man who tosses away a won game:
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GM Salo Flohr - IM Henry Grob,
Game
1, Match 1933. |
Henry Grob
Salo Flohr
(to move)
In the above position Black had just played
25. ... Qd7-b5, threatening 26. ... Qf1, mate; and if White were to respond with
26. Qe1, then Black snags a Bishop by 26. ... Qxd5.
Therefore, GM Flohr resigned, overlooking the sidestep, 26. Kh1! Qf1+
27. Bg1, when White should eventually win.
Years later, Flohr’s lesser opponent, who lost the match 1 – 5,
mentioned the mistaken resignation to the great master, who could not recollect
the game and just shrugged. No
soul-searching, no long day’s journey into night, none of the doubts and
lingering hopes assailing those in lost positions.
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