J.D. Brattin
(1939-1981)

Chess
Articles

Knight for a Pawn, but Brattin Unhappy

(From Lansing Chess Club Bulletin, September 22, 1965)

Brattin has a souvenir from Chicago. His chess set now has five knights and only fifteen pawns. One of the Chicago sets has seventeen pawns and only three knights. An exchange is now being worked out.... After last week’s game, a miserable loss of a piece on the 16th move, Brattin could probably use the extra knight!

I wonder what event in Chicago that Dad went to?

J.D. Brattin New State Champion

by Bill Smith

(From pp. 4-6 of Michigan Chess Bulletin, October 1971)

J.D. Brattin, well-known and popular player and tournament director, finished the Labor Day weekend classic with a score of 6.5 points.

His record was only marred by a third round draw with Ann Arbor expert, Ben Crane.

To add further difficulty to his task, J.D. also directed the 85 players at the tournament.

J.D. does not give himself an easy time of it in the pairings either. Of his seven opponents, one was a master, two were experts and one was a high A.

As he is an A player, J.D. also won the A championship, but did not get that trophy, receiving only the trophy for the State Champion.

J.D. had previously added to his laurels by winning the 1971 Michigan Amateur in Battle Creek last May. He also won a round robin speed tournament at 3am during the Third Battle Creek Insanity held August 21-22.

The Class B cash prize and trophy went to James Riopelle of Westland with 4 wins, 2 draws and 1 loss.

The Class C cash prize was split by William Haley of Sterling Heights and Chas. Cassidy of Lansing. They both had 4.5 pts. As Haley finished ahead of Cassidy on tie-breaks, he took the trophy home with him.

Class D ended up in a three-way tie between Ken Van Cleve of Kalamazoo, Al Finnis of Battle Creek and Eric Eklund of Dexter; all of whom had three pts.

Again, the Class trophy was awarded by way of tie-breaks to Ken Van Cleve.

The top unrated player was Jay David of Detroit.

Unfortunately, the only cash prize we know about is the one for Class D. In that one, the three players split $36. We have had no other information than the class winners, which we figured out from the cross-table.

Here are Dad’s results, looked at a little more closely.

Notes from Web Editor

Dad’s opponents’ average rating (with the first and seventh ones rounded off at the standard 350) is 1895, just barely under his initial rating of 1897. One could have reasonably guessed that he would have scored 3.5/7 (50%). Instead, he scored 6.5/7, or 93%. His performance rating was thus 2237 (percent score [.92857] minus 0.5 [= .42857] times 800 [= 342.857] plus average rating of opponents). One can get another good estimate of the rating change by taking the performance rating [2237], subtracting the original rating [-1897 = 340], multiply by games played [7 = 2380], and divide by K Factor of 25 [= 95]; add this to the old rating and you get the new rating, 1992.

The actual rating change, as figured from the table above, is Actual Score (6.5) minus Expected Score (3.5 = 3.0), times K Factor (32 = 96); added to the original rating, we get 1993.

Dad told me that his highest rating ever was 2064, and that he got it right after the 1971 Michigan Open; the discrepancy (1993 vs. 2064) is probably because the original 1897 rating was out of date, and hadn’t included the results of his victory in the Michigan Amateur and/or other events. Or, it’s possible that the USCF was using some kind of a feedback or bonus system, and tacked on extra points in a way I can’t explain. In any event, it was a wonderful performance.

A Brief Interview With the New State Champion

MCM’s Editor Speaks With J.D. Brattin

(From pp. 54-55 of Michigan Chess Magazine, Winter 1972)

Tell me, J.D., how does it feel to be the new Michigan champion? How did you do it?

Feels fine, Ben. And I did it by very fortunate play. I merely followed the same kind of chess I’ve always practiced, and for a change everything went my way. The identical strategy has brought me scores of less than 50% in other tournaments.

What strategy is that?

Relying on my own intuition, and getting out of the books. Sometimes this wins, and sometimes it fails terribly. But I believe chess should be fun, and I did have fun at the Michigan Open!

I went over your games from the Open, and it seemed to me that you played two brands of chess. Against weaker players, you really patzed it up. They were mauling you. But they collapsed and you won anyway. Against stronger players (higher rated, if you prefer), you seemed much steadier, and were well in command.

I don’t think so, Ben. I am a fish! I often lose to utter patzers. Sometimes, when luck is with me, I defeat stronger players.

How do you account for beating Dr. Poschel? He rarely loses to non-masters, and there was a good deal of money of stake in that game.

What can I say? Poschel tried to avoid my favorite opening, the Zot (1.d4 Nf6 2.Bg5), and he wound up in an unfamiliar and uncomfortable position. By making simple and logical moves, I was able to hurt his position. Actually I think he hurt himself more than I did.

I just played my standard reflexive chess, and stayed well ahead on the clock. I never get into time pressure, simply because I don’t take the time to work at chess. I play for the enjoyment of the game, and worry very little. It I took any time to consider my moves, it might improve my game. But who knows? Perhaps I would have poorer results.

So the Michigan Open was merely a lucky break?

Yes. A lucky break for me, and also a lucky break for Michigan chess. With a whale like me winning the title, there’ll be lots of players in Michigan saying, “I can beat the state champion!” And they can!

The Complete and Accurate Scoresheet

By J.D. Brattin

(From p. 15, Michigan Chess Bulletin, October 1972.)

Web editor’s note: for this article, I have not changed the descriptive notation to algebraic; Dad gives several examples of unclear scoretaking, and changing these to algebraic would ‘solve’ the problem. I don’t think he meant it as such, but this article thus works as a good advertisement for using algebraic notation.

(Editorial Note: This article explains a policy followed by Michigan’s most prolific tournament director. All tournament players should read it with care. It was written inr esponse to an article by Ed Molenda in the June BULLETIN expressing an opposing view. Other tournament directors or persons having strong opinions about tournament directing are invited to present their views on this matter—or on related problems of tournament direction.)

When the rules of chess, in addition to tournament rules which are separate from the rules of the game itself, specify that a certain number of moves must be completed in a certain time, there is considerable “gray area” and question about how a game can be claimed when a player’s opponent fails to comply with the time limit.

In great international tournaments, of course, the problem is lessened through the fact that usually there is someone of authority at every board keeping an accurate count of moves at all times. This is hardly practical in the case of the usual chess tournament played on a weekend in Michigan.

A player’s scoresheet should give a proper indication of the number of moves made; and if a player’s scoresheet is complete and accurate at the time his opponent’s flag falls, the required number of moves having not been completed, there should be no question of his right to claim the game.

The format I prefer, in tournaments I direct, is for a player to inform me shortly before the flag-fall, “My opponent has ten moves to make in three minutes.” This allows me to watch the game closely, or in some cases to appoint a deputy director to observe the time difficulties.

Upon a flag-fall, I step in and say, “Mr. X, your flag has fallen; do you challenge the completeness and accuracy of your opponent’s scoresheet?”—and in most cases Mr. X does not; he realizes that he has failed to fulfill one of the requirements of the game, and graciously resigns.

Occasionally, however, he will stand upon his rights; and at this point comes some difference of interpretation of the rules and of tournament procedures between myself and other tournament directors—and/or players.

One problem is that I am, perhaps, too much an American. The governing body of chess is, after, the F.I.D.E. (a French set of initials), and the F.I.D.E. rules on this point which I have seen seem to follow the French concept of justice, which is that an accused man is presumed guilty unless he can prove himself otherwise.

It is my opinion that justice is better served if an accused man is presumed innocent until proven guilty, and I also like the provisions of American law which prevent self-incrimination.

Thus, when a player’s flag falls, his opponent isn’t automatically proclaimed the winner in a tournament which I am directing. He must prove—by means of his own scoresheet, not his opponent’s—that the opponent has overstepped the time control, if he is challenged.

I do not consider that a series of check-marks constitutes a scoresheet at all—perhaps a “tally,” but not a scoresheet.

And, of course, it is absurd to award a game on the basis of a scoresheet which begins with 1 NKB3 NQB3 2 BN5 — and I have seen such scoresheets. If a player has not even written down his first move, the evidence is quite clear that he has not kept a complete score of the game.

My ruling has been, and probably will continue to be, that a scoresheet must be kept so accurately that a third party can duplicate the game from it; and that a scoresheet which is incomplete, ambiguous, or otherwise faulty cannot be used to support a claim.

What can you do with a scoresheet that begins 1 PK4 PK4 2 PxP? One might deduce that Black’s first move was actually PQ4; or maybe White’s second move was PKB4 and the PxP belonged to Black. I consider that it would be unreasonable to require a tournament director to try to determine the actual course of such a game.

Now in the sequence 1 PK4 PK4 2 QR5 NKB3 3 QxP+, White’s third move is ambiguous. I would not, however, consider that the scoresheet was ruined by this ambiguity, since it is clear that the KP is the one which was intended to go. But 1 NKB3 NKB3 2 PN3 is more serious. White’s second move could be either of two likely possibilities, and this might be enough to rule a scoresheet inaccurate; and what can be done about, in the midst of a game, a move like PK2?

There are several good notation systems available, and every chessplayer should know one. It is not true in any sense that the requirement of a complete and accurate scoresheet favors the stronger player. Anyone who has played chess by mail has encountered the need for accurate scorekeeping; anyone who ever intends to have a game published, or who wishes to take copies of his game home for study, should at least be able to write his moves accurately. In most of the cases where a scoresheet proof has been demanded, the claimer has, in fact, kept score with sufficient accuracy that his claim can be upheld.

It is in a player’s own interest to keep a complete and accurate scoresheet.

The Insanity

(From p. 17, Michigan Chess Bulletin, October 1972.)

