The wooden lobby was dim. A bulb hung over each of the four tables, name of the participants showcased on the sides, country flags suspended on the mini flag-stands stood beside the boards. There were eight renowned people dressed in suits, who seemed prepared enough to battle the wits out of one another for the next four hours, and for the next ten days. I could smell apprehension. The London Olympiad was a prominent affair meant solely for those Grandmasters who had crossed the epitome of a rating ELO twenty-five hundred, or in simpler words, Chess players who had outshined the Lords of the game. Nevertheless, it was all the same for me. My heart would pound before commencement of my game, until I was seated and made the first moves. After all, there was pressure from home, a pressure to keep the streak and a reputation to maintain. Eight Grandmasters from eight countries. Ironically, I knew within that this one was more important than any other tournament I had played, for my eligibility for the Candidates Tournament counted on my performance in the next few days. The four tables stood on a raised platform, and on the other side was seated press, visitors and a few important people from the organization.
Silence prevailed as a man in black declared the event open. I walked towards the table displaying my opponent's and my name, with a suitable confidence that matched my suit. Maxime was already seated, and he barely looked at me as I seated myself. French never compromise on aroma, and I could smell his tobacco-coffee scented perfume. Maxime Vachier-Lagrave was displayed in italics on a printed paper next to him. He opened with the Queen's Gambit, also known as the London system of play. Playing with black, I opened with the King's Indian Defense. I have to win this, I thought.
Chess is about decisions and time. It is similar to life, and the winner is the subtler decision maker. Over the years, the World Champions have recommended playing by the instinct, and not always by looking for the most logical or coherent moves, variations and options. My heart still raced a bit. My hands covered my ears to enable me focus, ignore the clicking sounds of the journalist's cameras. I made my moves, the ones my brain thought were the finest. And on the twenty-first move, I noticed oddity over the board. A queen sacrifices for a massive positional gain? Usually, I would not have considered it. But to win, I thought. It could cause mayhem over the board. I had to look for Maxime's defending options, and the areas I could exploit. "I miss a single move and I lose, he gets breathing space and I lose", my intellect said.
However, with precise analysis and calculations on point, there was a little chance of missing anything. More importantly, I had never made such a move. If I made this sacrifice, I would win the game only if I made the next most excellent twenty moves in an ideal hierarchy. This not only seemed unlikely then, but impossible. We are imperfect beings and the brain tends to make mistakes. "You are who you are", said the voice in my head, "and you are better". The heart throbbed to make the move. The brain froze my hand. There is a wisdom of the head and a wisdom of the heart. Do not risk it, the brain advised. But instinct and the wisdom of heart defy the philosophy of logic. And then it happened.
Maxime sat bewildered for a second and eyed me, then smirked at the board, thinking how the blunder I made could offer him an effortless time winning the game. Twenty moves later, the quiet and astounded Maxime whispered "Resign" as I offered a handshake.
