Destiny perhaps, determined that some element of the great game of chess should feature significantly in the expiration of Bobby Fischer – Fischer, that iconoclastic self-taught genius who singlehandedly challenged the establishment and broke the powerful Soviet stranglehold on chess. Fischer, that strange boy from Brooklyn who grew up into a strange man, an eccentric, a rebel against authority, a monomaniac, an enfant terrible, an ego-crushing titan of chess. He was the US champion at 14; grandmaster at 15, the youngest in the history of the game at the time; US champion eight times in succession until he stopped playing so that someone else would have a chance of winning; winner of tournament after tournament; and, finally, Chess Champion of the World after beating Boris Spassky in Reykjavik in 1972.
The chess board was Fischer’s world, those perfectly regulated 64 squares from where he could experience the excitement of battle and eventually, the thrill of victory. From those 64 squares he lived his life, changed the history of the ancient game, and made it a global phenomenon. There is something which is coincidental here, that he died at 64, the same number of squares on the chess board that he loved so dearly.
One writer described Fischer as the “Beatle” of chess. People compared him to Mohamed Ali, to Pele, to Bruce Lee. David Levy, British chess master and author of the international bestseller, How Fischer Plays Chess, had this to say: “The beauty of Fischer’s games, the clarity of his play and the brilliance of his ideas have made him an artist of the same stature as Brahms, Rembrandt and Shakespeare.”
Fischer walked away from chess in 1972 after he won the World Championship. He refused to defend his title in 1975 under the conditions set out by FIDE, the World Chess Federation. According to the FIDE provisions, the title match would go to the player who scored ten victories. Draws would not count. A match limit of 36 games was set. At the end of those 36 games – if the match went on that long – the title would go to the player with most won games, or to the champion if the match was even at the end of 36 games. No, said Fischer. There should be no limit to the number of games.
Manila’s bid for the match was awesome – a superspectacular US$5million to be host. It was asserted that the amount was the second largest purse in history for a sporting event, exceeded only by a Muhammad Ali championship prizefight. Only a few years before in 1969, Spassky had been paid US$1400 in prize money when he captured the World Championship
title from Tigran Petrosian.
Fischer brought chess into the 20th century. Kasparov has said he made a “revolutionary breakthrough” for the game and changed it in a way that had not been seen since the late 19th. century.
“The tragedy,” Kasparov noted, “is that he left the world too early, and his extravagant life and scandalous statements did not contribute to the popularity of chess.”
Fischer played an exhibition rematch against Spassky in 1992 on the resort island of Sveti Stefan off Montenegro in violation of international sanctions imposed on Yugoslavia. After the match, Fischer was declared a wanted man in the US, but managed to evade US authorities for twelve years before being detained in Japan in 2004. He settled in Iceland until his death ten days ago.
I like to remember Fischer as he was in 1972 at age 29 – filled with life and bursting with energy.
This is the Bobby Fischer I know and will always know. Whatever he became in his later years certainly will not be remembered by the chess world. We never saw him struggling at the board. We never saw anyone beating him.
Thirty years ago, Fischer was responsible for a board game of 64 squares and 32 pieces, making headlines across the globe. Many great players today can trace their achievement directly to the inspiration of Fischer’s match with Spassky. He had crushed all his opponents in the run-up to the match in a way unparalelled in any sport.
Bobby Fischer was larger than life. He was a recluse, and he was tempestuous, and this added to his mystique. Someone described him as “a gem of the 20th century, a rare comet flashing across this beautiful cosmos.” This is how I will remember him.
In death, he will play chess with Capablanca and Alekhine, Lasker and end-game artist, Rubinstein. All legends of chess. And legends do not die.