The 4th Battle Creek Insanity, a punishing 7-rounder over August 19-20, attended by 22 insane chessplayers, was won by Expert Greg Oldenburger of Grand Rapids. For his efforts, Greg won a wooden fish. Stan Beckwith, a frequent winner of Insanities in the past, played in four of the seven rounds, winning all four and finishing 9th. Dave Pulsipher also had a perfect score, winning the two rounds he played and finishing 19th. J.D. Brattin directed and also won the 14-player speed tournament at 3:00 a.m. Sunday!

Claudia’s Birthday Tournament

(From p. 17, Michigan Chess Bulletin, October 1972.)

Claudia Lucas celebrated her birthday on September 16 by organizing a 4-round unrated tournament held at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church in Ann Arbor. 24 players participated, including the two halves of a mysterious man named Brattin, who entered twice under the sobriquets J.D. and John. The better half, John, won the tournament 4-0. (The J.D. half lost one game to John Robinson of Ann Arbor.) Ronald Werhnyak was second with 3½-½. The tournament was directed by—you guessed it—Mr. Brattin, in one or the other of his manifestations.

The Zot

1.d4 d5 (or 1...f5 or 1...Nf6) 2.Bg5

by J.D. Brattin

(From p. 18, Michigan Chess Bulletin, October 1972.)

(Reprinted from the “Battle Creek Chess News”)

I learned the Zot from the wrong side in a few postal games back in the late 1950’s. It hardly appears in the books at all. 1.d4 d5 2.Bg5 appears in some texts as the Ruth Opening, and an Icelandic master has been opening some tournament games with 1.d4 Nf6 2.Bg5 — however, since he then answers 2...Ne4 with the horrible-looking 3.Be3? (I strongly favor 3.h4), I doubt if this line will be strongly recommended in the future.

The name Zot is a California contribution; a Western chessplayer told me that in Los Angeles chess circles the early bishop move was likened to the tongue of the Eatanter in the “B.C.” comic strip — ZOT. While I like the name, it’s not my own invention.

In what I consider the standard Zot line (1.d4 d5 2.Bg5 Nf6) — and Black’s first two moves can be transposed — I play 3.Bxf6 with the intention of going into a Colle-type attack. After all, the White QB does not play much of a part in the standard Colle, Black’s KN is the main defensive piece, and the Black pawns get quickly doubled.

The Dutch Zot (1.d4 f5 2.Bg5) is a terrible trap if Black tries to win the bishop (2...h6 3.Bh4 g5), because 4.e4! Threatens Utter Checkmate on the move and completely disrupts the Black kingside for all time. 2...Nf6 allows 3.Bxf6, which is also somewhat crushing. Book says that Black gets a superior position with 2...g6. I doubt it; White can try Staunton-stuff with 3.e4 or do anything else he likes.

There is a French Zot — 1.d4 Nf6 2.Bg5 e6 3.e4 — and this usually leads to in my games is a kingside attack in slow motion — 3...Be7 4.Bxf6 Bxf6 5.e5, and 60% of Black’s first five moves are with one piece. Bd3 and Qg4 take shots at the Black kingside.

My favorite Zot lines start with 1.d4 Nf6 2.Bg5 Ne4. I can’t see much point in 3.Be3 (although I think 3.Bf4 or 3.Bc1 might be playable), and I like the kind of play that comes about after 3.h4. Then if 3...Nxg5, White plays 4.hxg5, and once more there is a Colle-type attack in the air—with the big point that White has an open file. Also, the sacrifice, g6, often comes through loud and clear in this line.

If Black doesn’t want to face the Zot, he can of course play 1...e6, which makes it impossible, or 1...g6, which makes it unlikely; and against these lines I have to use something else. But after 1.d4 d5 2.Bg5, I believe that 2...Nd7 is the best move for Black. It completely neutralizes the Zot idea, and White has nothing better than to go into a QGD by transposition. Of course, there is nothing wrong with the White side of a QGD; it isn’t a plus for Black.

Still, when I stick my tongue out at you with 2.Bg5 ZOT, the move looks so horrible that you will try to refute it, not neutralize it; and while you are striving for refutations, I will be winning! The Zot is not really that good; but it isn’t as bad as it looks.

1972 Michigan Open

(From p. 4, Michigan Chess Bulletin, November 1972.)

Dad finished 10th in the field of 97 players (Tom Crispin, rated 1893, finished 1st). Here were his results:

Average Rating of Opponents = 1843; Performance Rating = 2014; Rating Change = +19; New Rating = 1964

From our Readers

(From p. 21, Michigan Chess Bulletin, November 1972.)

Dear Mr. Thackrey:

I have just finished J.D. Brattin’s article in the Oct. Bulletin (an excellent publication by the way; one of the best in the country) and thought that you might like to inform your readers that the Tournament Director Certification Committee at its Atlantic City meetings voted to institute as the standard procedure for time forfeits basically the same system as that Mr. Brattin uses. The full set of revised Tournament Rules will be mailed to USCF directors soon and to all certified tournament directors.

Regards,

Martin E. Morrison
National Secretary
USCF

A Busy Month at the Lansing Chess Club

(From p. 21, Michigan Chess Bulletin, November 1972.)

The Lansing Chess Club, which for several years has had rated ladder play, is finding new activities to interest its members. On October 12, expert David Whitehouse gave a one-hour lecture featuring a game played between Averbach and Bronstein. On October 19, expert Shane O’Neill gave a short lecture and a simul exhibition. On October 26, J.D. Brattin gave a lecture on tournament play and opened the first round of a six-round tournament (over a four-week period) at the rate of play of 30 moves in 30 minutes.

Detroit Free Press Doesn’t Gamble with Chess Ads!

(From p. 22, Michigan Chess Bulletin, November 1972.)

The Detroit Free Press refused to permit the Lansing Chess Club to take out a $50 ad for the Fall Central Michigan Open on the grounds that such an ad might “violate the State gambling laws.” MCA President J.D. Brattin promptly fired off a letter of protest and explanation, pointing out the obvious—but, really, what can you say?

The Junior

(From p. 3, Michigan Chess, April 1973.)

The human calculating machine, J.D. Brattin, aided by Jim and Gale Marfia, directed both the Junior and the Young Junior. This meant making pairings for 450 games on Saturday, plus answering questions and managing a room full of people completely new to tournament chess. It was worth the entry fee just to watch Brattin adjust ratings after each game. If IBM ever runs out of computers, it might seriously consider renting Brattin out as a substitute.

I noticed one young boy playing 1.d4 and 2.Bg5, J.D. Brattin’s favorite “Zot Opening.” I looked on the boy’s scoresheet, and—I should have known—his name was Roger Brattin.

1973 Michigan Amateur

(From pp. 5-10, Michigan Chess, June 1973.)

... J.D. Brattin, as usual, provided smooth and efficient tournament direction....

A Backward Glance at the Amateur

The Michigan Amateur Championship began in 1957 amidst dire predictions that a separate tournament excluding masters and experts could never succeed. But it did.

The first championship was won by Edward Hencir of Grand Rapids, then a Class B player. Over the years the championship has been won at times by young players rapidly on their way up to expert or master—such as Conrad Batchelder, Paul Dupuis, Joe McCarty, and Robert Ciaffone—and at other times by players who continued in the “amateur” ranking in later years.

From 1959 through 1962, the Amateur was an eight-round event on two successive weekends. It was changed to a six-rounder in 1963 and to a five-rounder in 1964.

In 1961 a separate experts’ tournament was instituted in conjunction with the Amateur; this first event, with twelve experts competing, was won by John Penquite of Ann Arbor. The next year’s experts’ tournament was an eight-man round-robin won by Jack O’Keefe of Ann Arbor. In 1963 only two experts, Mark Pence and Robert Uhlmann, showed up. They played a match ending in Pence’s favor 4½-1½. This marked the end of the experts’ side events until the present year, when Charles Bassin revived it (see separate story).

After a hiatus of four years when Michigan chess was generally quiescent, the Amateur was revived in 1971 and was won by the same man who won the state open title a few months later (the same man, incidentally, who directed both tournaments), J.D. Brattin.

The following table gives the complete roster of Amateur Champions.

How would you Rule?

An Interview with Three Tournament Directors

(From p. 26 of Michigan Chess, June 1973, and pp. 22-26, July 1973.)

The eleven hypothetical situations presented below were submitted in writing to three acute and knowledgeable tournament directors: J.D. Brattin, Ben Crane, and Martin E. Morrison. The qualifications of Brattin and Crane are well known to Michigan tournament players. Morrison is the USCF National Secretary, a member of the USCF Tournament Rules Committee, a FIDE Judge, and a frequent director of large California tournaments.

The answers given here are unofficial but represent the judgment of experienced directors faced with difficult situations of the kind that sometimes occur in tournaments. Chess is a very old game, but, unfortunately, the rules and procedures of tournament chess are still new and—in many instances—unsettled or unclear. A tournament director must know all official rules and interpretations, but beyond this he must also have a steady head under fire. Many of his most important decisions must be based on interpretations of rules and practices that different persons read differently. The three directors represented here differ on a few points of interpretation, but in general show a remarkable consistency.

The revised USCF Tournament Rules to which Mr. Morrison refers in several of his comments were adopted by USCF in August 1972 and have been distributed to all USCF Directors.

1. A player shrugs, says “I guess I’m mated,” tears off the copy of his scoresheet, and walks away without saying “I resign” and without stopping his clock. He overhears a kibitzer say “But it’s not mate.” He then returns to the board and makes a move. The opponent then protests that the player had resigned by his previous actions.

