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By Larry Parr
Chess Life Editor 1984 - 1988
Author
The
Uneasy Art of resigning a Lost Position (VI)
GOVERNING
CONSIDERATIONS FOR RESIGNING
When
one considers dispassionately the complexity of deciding when to resign a lost
game and the surprising anxieties facing the winner, one is astonished that
chess games get played at all – let alone to a decisive conclusion.
I have been searching through games categorizing the considerations for
when one resigns lost or very bad positions (for several of the positions
mentioned below see Chess Beat 4.3):
1.
No mas!: The Roberto Duran
variation is ventured by players at all levels.
The key calculation is that further pain overcomes all thoughts of gain.
Famous examples of resignations in positions with plenty of further play
are Capablanca-Kostich (Havana match, 1919; Game 5), Spassky-Fischer (Reykjavik,
1972; Game 21), and Kasparov-Karpov (Seville, 1987; Game 24).
2.
Why Must I Lose to Such a Fish!: The
Aron Nimzovich variation is rightly played only by the strong.
If resignation comes at all, it comes only at the last possible moment,
thereby affording the superior loser many moves by which to say, “If you were
Alekhine, I’d pack it in this very minute.
But you’re not – you sad excuse for a human mind.”
Saemisch-Capablanca (Carlsbad, 1929) is a famous example of bitter-ending
it, and there are countless simultaneous games in which a master about to be
mated keeps playing, confidently expecting the worst from his weak opponent.
3.
It Is a Positive Pleasure to Lose to Such a Shark: Lesser masters occasionally resign out of respect for great
masters because the act seems fitting, whether they are lost or not.
Representative resignations in this genre are Alexander-Euwe (Nottingham,
1936) and Penrose-Botvinnik (Hastings, 1966-67).
4.
I’m Not Resigning Because I’m Emanuel Lasker:
Some players never give up and fight to the end, which may even be
checkmate. If chess is struggle,
they intend to struggle even if it involves terminal suffering.
Savielly Tartakower and Semyon Furman were among the finest
better-late-or-never resigners of their respective generations.
A few of their outstanding efforts include Reti-Tartakower
and Yates-Tartakower, both played at New York 1924, Bogolyubov-Tartakower
(Cheltenham, 1951), and Keene-Furman and Furman-Torre, both played at Bad
Lauterberg 1977. Other efforts in
this category are Keres-Fischer (Candidates’, 1959) and Korchnoi-Stein (Soviet
Championship, 1965).
5.
I’m Resigning Because I’m Not Emanuel Lasker:
The opponent is feeling like Rex Lane’s ribs after the Marciano fight.
Philosophical considerations about the futility of human struggle
suddenly make sense. Peace at any
price. Peace NOW!
Hence such truncated games as Marshall-Schlechter
(Barmen, 1905), Fischer-Panno (Palma de Mallorca, 1970) and Deep Blue-Kasparov
(Match 1997; Game 2).
6.
I’m Not Resigning (or I am Resigning) Because I’m a Gentleman:
“Such drastic solutions to the problem of saving a lost game,” GM
Larry Evans wrote about the alleged failure of one master to resign an adjourned
game against an opponent who then died, “do not readily present themselves.
Nor does such a stubborn attitude endear a master to his colleagues.”
Evans states the general rule well.
In these days of artless rapid chess and soulless professionalism,
players want their opponents to resign at the earliest available opportunity,
preferably directly after 1. e4, 1. d4 and so on.
Such, however, was not always the case.
Pillsbury-Tarrasch (Hastings, 1895), D. Byrne-Fischer (New York, 1956)
and Larsen-Najdorf (Lugano Olympiad, 1968) are examples of the losers playing
until mate out of respect for the winner’s play and the spectators.
The other side of the gentleman coin is Olland-Henning (??????), the
loser of which resigned immediately after his opponent died at the board.
7.
I’m Resigning Because I’m in No Mood to Be a Gentleman: Negative immortality rears its ugly snout.
The loser wants out. Two
famous examples are Steinitz-von Bardeleben (Hastings, 1895) and R.
Byrne-Fischer (U.S. Championship, 1963-64).
8.
I’m Resigning Because I Don’t Want My Liver Ripped Out: Masters who fear for their lives or well-being genuflect.
Botvinnik-Bronstein (World Championship Match, 1951; Game 23) is the most
famous example of such a resignation, not to mention the notorious
Karpov-Polugaevsky game (Tilburg, 1983). Resignations
involving tangible consideration are the kind that would be contained in Gheorghiu’s 100 Most Valuable Games.
When one resigns is totally unimportant, just so long as one does resign
at some point. An example is Taimanov-Matulovic (Palma de Mallorca, 1970).
9.
I’m Not Resigning Because I’m Having Fun:
Examples from this category are understandably rare.
One game that comes to mind is Sherwin-Fischer (U.S. Championship, 1966),
which makes little sense unless one understands that the loser had the ambition
to last 100 moves against the man who became the Player of the Millennium.
10.
I’m Not Resigning Because You Will Give Me a Draw:
More than once, battles for the world championship have come down to the
final game. The side that must win
throws caution to the winds; the side that must merely draw is caution itself.
If Max Euwe had not been famous for spectacular blunders, he might not
have offered Alekhine a draw in game 30 of their 1935 world title match, when
two pawns up in a much better position. Other
examples are Bronstein-Botvinnik (World Championship Match, 1951; Game 24),
Karpov-Korchnoi (World Championship Match [de facto], 1974; Game 24), and
Kasparov-Karpov (World Championship Match, 1990; Game 24).
11.
I’m Not Resigning Because There Is No Time to Resign: Refusing to resign in time pressure is an honored tradition
in chess. For two reasons:
1. Players work off
frustrations by making a lot of moves before resigning, thereby avoiding
publication of a short loss; and 2. Every now and then, a player reverses his dismal prospects in
time pressure. Some of my favorite
outrageous time pressure results are Reshevsky-Denker (U. S. Championship,
1942), Spraggett-Sokolov (St. John,
1988) and Kasparov-K. Georgiev (St. John, 1988).
12.
I’m Resigning at the Perfect Moment:
Lest readers imagine that it is impossible to resign a lost position
successfully or to enjoy the fruits of victory, there is Choudhry-Parr (Kuala
Lumpur, 1981), which contains a perfectly timed resignation that was tendered
graciously by the loser and accepted impeccably by the winner.
In the next issue, we will take an in-depth look at the
complications involved in resigning lost positions.
An uneasy art indeed!
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