BRATTIN: The game is over; the player has resigned. Although as a general principle it’s best to make decisions which do not interfere with the flow of the game, there is an overriding principle, namely, that the outcome of a game should not be influenced by the actions of a kibitzer. The “but it’s not mate,” which brought the player back to the board, is the spoiler here; I would not rule that a player had resigned if he tore his scoresheet and then discovered for himself that his situation was not as desperate as he had thought. Note: different decision if the kibitzer had truthfully said, “But it’s not mate; your checkmating move is illegal because your rook is pinned.”

CRANE: Since the USCF has never specified a procedure for resignation, this is a reasonable question. I would have to rule that no resignation was announced, and that the game should continue. Had the player stopped his clock, his intentions would have been completely clear, ending the game. The kibitzer’s intervention is irrelevant—he should be thrown out of the tournament room, but his unsolicited comment cannot be charged against the player who overheard him. There are certain (unofficial) actions generally recognized as resignation (saying “I resign,” tipping over one’s king, jumping up and down on the chessboard shouting “Why must I lose to this idiot!?”). Under the present rules, I would not accept a less concrete gesture as capitulation. One solution to the problem would be to include the stopping of the clock as a mandatory part of the resignation procedure.

MORRISON: I would uphold the claim of the opponent that the player had in effect resigned. The FIDE Rules Commission has consistently avoided clarifying the mechanics of a resignation. The FIDE Laws do not stipulate any specific procedure either. If a player’s behavior indicates that he considers the game over, whether he stops the clocks, shakes hands, or says anything that indicates a resignation, I would take such indications as a resignation.

2. A player tells the tournament director that he came to the fourth round late and that his opponent had the board set up with the player to play Black, although according to the pairing list he should have had White. A friend of the player claims that the opponenet had boasted of doing this deliberately to ensure himself an extra White. The game has now been going on for three hours.

BRATTIN: No action; the game proceeds. Usually I try to notify a latecomer: “you have the White pieces on Board 14.” But, even if not directly notified, a player has only to look at the pairings in order to determine his proper color; and it isn’t the tournament director’s responsibility to protect him from the consequences of his own carelessness.

CRANE: In any weekend Swiss tournament, each player is responsible for finding his own board number, opponent, and color assignment. This information is normally posted in a public area. I would not restart the game with alternate colors. The player must suffer for his own carelessness.

MORRISON: This case permits wide discretion on the part of the tournament director. If he felt that the opponent’s unsportsmanlike conduct was serious, he could award the game to the player. Although the player should have checked the pairing lists, his omission does not conone his opponent’s deliberate unsportsmanlike conduct. According to a decision of FIDE in 1960, referred to on p. 40 of the Rulebook, the game can be annulled and a new one played under Art. 9.4. The director might make use of this latter alternative, with or without penalizing the opponent time on his clock, for example, under USCF Tournament Rule (revised) 36.

3. A player seals a move as follows: 37.P-N7=Q+. There is no doubt whatsoever about the move intended, but the ‘7’ should obviously have been recorded as an ‘8’. The opponent claims a win on the grounds that an inaccurate move has been sealed.

BRATTIN: The game continues. The rules are precise on this point. A player loses if he seals an illegal or ambiguous move if the intent of the move is not obvious. Five years ago P-N7=Q+ would have been a loser. Happily, that isn’t so any more.

CRANE: In this particular case, I would rule that the game continues, with 37.P-N8=Q+. The intent of the sealed move is obvious. A thorough discussion of sealed move intricacies would merit a full-length article.

MORRISON: In this case, the “real significance” (Art. 17.3) can be established. The opponent’s claim should be disallowed.

4. A player whose opponent’s flag has fallen claims a win on time and the opponent challenges the accuracy of the player’s scoresheet. Upon reconstructing the game from the player’s scoresheet, the director finds that a series of rook moves made by doubled rooks along the QB-file are ambiguously recorded since on three occasions either rook could logically have moved to the squares indicated. By playing on, however, the director is able, without much trouble, to reach the final position as shown in the actual game and to ascertain that the prescribed number of moves had not been made. The opponent claims that although the scoresheet does support the claim of an insufficient number of moves it does not permit the game to be reconstructed completely because of the uncertainties regarding the rook moves and that therefore the scoresheet is invalid for purposes of claiming a win on time.

BRATTIN: The claim should not be allowed, and the game should continue. I have been overruled by committees on this point, but the guideline I have stated is that the game, not merely the final position, must be reconstructable from the claimant’s scoresheet. This can’t be done with the ambiguities as described.

CRANE: This depends entirely on the local definition of the “complete and accurate scoresheet.” Obviously a lenient interpretation would allow the claim; a strict interpretation would not. Before January 1973, the USCF had refused to clarify the point. In a recent revision of USCF tournament rules (section 28a), “complete and accurate” is softened to “legible and reasonably complete.” Yet the specific criteria for enforcement remain undefined. As a tournament director, I would tend to ignore this updated “clarification,” and take a fairly strict stand. In the rules for the 1973 Ann Arbor Open, I stated: “A complete and accurate scoresheet will be required for all technical claims (such as time forfeit, draw by repetition, the 50-move draw rule). It is a scoresheet with which the T.D. can reconstruct the game in question. Except for the last move on either side in time claims, if a move is omitted, the score is invalidated. If a move is ambiguous or impossible, the T.D. will employ trivial inference in an attempt to determine the move. If the move remains indeterminate, the scoresheet is invalidated.” This guideline isn’t perfect, but it’s the best statement on the matter I’ve seen. Following this rule of thumb, the scoresheet in question was clearly invalidated, and the game would continue.

MORRISON: The question is whether the scoresheet is “legible,” i.e., accurate enough to be read under USCF Tournament Rule (revised) 28a. In this case, I think reasonable leniency on the part of the director involved would uphold the player’s claim. Unfortunately, if we insisted on a perfect scoresheet, no claims would be substantiated. I myself stress the importance of accurate and complete scoresheets, but in this case see room for leniency.

5. A player in severe time pressure has the opportunity to make a move that repeats the position for the third time. He makes the move, says “Draw” at the same time, and releases the moved piece. His flag falls before he can punch his clock, but he claims the draw on the grounds that the move which established the third repetition was completed before the flag fell and that therefore the game was over in view of his announced intention to draw as he made that move. He points out that with his flag poised to fall he had no time to do more than say “Draw” and to indicate the move by making it. The opponent argues that (1) the player did not announce his intention to make a move that repeated the position before he made the move, as the rules specify, (2) since the player’s explanation of his intentions (with the exception of the single word “Draw”) had been made after he released the piece, the player was making a claim illegitimately because it was no longer his move, and (3) the evidence of the fallen flag must supersede any reconstruction of intentions.

BRATTIN: If the opponent’s scoresheet is complete and accurate, the player has lost; if not, the game continues. No draw. The opponent’s first point is the most valid. The player should have announced “Claim!,” allowed his flag to fall if necessary, and then informed the director, “If I play K-N1 in this position, the position is repeated for the third time.” Then, if the director establishes that the claim is correct and valid, the game can be declared a draw since the claim was entered before the flag-fall; if the claim is not accurate, the player is liable for a loss on time. A claim for a third-time repetition can only be of the form “My opponent has made a move which repeats the position for the third time” or “I can make a move which repeats the position for the third time”; by making a move on the board, a player passes up his right to make any claim.

CRANE: This one isn’t even close. The draw cannot be allowed, and the opponent may submit a time claim. The player should never have made his repeating move on the board—the rules clearly prohibit this. If he desired to claim a draw in time pressure, he should have announced his intention and summoned the director. If his clock fell in the meantime, the threefold repetition would take precedence, provided the claim was valid.

MORRISON: A move is not completed until a player stops his clock under Article 14.4 (except in those special cases of a checkmating or stalemating move). After Kenneth Harkness wrote his comments about such a situation as this (p. 59 of the Rulebook), the FIDE Rules Commission adopted a very specific statement on the matter of a player’s claim of repetition just before time control. An explanation will be found on p. 716 of the December 1971 CL&R. According to the interpretation, “if the tournament controller believes the player had sufficient time to stop his clock before the flag falls, he may rule that the player had completed his move.” In this case the player seems to have erred by not announcing the draw before making his move. Also, the player obviously did not have enough time to stop his clock.

6. A player on the move hovers his hand over the board for just a few seconds before grasping the piece to be moved. But in the process, his trailing fingers clearly touch one of the opponent’s pawns. The player then immediately grasps the piece his hand had been slowly approaching and makes a move. The opponent demands that the player capture the pawn (which would mean a loss of the player’s queen), even though he concedes that the player’s touch of the pawn was accidental.

BRATTIN: No touch. Regardless of what Webster’s dictionary might say on the subject, I draw a line between “touch” and “brush,” and for chess purposes define “touch” as “touch with the intent to move (or capture).” The touch-move rule is not intended to penalize the epileptic, spastic, astigmatic, or clumsy.

CRANE: Since the player had not touched the pawn with intent to move or capture, the touch-move rule does not apply here. I would dismiss the claim, perhaps warning the unintentional offender to be more careful in the future.

MORRISON: Although the touch-move rule does not specifically say so (it was felt that an open statement would lead to too many claims), i.e., Arts. 8 and 20 of the Laws (1972 version), traditionally the word “touch” has been interpreted to mean deliberate touching, not accidental touching. An instantly regretted, but deliberate touching would not qualify as accidental, however. In this case, the player’s trailing fingers would not constitute deliberate touching.

7. A player on the move offers his opponent a draw without making a move on the board. The opponent makes no reply but begins to study the position carefully. The player looks again at the position and sees that he can win a pawn by a combination. He grasps the piece with which to make the intended move, but holds it momentarily before moving it. While he is holding the piece, the opponent says “I accept your offer.” The player claims that the draw offer is no longer in effect since the opponent had made no response before the piece had been touched initiating the next move.

BRATTIN: It’s a draw. The draw offer remains in effect until the opponent has an opportunity to accept it—or decline it by moving a piece.

CRANE: A draw offer cannot be withdrawn. It remains in effect until the opponent accepts, or (either orally, or automatically by making a move) rejects the proposal. In the given case, the game is a draw.

MORRISON: The new rule 32b is clear. The offer of a draw (illegally offered in this case) may be accepted by the opponent even after the player completes the move.

8. A player claims a win on time and the opponent challenges the player’s scoresheet because it does not record the last move made by either side. The player had responded instantly to the opponent’s last move without writing the move down, and the flag had fallen as he punched the clock. The opponent points out that the position on the board cannot be reached by consulting the player’s scoresheet alone.

BRATTIN: The claim is not automatically rejected. This may seem like a contradiction of my usual strict “complete and accurate scoresheet” rulings. However, since I do not require that a move be written down before it is made, a law of reason can be applied. If the player’s scoresheet is complete and accurate as far as it goes, the last move on each side can be deduced by looking at the game position, and I would consider this adequate. However, if two moves for either player are missing, their order could not be deduced with accuracy.

CRANE: As stated in #4 above, I do not invalidate a scoresheet (for time forfeit) because of the omission of the last move on either side. If the player’s score was otherwise complete and accurate, I would uphold his claim.

MORRISON: Under USCF Tournament Rule 28b (revised), the director may ask the player to fill in two missing moves before the scoresheet is verified. The director has discretion to allow up to three moves omitted for both White and Black. I intend to permit no missing moves. Past experience has indicated that the course leading to fewest claims is a requirement for a complete scoresheet.

9. A player whose flag is about to fall makes his final move before the time control and hits the clock just as the opponent is pressing it from his previous move. The opponent then presses his clock again, saying that he has a right to a complete clock press after each move. The player, momentarily bewildered, does not instantly hit the clock a second time and his flag falls. The opponent claims a win on time; the player protests that his opponent had illegally pressed the clock when it was the opponent’s turn to move.

BRATTIN: No forfeit. There is nothing in the rules which entitles a player to a complete clock press after each move. This is a speed-chess rule! The rules of chess state that a move is completed when the player removes his hand from a piece, and when A’s move is completed it is B’s turn to move, regardless of any clock action. Furthermore, I would penalize the opponent for an unauthorized clock-punch by setting the player’s clock back at least one minute; then I would press the player’s clock button and instruct the opponent to play on.

CRANE: According to Article 7 of the USCF Handbook, a move is complete when the player’s hand quits the piece(s) moved, captured, castled, and/or promoted. No mention is made of the clock press. Yet, under Article 14.3, the clock is alternately stopped by the players after each move. Still, there is no guarantee of a clock press (except in the Michigan Speed Rules). I would rule that the opponent hit the clock illegally, and readjust the clocks accordingly. It would then be the opponent’s turn to move, and his clock would be started. I believe that a general statement on the completion of a move is required, and the following is the rule I follow: It is permissible for the second player to reply to a move immediately after it has been made on the board—whether or not the clock has been pressed. When this occurs, the first player will have lost the right to hit his clock. In other words, if you want to hit your clock after your move, you should do so immediately—and you MUST do so before your opponent plays his reply on the board.

MORRISON: This is a difficult question. Technically, under Art. 14.3 the opponent had a right to stop his own clock and start his opponent’s clock and the player had no right to prevent the opponent from punching his clock. The Law would lead the director to disallow the player’s claim. On the other hand, these actions usually happen so fast that it is impossible to tell exactly whether one clock was stopped and the other started before the second player in haste stopped his own clock. The opponent should not have made a directorial decision and started his clock “again,” it could be argued. I incline now to disallow the claim for a time forfeit, since time forfeitures should be clearly proved, and I am sure that a presentation by the players of the “facts” in this case would be far from clear. If in doubt, it is better that the game proceed and the result be determined over the chessboard instead of in the rulebook.

10. A player complains that he overheard his opponent talking away from the board with a friend about the sacrifice he was contemplating. The friend had said, “Sacrifice a whole piece? Are you crazy?” A neutral observer confirms that this conversation took place. The player asks for a forfeit on the grounds that the opponent was discussing the game. The opponent protests that though he himself mentioned a planned move, he had received no help from his friend and that it was absurd anyway to suppose that his friend (rated 300 points below him) could give him any useful advice.

BRATTIN: No penalty, but a warning, especially to the opponent’s friend. While consultation is forbidden by the rules of chess, this is not a consultation situation. The opponent, in this case, was probably aiming to entertain a friend: “Watch this; you’ll like my combination.” Tournament chess play does no have to be unfriendly, and frequently a player will comment about his moves to a friend (or a casual bystander) without soliciting advice or comment. The player is overreacting. I would inform the opponent that the player had entered a complaint, and warn him against situations that might give the appearance of evil; then I would carefully explain the “consultation” rule to the friend and advise him not to offer any kind of gratuitous comment whatever to a player of a game in progress.

CRANE: I would give both the opponent and his talkative friend a strict warning. No forfeiture would be granted, except on repeated violation. Consultation is forbidden by the rules, but innocent conversation must be tolerated. In many cases, the director cannot draw a line between the two extremes. A warning is in order, after which the opponent should be on his guard.

MORRISON: This is another case of wide discretion on the part of the director. Article 18.1a of the FIDE Laws reads in part: “During play the players are forbidden to... have recourse to the advice or opinion of a third party, whether solicited or not.” If a player makes statements to others about the position in his own game, such a statement would not be in contravention of the Law. However, such statements commonly stimulate a reply from the other player, which is in contravention of the Law. I feel strongly that players should not converse with third parties, or their opponents for that matter, on games in progress. Such conversations often lead to unsolicited advice. In the case cited, I doubt that the advice had any effect on the game, so would myself probably give the player a stern warning.

11. A player constantly places his pieces on the edges and corners of squares in a careless fashion. The opponent adjusts them after each of the player’s moves, but fails once to say “I adjust,” although it is obvious that he is adjusting. The player claims that the opponent must capture the touched piece. The opponent maintains that the pattern established in that game—the player sloppily pushing the piece approximately onto the square and the opponent invariably adjusting it—constituted extenuating circumstances and that the touch-move rule should not be invoked when it was patently clear in this case that he was adjusting a piece that badly needed adjusting.

BRATTIN: The piece must be taken! The rules do not permit a player to adjust his opponent’s pieces; he must ask his opponent to do this: “Please adjust your bishop.” This is an extremely technical aspect of the “touch-move” rule and was probably written to cover this contingency. There is no justification for omitting the “I adjust” formality. The director should, however, determine whether sloppy placement of the pieces constitutes an intentional harassment; and if it is his opinion that the player had this maneuver in mind all along, he should consider forfeiting the game, awarding it to the opponent because of the player’s unsportsmanlike conduct.

CRANE: In a case like this, the opponent should have lodged a complaint with the director. The T.D. would then have warned the player against habitual maladjustment of his pieces. But under the circumstances stated, the opponent would be forced to move the piece he was “j’adoubing.” There is no basis for suspending the touch-move rule here. If the opponent was genuinely annoyed with the sloppy habits of his adversary, he should have informed the director.

MORRISON: This one is a real nitpicker. The statement seems to indicate that the player admits that his opponent was “obviously” adjusting his own badly placed piece and admits to previous careless placement of the pieces. I think I would give both players a warning to get down to serious play and learn a little sportsmanship. If any of the facts given are disputed, of course, the question becomes more complex.

Cereal City Open

(From p. 5 of Michigan Chess, July 73)

The Cereal City Open, June 23-24, was won by Bob Savage, 5-0. Second was Roger Freling, 4-1. First and runnerup in the classes were B—Robert Moore and Les Smith; C—Ed Krakiwskyj and Phil Anderson; D-E—Jack Harrington and Don Lautenbach; Unrated—Doug Maurer and Bruce Grimes; and Junior—Jeff Maki and Robert Post.

David Whitehouse directed the 29-player event. J.D. Brattin, who had been scheduled to direct, had major surgery on Tuesday preceding the tournament, but played anyway of course—by telephone from his hospital bed—and scored 2½.

Flint Open

(From p. 6 of Michigan Chess, July 73)

Larry Harrison pulled a “Brattin” by directing the tournament and at the same time playing well enough to finish as the top Flint player and therefore Flint city champion for 1973....

A Romantic Draw

by J.D. Brattin

(From p. 13 of Michigan Chess, August/September 1973)

[Note: this issue highlighted a much-overlooked aspect of chess-play: the draw. Dad contributed notes on one of the best-known and most entertaining draws ever played.]

Hamppe was a nineteenth-century chess master with an interesting philosophy: he liked to expose his king to the maximum possible attack as early as possible in the hopes that his opponent would become overextended. This style of play must have been highly infuriating to those whose attacks would fail by a hair. It also kept Hamppe from achieving first-rate status.

Here’s an example of the Hamppe style, played against Meitner in 1874. I think that Meitner must have eaten firecrackers for breakfast before this game.

Hamppe-Meitner
Vienna 1872
1.e4 e5 2.Nc3 Bc5 3.Na4 Bxf2+ [And here we go.] 4.Kxf2 Qh4+ 5.Ke3 [The only way to answer the threat of 5...Qxe4+, which would win the knight on a4 and leave Black two pawns ahead.] 5...Qf4+ 6.Kd3 [More of the same.] 6...d5 7.Kc3 [Any other move? Try it—you won’t like it.] 7...Qxe4 8.Kb3 [Hamppe is happy—he has a piece for two pawns and is not in any immediate danger (?).] 8...Na6 [Try a one-move mate threat.] 9.a3 Qxa4+ [White will not be given a chance to play Nc3 and Ka2.] 10.Kxa4 Nc5+ 11.Kb4 a5+ 12.Kxc5 [If the king is going to die, he’ll take the whole Black army down with him....] 12...Ne7 [What a time for a developing move! White now has a chance to make his fifth non-king move—but he must defend against the threat of 13...b6+ and 14...Bd7#. There’s only one way.] 13.Bb5+ Kd8 14.Bc6 [And now if 14...bxc6, White can play 15.a4! and 16.d3! and there’s no way he can be checked, let alone mated.] 14...b6+ 15.Kb5 Nxc6 [The threat is 16...Nd4+ and 17...b5#, or 17...Bd7#. 16.Ka4 is no answer: 16...Nd4. And moves to prevent ...Nd4, such as 16.Nf3 or 16.c3, simply allow the transposition 16...Bd7 followed by 17...Nd4#.] 16.Kxc6 [And now what does Black have left?] 16...Bb7+ [One more sacrifice (!), and, for a change, one which cannot be accepted. 17.Kxb7 allows 17...Kd7! And White cannot prevent 18...Rhb8#! He can only delay it for two moves, and that will cost him a queen.] 17.Kb5 Ba6+ 18.Kc6 [And now 18.Ka4 is crunched by 18...Bc4 when White cannot prevent 19...b5#.] 18...Bb7+ [1/2; Draw! by total and utter perpetual check!]

There probably ought to be a moral to this game. I rather hope that there is not. The final position looks like something from double-speed chess. “Partner, give me a pawn, or anything, and it’s mate.”

Let’s put it this way. If you can move your king twelve times in the first eighteen moves of a game, you should have a draw. But don’t try it. Odds are you won’t last eighteen moves.

Nominating Committee Appointed

(From p. 24 of Michigan Chess, August/September 1973)

...Incidentally, it seems that one requirement for Executive Board membership is a bad gall bladder! This year within the space of a few months, the president, vice-president, and secretary all had theirs removed!

Another Stray Anecdote

(From p. 28 of Michigan Chess, August/September 1973)

J.D. Brattin tells the anecdote about a game that ended in a draw and a loss at the same time. White, on the move, thinking the position to be hopelessly blocked and dead even, looked up at his opponent, shrugged, and said, “Well, I guess that’s it.” Black, who had been fearfully eyeing a decisive breakthrough combination that he assumed White was getting ready to play, said, “Yeah, I guess that’s it, all right.” So White wrote “Draw” on his scoresheet, Black wrote “Resigns” on his, and they both turned them in!

I remember Dad telling me about this, and there was more to the story. The director (Dad himself? He didn’t say, so probably not.) called attention to the situation, and White changed his mind and took his scoresheet back and wrote “Resigns”! I think he intended to note that his opponent had resigned, but the director, fed up with the whole situation, credited them both with a loss.

Michigan at the U.S. Open

(From pp. 3-19 of Michigan Chess, October 1973)

Dad’s only (I think) U.S. Open appearance was at Chicago in 1973. He had a hot streak (3-0), then a cold streak (0-3), then another hot streak (3.5-0.5), and another cold streak (0-2) to finish with a barely plus score. He was one of 24 Michigan players and five former Michigan players to play. He also served Michigan by attending the USCF Directors’ meeting on the weekend.

J.D. Brattin won his game when his unrated and completely inexperienced opponent overstepped the time limit. Brattin was reluctant to accept that kind of victory, and one of the assistant directors, thinking from Brattin’s hesitation and discomfort that he had two greenhorns on his hands, explained the time-forfeit rules at some length. Brattin looked a little strange being on the other end of one of these lectures!

J.D. Brattin reported that his car had been broken into and that everything in it had been stolen. The thief even took the scoresheet of Brattin’s earlier win over James Harkins. (Harkins naturally came under suspicion, but I thought J.D. was going too far when he asked him for his fingerprints.)

I remember this incident. Dad lost, among other things, a little metallic pig (named Zot) that he was very fond of. After that his favorite inanimate pet was a ceramic hippopotamus. As to requesting the other fellow’s fingerprints, this had to be in jest; Dad had his faults, but he wasn’t in the least paranoid.

During this round, a TV crew did its thing, and its thing proved to be quite disruptive. The crew had been warned to cool it in the grandmasters’ playing area, but on the 19th floor the cameramen were free to get as many “action shots” as they wanted. They rushed about trying to get as many “interesting” looking people as they could, such as J.D. Brattin in a wide headband, which made him look like a revolutionary, and one young man who had fallen completely asleep at the board with his head on his arms. The crew director seemed to be a foot fetishist; at least he had his crew crawling among the chairs taking lurid pictures of every waggling foot he could spot. Several players protested vehemently, but the officials assured them that it was all in the greater cause—which I suppose it was.

(At the USCF Directors’ meeting) Michigan was represented by J.D. Brattin, Don and Doris Thackrey, Les Smith, and Stan Beckwith.

Final results:

I have a copy of the yearbook issue of Chess Life & Review, which has some more information about the 1973 U.S. Open. Dad finished in 241st place out of 775 players. His rating at the time was 1893. The crosstable gives the complete results of the top 100 finishers, which include three of Dad’s opponents (not surprisingly, they were three of Dad’s losses).

Tom Wozney (2156), who defeated Dad in round 4, had a marvelous tournament, notching up wins over Eugene Martinowsky (2378) and Eugene Meyer (2369), drawing with Andrew Karklins (2415) and Salvatore Matera (2331), and losing only one game, to William Lombardy (2537); he tied for 6th place with 9.5-2.5, and took the prize for 1st Expert.

John Weber (2135), who defeated Dad in round 5, did pretty much as expected afterward, with the exception of an upset win over John Jacobs (2374). He tied for 28th place with 8.5-3.5.

Bruce Diesen (2092), who defeated Dad in round 11, was one of the major stories of the tournament for some time, having upset Duncan Suttles (2445, who went on to tie for 1st) and later defeating Karl Burger (2258) and drawing with Andrew Karklins (2415). After eight rounds he had 6.5 points, but could only score one more point—against Dad—in the final four rounds. His 7.5-4.5 score put him in 94th place. He is, I believe, the brother of IM Mark Diesen.

It’s noteworthy that most of Dad’s losses were against players who not only were higher rated, but were remarkably underrated as well.

MCA Membership Meeting

Ypsilanti, September 2, 1973

(From p. 27, Michigan Chess, October 1973

...

The biannual election was held. The nominating committee’s slate of candidates for officers was endorsed unanimously. This slate consisted of: President, J.D. Brattin, Battle Creek; Vice President, Wes Burgar, Ann Arbor; Secretary, David Whitehouse, Lansing; Treasurer, Ed Molenda, Sr., Lansing.

September MCA Executive Board Meeting

Ann Arbor, September 4, 1973

(From p. 27, Michigan Chess, October 1973

...

A discussion of variations used by tournament directors in pairing systems led to the suggestion that directors be encouraged to write down (and have available for seinding to prospective organizers and for posting at tournaments) details of their directing methods, especially any details not specifically and unambiguously specified to the USCF Handbook or details likely to raise questions. J.D. Brattin offered to write such a statement about his own methods as an example.

Lenawee Chess Club Happenings

(From p. 29, Michigan Chess, October 1973

In connection with arranging for the Region V Championship, Don and Doris Thackrey and J.D. Brattin visited the thriving Lenawee Chess Club in Adrian. The main purpose of the visit was to look over the proposed site for the tournament (Drager Middle School). As long as we were there, however, Brattin gave a simultaneous against 22 of the Lenawee Club. He played the games at a very fast tempo, finishing in less than 2½ hours, winning 17, losing 4 (to Russ Langham, Dianne Huerta, Herb Simpson, and Harry Teets), and drawing with John Mershon.

Certified Tournament Directors

(From p. 31, Michigan Chess, October 1973

The response to our request for names and addresses of Michigan’s certified intermediate and local tournament directors was not overwhelming; I am sure the following list is not complete. Still, this partial list will give prospective organizers an initial shopping list when they are seeking a director.

Intermediate

• J.D. Brattin, Battle Creek
• Ben Crane, Ann Arbor
• Dr. Howard Gaba, Huntington Woods
• Bill Johnson, East Lansing
• Thomas J. Sloan, East Detroit

Local

• Charles Bassin, Centerline
• Ken Courtney, Troy
• Ronald Dickerson, Madison Heights
• Lee Larson, Negaunee
• Jim Marfia, Grand Rapids
• Lonnie W. Rutkofske, Port Huron
• Les LeRoy Smith, Kalamazoo
• Peter S. Theuerle, Detroit
• Bradford White, Detroit
• David Whitehouse, Lansing

Problem-Solving Contest

(From pp. 4-5 of Michigan Chess, February 1974)

One problem that nobody missed was #1 (actually a lure to attract entries).

 
How should Black continue? (1 point)

By far the best solution was submitted by J.D. Brattin, who wrote:

Black is threatened with forced mate in three beginning with Rxf6+. In addition, six of his seven pieces are directly menaced with capture. In a hocked-up position like this, the only thing one can do is to put all pieces in the maximum amount of jeopardy. Therefore, since Black’s QB is the only piece currently not enjoying ATTACK, one should find the square on which it will be the most vulnerable. Aha! If the bishop were moved to e4 it would be under attack from six different directions. That must be the best move; it will cause White to lose time on his clock while determining the best way to capture.

1...Be4. (Oh. That’s check? That’s double-check? That’s mate?)

I must say that it was always a pleasure to receive J.D. Brattin’s solutions. His fresh wit provided a taste of mint in what was otherwise a lot of meatloaf.

“No, but it helps”

(From pp. 8-10 of Michigan Chess, August/September 1974)

In the chess world, I will probably be remembered longer as the inventor of the Insanity Open than for any other reason. This probably puts me in the category of the fellow who invented windshield wipers for submarines. Nonetheless, it is probably better to be acclaimed for an idiotic idea than never to have had an idea at all.

The concept originated when I noticed that several players in conventional five-round Swiss tournaments spent the night, after the third round, playing speed chess, bridge, poker—anything other than sleeping. When chessplayers survive tournaments on a mixture of Coca-Cola, nicotine, and adrenalin, who needs to sleep? And maybe something useful could be done between the hours of midnight and 10:00 am—like two additional rounds. More chess for your money!

Lynn Cicotte and I together gave birth to the first Insanity Open, held on a nasty December weekend in 1968. It probably received more press coverage than any other Michigan tournament ever, due to the fact that I enlisted the help of the Detroit Free Press’s Action Line in finding the ugly fish which was used as a first place trophy. Reporters, television cameras, and assorted other good things convinced Lynn and me that the tournament might be worth doing again. Our greatest fear was than an exhausted chessplayer might be involved in an automobile accident on the way home. Apparently that has not happened at any of the Insanity events. Keep fingers crossed.

Coverage in Chess Life influenced some other organizers to try their hand at the Insanity. An event in Rhode Island did not go over well; maybe Easterners like to sleep. Stan Beckwith began to organize Insanity events in Battle Creek, which is now the address that most Michigan players associate with Insanity events. I attempted to keep the tournaments numbered in sequence (Rhode Island being the second) but this began to fall apart when West Coast organizers put together some “unauthorized” Insanities and we lost track of the numbers.

The Insanity event, of course, is its own particularly odd breed of chess. But there seems to be no correlation between age and collapse. While you would expect such events to be dominated by the young, it doesn’t work out that way, and the senior citizens of the chess world demonstrate their stamina. The time schedule appears to affect everyone equally—or not at all. Ron Finegold has won every Michigan Insanity in which he has participated. The higher-rated players usually finish near the top, as in any tourney. Perhaps the most remarkable result ever posted in an Insanity was in a Battle Creek event, where second place was captured by a young Class C player from, so help me, North Dakota. His name was Richard Borgen.

Beckwith improved the Insanity concept by introducing the “speed tournament” between the fourth and fifth rounds. Speed chess at 3:00 a.m., following four rounds of USCF-rated play, is something else again! And, surprisingly (?), at least half of the Insanity entrants play in the speed event.

Someone once tried to award a prize for the best-played game in the fifth (5:00 a.m.) round of an Insanity. That was not one of the best ideas ever. 5:00 a.m. is an obscene hour for anyone to be playing chess.

Of course, the non-chess activities associated with an Insanity tournament also make happy memories. The Battle Creek Youth Center is admirably suited for the Insanity concept. The time that someone left the pool door unlocked, and the players went skinny-dipping in the dark between rounds (“Look out below, I’m coming off the diving board”); the fellow who hitch-hiked from Virginia to play in Battle Creek, misjudged the distance, and arrived four days early; the time that three chessplayers, names not available on request, were investigated by the local police on suspicion of (a) breaking and entering, (b) possession of marijuana (nobody was booked, but the marijuana was confiscated); the player who completely vanished for two full rounds; all of this, in addition to the planned “humor” of announcing the beginning of rounds with tubas, trombones, gongs, even a “canned laughter” machine!

(Now, really, why did you think I moved to Battle Creek?)

But, perhaps, the following description of an event in Bloomington, Indiana, sums up the chaos at an Insanity. The names have been changed, not only to protect the innocent, but because I can’t remember them all. The tale is based on my best recollection. Have I ever lied to you?

Spassky, a student at the University of Indiana, had attended an Insanity event in Battle Creek and found that it was great fun. Upon returning to Bloomington he had begun to make plans for an Insanity of his own, to be held the following January.

On Friday night Karpov, a friend of mine from Lansing, drove down to Hudson, where I was acting as the official scorer for a high school basketball game. Upon conclusion of the game, we took my car and set out for Bloomington. It was the coldest night of the year. Karpov, who could have slept, decided that it was more to the point to keep me awake. So we arrived in Bloomington, totally sleepless, about 5:30 a.m., and froze until the college union building opened.

We waited. And we waited. And almost nobody showed up. And, when Koltanowski finally made his appearance, it was with bad news. Spassky’s wife was in the hospital; he would be unable to direct. Instantly the list of players was cut by two; Spassky, inspired by my examble, had wanted to play and direct—Koltanowski had wanted to play. With Koltanowski directing, he refused to play.

And we waited some more—and achieved a total entry list of eleven. It suddenly became obvious that Spassky had made a gross tactical error. He had carefully checked to be sure that his tournament would not conflict with any other chess activity in a 200-mile radius; he had not looked under his nose. The weekend he had chosen was just before exam week at the University of Indiana. There were no U of I players.

With agonized groans Koltanowski prepared the first round pairings. Then it was Mecking’s turn to groan. He had traveled three hundred miles by Greyhound bus to play in this event and he was damned if he wanted a bye in the first round.

I did a little speedy arithmetic. Eleven players. Seven rounds. Seven byes! I announced that there was a last-minute late entry and gave Koltanowski two more dollars. Koltanowski scratched his head at the idea of my playing two games each round simultaneously. Would the USCF accept this? I told him that it wouldn’t be much harder than playing and directly. He accepted my money, paired Brattin #1 against Gligoric and Brattin #2 against Mecking, and sat back to worry about what would happen if he ever had to pair Brattin #1 against Brattin #2, and also what kind of lies he would have to tell USCF about the entire situation.

Brattin #1 lost to Gligoric, a solid player who had had slightly more sleep the night before; Brattin #2 defeated a thoroughly satisfied Mecking.

Round #2. Spassky had completely abandoned the tournament site, going to the hospital to hold hands with his wife. The round commenced, Brattin #1 paired against Korchnoi, a young exponent of the Yingling Gambit, and Brattin #2 facing Fischer, a completely unfamiliar face. The first half of me won by being fishy, the other half won by being solid.

There was still a player wandering around without an opponent. It was later determined that Polugayevsky, a Bloomington resident, had gone home for lunch, become involved in an automobile accident, and was hospitalized—not in serious condition, but badly enough that he wouldn’t be returning to the Union Building. Karpov suggested that the tournament site be shifted to the hospital.

Back to eleven players. After approximately one-tenth of a second thinking about a Brattin #3 (horrors!), Koltanowski suggested that Brattin #1 should withdraw in order to achieve an even number of players. Okay. That was the worse half of me anyway.

Round #3. What was left of me was paired against what was left of Karpov. I looked at him. He looked at me. We rattled off twenty moves in a total elapsed time of fifteen minutes, after which two queens were off the board, fourteen pawns were completely blocked, and neither of us wanted to advance the remaining pawns. Draw! and Nap!

Larsen, who knew a girl at U of I, also completed his game quickly, and left, promising to return at midnight for the fourth round.

Eleven o’clock, and a representative of the Union Building came by to tell the chessplayers that we had to go—the building was being closed. Koltanowski, horrified, said that the room had been engaged for all night long. The official told him to prove it.

Well, of course, Koltanowski couldn’t. All of the negotiations had been handled by Spassky; and Spassky was completely unavailable.

Out!

Koltanowski pointed around the room, at the sleeping forms of Karpov, Petrosian, and me (the three of us totaling nearly 700 pounds), and said that if the Union Building official wanted us to go, he was going to have to carry us, all by himself, with no help from Koltanowski or anyone else. Sit-down strike! With much grumbling, the building official decided that he would not eject us. He did the next best thing. He locked us in.

And there we were, locked into the tournament room, away from all vending machines, drinking fountains, bathrooms. We had one little door which led to the outside world, and it had to be propped open so that anyone who left could return. Of course, that wasn’t the happiest situation ever; it was fifteen degrees below zero.

At midnight Petrosian and I commenced our fourth round game. Both of us were unbearably sleepy. I cannot remember much about the game, except that I forced through a fishy counterattack and passed up a chance to mate in one for the sake of playing R-R8+, NxR; P-N8=B mate—the only time I have ever underpromoted to a bishop in a tournament game.

Larsen finished his date and returned to the Union Building at midnight. He found it closed and locked. He was unable to locate the secret passageway which led to our room.

There was no organized speed tournament between the fourth and fifth rounds. Koltanowski was in no mood to organize anything. Karpov suggested that Koltanowski should be given a special award for the most outrageous snore in all of Region V.

We had to wake Koltanowski up to make the fifth round pairings. Such was the state of our minds that nobody noticed that Larsen had not yet returned to the playing room. He had, at intervals through the night, returned to the Union, but had never been able to get into the building. One more set of pairings—involving nine players and the absent Larsen.

My fifth-round game with Tal was delayed; Tal had a physical need which couldn’t be satisfied by hiding behind the shrubbery on the Union Building lawn. It took him forty-five minutes to locate a more conventional facility. When he finally returned, he beat me like a child.

Sixth round! The Union Building had reopened. Koltanowski had taken in enormous amounts of coffee, and had suddenly realized that Larsen had not returned. On his suggestion, Brattin #1 was brought back to life in order to increase the number of active players to ten. Brattin #1 was paired against Hort, and Brattin #2 faced Korchnoi.

After the pairings were made, but before play started, Larsen suddenly appeared, explaining his absence and expressing a desire to play. Larsen, however, had already played Hort—so the obvious solution of putting Brattin #1 back to sleep would not have worked. Koltanowski pulled out a great handful of hair. Hort announced that he needed sleep more than he needed chess, and left, saying that he would be back at ten. Brattin #1 was repaired against Larsen.

Unaccountably, Brattin #1 had not told Brattin #2 about Korchnoi’s horrible Yingling Gambit (1 P-Q4 P-K4); Brattin #2 achieved a terrible position, again winning by sheer fishiness. Brattin #1 had a slightly easier time against Larsen, who was doing quite a lot of sneezing.

If you think it’s easy to pair a seven-round tournament with between ten and twelve players, try it sometime—especially if you have the ground rule that two of them cannot play each other. Going into the last round, four players were tied with 4½ points: Brattin #2 (lost to Tal, drew with Karpov), Karpov (lost to Fischer, drew with Brattin #2), Tal (lost to Karpov, drew with Fischer), Fischer (lost to Brattin #2, drew with Tal). Well, obviously, these four players had to go on four different boards. And a total five boards were to be played. There was also the question of whether Hort was going to return or not.

And then, while Koltanowski was madly shuffling cards, Mecking withdrew from the tournament; his bus was leaving sooner than he had anticipated and, if paired, he would have to conclude his game in half an hour.

Koltanowski loudly announced that if anyone else even thought of withdrawing, he was going to withdraw and we could make our own damned pairings. Nobody could blame him. Finally, he arrived at the following: Karpov-Brattin #1, Brattin #2-Hort, Tal-Larsen, Gligoric-Fischer, Korchnoi-Petrosian.

When Hort finally showed up, only five minutes late, Koltanowski let out breath like air escaping from a punctured dirigible.

Brattin #2 won a pawn on the fifth move and then quietly sat on the position, waiting for the pawn to grow.

Gligoric, who had failed to follow through his first round success, pressed hard and achieved a quick draw with an exhausted Fischer.

Karpov commenced a hellacious attack against Brattin #1, who defended by moving his K to KR4. I defended against a mate threat with a zwisch, and suddenly my king became a powerful attacking piece. Upon resigning, Karpov told me that (a) I was a great mackerel, (b) his attack would have been sound if he had not been so sleepy, and (c) he was off to watch the Super Bowl. I cheerfully agreed with (a) and (b), and concentrated on the mopping-up of Hort.

Korchnoi and Petrosian, who had come in the same car, concluded their game quickly.

Tal and Larsen achieved an interesting endgame in which Larsen had two extra pawns and Tal had fifteen extra minutes. The minutes became more meaningful than the pawns; Larsen had to sacrifice the two pawns in order to meet the time-control, and then found that Tal’s king was several inches taller than his own. Resignation followed shortly.

I had not even bothered to calculate tie-break points, and was not greatly surprised or upset when Koltanowski announced that Tal had beaten me out for first prize. After all, he had defeated me in our individual encounter. Tal was awarded, as a prize, one of the ugliest table lamps I have ever seen; as runner-up, I was given a book of endgames, in German, by Norman Whitaker.

Then back to Hudson, Michigan. It had warmed up to two degrees below zero, which was rather nice when I had to change a flat tire. And both Karpov and I showed up for work on time Monday morning.

Thus did I achieve a score of eight and a half points in a seven-round USCF-rated tournament—an appropriate score for an Insanity and a record which, I believe, has not been accomplished before or since.

1974 Michigan Open

(From p. 6 of Michigan Chess, November 1974)

...

J.D. Brattin continued his winning ways after John Brooks blundered horribly. Shades of 1971! Could Brattin do it again?

Letter to the Editor

(From p. 13 of Michigan Chess, January 1975)

...

If Karpov is the challenger, his loss to Korchnoi in Game 19 indicates an opening weakness when something off the beaten track (the Zot!) is thrown at him. If Korchnoi comes back with another weirdo opening (no offense to J.D. Brattin intended) in Game 23, then he may manage to get to the coin toss after all 24 games are played (maybe 1.b3???).

...

John Menke
Las Vegas, NV

John Menke, originally from the midwest and a somewhat familiar face in Michigan tournaments, was an openings statistician.

Chess and the Word

(From p. 18 of Michigan Chess, January 1975)

...

Upon Karpov’s victory, the Christian Science Monitor devoted almost a full page (written by Larry Eldridge) to the new challenger and to Fischer’s battle with FIDE. Sydney J. Harris has lately used two of his syndicated general columns (appearing among other places in the Detroit Free Press) to offer some uninformed and patronizing comments on Fischer, the Karpov-Korchnoi staring episode, and chess in general. (One of those columns drew a stinging letter of response from MCA president J.D. Brattin, which the Free Press did not print.)

MCA Executive Board Meeting

(From p. 22 of Michigan Chess, January 1975)

...

After a discussion of the problem of bad checks, the board agreed that organizers, who are the persons on the scene and best able to assess the situation, must take responsibility for the checks they accept. With Brattin dissenting, the board voted to publish in Michigan Chess the names of persons who have paid for chess services or activities with insufficient-fund checks. This will be done upon complaint by the organizer and upon the submission of evidence that a check has bounced and that the organizer has made an effort to contact the writer of the bad check.

Letter to the Editor

(From p. 24 of Michigan Chess, March 1975)

...Would there be any possibility of a column devoted to that strength chessplayer known as the fish? Juniors and Young Juniors especially would benefit from it; and if, as an idea, annotated games of players under 1300 could be published, it might provide a lot of stimulus for budding Karpovs or Fischers or, perish the thought, J.D. Brattins.

I would appreciate a comment on this and would like to hear from any high school or junior high school student(s) interest in forming a league in the Calhoun County area.

Joseph Power
Battle Creek

I remember Joe Power from my infrequent visits to the Battle Creek club in my youth; he had an infectious enthusiasm for chess and other endeavors, including origami.

“Out, Damned Zot...”

by Jim Marfia

(From pp. 8 & 19 of Michigan Chess, April 1975)

Periodically, someone established in the order of chess breaks into print with the startling observation that the younger players seem inordinately fond of “booking,” i.e., playing rote-memorized opening variations. But this is, after all, the natural order of things. One of the few advantages the relatively new player has on his side is that, being younger than most of the experienced players, he will have a more capacious memory.

In self-defense, some of the older players have resorted to obscure lines, which may indeed be no worse than the hyper-analyzed ones, but which have the built-in (though perhaps only temporary) advantage that no one is likely to know them but the man who introduces them.

Such a player (did I call him “older”?) and such a variation are the J.D. Brattin/Zot team. Checking back over my games with Brattin, I have discovered that five of the seven were Zots (I had White in one, and he played the Vandenburg—1.b4! —in the other). I figure that calls for a theoretical article, incorporating some other material that has meanwhile fallen into my hands. So here it is, and from now on, all you fish out there can sit down prepared.

1.d4 Nf6
2.Bg5 Ne4

The “other material” to which I referred includes, of course, the 19th Korchnoi-Karpov match game: 2...e6 3.e4 h6 4.Bxf6 Qxf6 5.Nf3 d6 6.Nc3 (In their game at Hastings 1971, when Korchnoi trailed Karpov by a point and also had to play for a win, Korchnoi chose the Nbd2, Bd3, Qe2, and O-O-O type of setup against a queenside fianchetto) 6...g6 7.Qd2 Qe7 8.O-O-O a6, with a very slight, mostly spatial, edge for White.

The new Armenian wonder, Rafik Vaganian, has been employing a gambit offshoot: 2...c5 3.d5 Qb6 4.Nc3! Qxb2 5.Bd2! Qb6 6.e4 d6 7.f4 g6? (An apparently decisive mistake: 7...e6 is necessary.) 8.e5 dxe5 9.fxe5 Nfd7 10.Nf3 Bg7 11.Rb1 Qd8 12.e6 fxe6 13.Ng5! Nf6 (Or 13...Nf8 14.Bb5+ Bd7 15.dxe6 Bxb5 16.Nxb5.) 14.Bb5+ Kf8 15.dxe6 a6 16.Be3! Qa5 (If 16...Qxd1+ 17.Rxd1 axb5 18.Rd8+ Ne8 19.O-O+ Bf6 20.Rxc8 Kg7 21.Nf7.) 17.O-O h6 (Or 17...axb5 18.Rxb5 Qc7 19.Nd5 Qd8 20.Rxf6+ Bxf6 21.Nf7 Qe8 22.Nc7.) 18.Qd3! and White soon won (Vaganian-Kupreichik, USSR 1st League 1974).

An earlier game against Jansa (Kragujevac 1974) continues 8...Nfd7 9.Nf3 Bg7 10.Rb1 Qd8 11.e6 fxe6 12.Ng5 Nf8 (Here 12...Nf6 13.Bb5+ Kf8 14.dxe6 Qc7 15.Bc4 a6 16.f5 with a decisive attack.) 13.Bb5+ Bd7 14.dxe6 Bxb5 15.Nxb5 Qc8 16.O-O! a6 17.Bc3, trading off Black’s only active piece for a clear advantage.

In Alburt-Kupreichik, USSR 1st League 1974, Black tried to avoid this whole line by 3...Ne4 4.Bf4 Qb6 5.Bc1 c4 6.e3 e6 7.dxe6 Qxe6 8.Nh3 Bd6 9.f3 Nf6 10.Qe2 b5, but after 11.a4, White isolated and eventually won the c-pawn.

3.h4

The “true Zot.” “False Zots” occur after 3.Bh4 c5 4.f3 g5 (the “main line”) 5.fxe4 gxh4 6.e3 Qb6 7.Nf3 Qxb2 8.Nbd2 Qc3 9.Bd3 Bh6 (9...c4 10.Bxc4 Qxe3+ 11.Be2 h3 12.g3 Nc6 13.Nc4 Qc3+ 14.Kf2 Bg7 has been suggested.) 10.O-O! Bxe3+ 11.Kh1 Bxd2 12.Nxd2 Nc6 13.Rxf7! with a decisive attack (Balashov-Furman, USSR Championship 1969).

3...c5

Probably this is “theoretically best”: the queen comes out early to exploit the White queenside, weakened by the absence of the bishop. Curiously, I played this move in only two of the games. The others continued: 3...Nxg5 4.hxg5 g6 5.e3 (In the Tacker Open White tried 5.f4 c5 6.Nf3 Bg7 7.c3 cxd4 8.Nxd4?! d5 9.e3 Nc6 10.Nd2 e5) 5...Bg7 6.f4 (At the Seaway he tried 6.c3 d6 7.Nf3 Nd7 8.Nbd2 O-O 9.Bd3 e5 10.d5 Nc5) 6...c5 7.c3 Qb6 (Inferior to 7...cxd4 8.exd4—or 8.cxd4 Qb6 9.Qb3 Qxb3 10.axb3 Nc6—8...Qc7 9.Qd2 d6 10.Bd3 Nc6, as played in our first game.) 8.Qb3 d6 (Nimzovich would have played 8...d5 9.Nf3 c4!) 9.Nd2! Nd7 10.Ngf3 e5? 11.fxe5 dxe5 12.Qxb6 axb6 13.d5 with a dead-won game for White.

4.d5

4.e3 Qb6 is bad for White, as is 4.c3 cxd4 5.cxd4 Qb6 6.Qc2 Nc6 7.Nf3 d5 8.e3 Bf5.

4...Qb6

At the Cereal City I played 4...Nxg5 5.hxg5 g6 6.c3 e6 7.Nh3 exd5 8.Qxd5 d6—an adventurous line indeed.

5.Qc1

In Detroit, J.D. played the positional lemon 5.b3 g6 6.Qd3 f5 7.Nd2 Bg7 8.O-O-O h6? (8...Nc3 is a simple win: 9.Nc4—what else?—9...Nxa2+ 10.Kb1 Nc3+ 11.Qxc3—or 11.Kc1 Qa6—11...Bxc3 12.Nxb6 axb6) 9.Nxe4 fxe4? 10.Qxe4 hxg5 11.d6, etc.

The text appears to be the only other choice, leaving Black with perhaps a small initiative after 5...g6 6.Nd2 Nxg5 7.hxg5 Bg7 8.e4 e6, but it’s a game.

Michigan Problems

(From pp. 11 & 27 of Michigan Chess, April 1975)

Besides unemployment and the Detroit financial crisis, that is.

MCA president J.D. Brattin of Battle Creek submitted one of his teasers: White to play and force Black to mate him in six moves.

Solution: 1.Ra8+ Bg8 2.Bb2+ Bd4 3.Bc3 Be5 4.Bd4 Bf6 5.Be5 Bg7 6.Bf6 Bxf6#

Michigan Open Championship

By J.D. Brattin

(From pp. 3-7 of Michigan Chess, October 1975)

Dad directed, but did not play in, the surprisingly large Michigan Open, held in Lansing over the Labor Day weekend in 1975. It was a time of some turmoil in the chess world, largely due to the Fischer bust. Tournament attendance, memberships, and revenues were dropping precipitously. As for Dad, this same weekend also meant handing over the reigns as president of MCA.

The report is quite remarkable, giving the vantage point of the TD. Dad shares with the reader several of the travails that plague a director, and intertwines some solutions—very handy for the aspiring TD! He also highlights the unsung heroes (the “Nice Guys”) who help a tournament run smoothly. And through it all there’s the story of the tournament itself, with a smattering of good games and peppered with bits of Dad’s wit. The entirety, except for the crosstable and photos, is reprinted here.

I can remember when it was the only major chess event in Michigan—before the Michigan Amateur or the Motor City were conceived, before the advent of the local tournaments. And it is still the big event in the chess calendar for me. A time to meet the friends who only have the time to play once a year—the usual tension of a tournament, added to the thrill of the determination of a new champion—and, as a director, the hope that I will do my job well and satisfy those who are depending on me to keep it running.

One thing about an optional-first-round event: one of the Friday night entries has to be a Nice Guy. There cannot be a bye awarded in the Friday night round; because then, if you have an odd number of entries on Saturday morning, there are two first-round byes awarded, and if that isn’t grounds for revoking a director’s certificate, it ought to be. One of the Friday night entries has to be willing to play on Saturday morning, if need be, to assure an even number of Friday night players. Lucky me—the first player to arrive was Lee Larson. I explained the need for a “nice guy” and he immediately applied for the role. Nice guy, Lee.

And the entries started coming in....

I had been predicting, optimistically, 120 players for this year’s Open. In 1973 and 1974 we had had more. But those events had been held in the southeastern part of the state. Lansing certainly deserved a turn—for the convenience of outstate players, as well as for auld lang syne—and Ed Molenda had made the MCA an offer it couldn’t refuse. But, still, with the Fischer boom tailing off, the economy hurting chessplayers, and the playing site not in the center of activity—120 was an optimistic prediction.

There is no time to count the entries as they arrive; must fill out the pairing cards, check ratings—that’s spelled G-E-U-L-A, not Guela, and that’s why you’re not finding his rating—yeah, I know you haven’t played for four years, but what was the last rating you remember?...

And finally the count, and the first-round pairings. Seventy-two! And a few more latecomers, arriving as I am reading pairings—got to get these guys in, too... it’s a state championship, an open tournament, and we can’t really say, “go away, you’re ten minutes too late.” Although there ought to be some less drastic kind of penalty that can be applied to latecomers. Larson was paired; unpaired; paired again; unpaired again; finally, we ended up with seventy-six Friday entries, not including Lee, and I told him he could go to his room and sleep, which is what he really wanted to do anyway.

Gentlemen, start your clocks! and the 1975 Michigan Open Championship was under way.

Les Smith was the first player to win—a mate in 11 moves.

On Board 2, a very unsatisfying game:

Daniel Togasaki-Fereidon Geula
1975 Michigan Open
1.e4 d6 2.d4 Nf6 3.Nc3 g6 4.f4 Bg7 5.Nf3 O-O 6.Be2 c5 7.dxc5 Qa5 8.O-O Qxc5+ 9.Kh1 Nc6 10.Nd2 a5 11.Nb3 Qb6 12.a4 Nb4 13.f5 d5 14.fxg6 hxg6 15.exd5 Rd8 16.Bf3 Be6 17.dxe6 Rxd1 18.exf7+ Kxf7 19.Bxd1 Rd8 20.Bd2 Kg8 21.Rc1 Rxd2 22.Nxd2 Bh6
 
 
White has two rooks and a pawn for his queen, and if he could hold on to it all, that would be more than enough. More likely, though, he’d have to return some material with 23.Nb3—and the outcome of the game would be far from clear. It would be interesting to see what Dan Togasaki could have done with this position against an opponent rated more than five hundred points higher.

But we will never know—Dan had taken too much time, and his flag fell while he was deliberating on his 23rd move.

The last game to finish in this round raised a problem. In a rook and pawn endgame, Black asked for an adjournment, stating that he was too tired to play his best chess, and that he’d rather play such positions when he would be less likely to blunder. White objected, saying that he had entered the Friday night round with the intention of playing on Friday night, and that he wouldn’t be able to attend any kind of playoff session in the morning. White’s position was upheld.

The general rule of thumb in such cases is: Avoid adjournments whenever possible; the only games which should be set aside are those which are holding up commencement of play in the next round. A player who begins a game should be willing to finish it in a single session.

Black quickly traded rooks and won easily—and, as if to prove that there were no hard feelings for the adverse decision, played speed chess with me until 2 a.m.

Round 1—Saturday morning

Usually, in an optional-first-round situation, the Friday night players can generally be categorized as the stronger players, the older players who don’t like to play three rounds in a day, and the local talent; the Saturday-morning entries are the speed-players, the younger set, and those who don’t have enough money to afford an extra night’s lodging in a strange town. And, usually, the breakdown is about fifty-fifty. So I was expecting another seventy-six entries on Saturday morning.

Not so. Even after the last entries trickled in, only twenty-seven boards were played in this round. Two players made their first appearance in the second round, for our total of 132.

Are chessplayers getting wealthier? Or is there that much opposition to three rounds in a day? At least half of the Lansing players entered on Saturday. I do not quite know what conclusions to draw.

This was also the time to play the game of Where Is.... Quite a few of the players I had been expecting (hoping) to see didn’t attend the Michigan Open Championship this year.

Bruce Suchanko-Earl Thompson
1975 Michigan Open
 
 
After 24...Bxc2

Here Suchanko thought he was winning material after 25.Rc1—and got a nasty surprise after 25...Kg5+ 26.Rf7 Bd3+ 27.Kg1 Bd4+ 28.Kh1 Rh8+. 28.Kh2 would have saved him, but he was clearly rattled after Black’s 26th.

Vic Hall played the Zot (that’s good) and lost (that’s bad). I was hoping, since I wasn’t able to defend my opening from Marfia’s malicious attacks, that someone else would do it for me. Ah, well, Korchnoi will rise again.

A question arose: my opponent’s knight is on my Q1. Can I castle queenside, capturing it? I hope that this question was not serious... but, just in case you are wondering, the answer is NO, NO, NO.

Not much damage in Round 1. All masters and experts escaped unharmed. A few Class A players yielded draws, but none lost.

Round 2

All present and accounted for.

Although some players like a slow rate of speed, 40 in 2 is an abomination for a director. Some players will take all available time—and several of the slowest players are very fine at speed chess. Many games are not over by the fortieth move; and when time-pressure is going on in several places at once, administration becomes difficult. Thanks here to Les Smith, Duffy Hepner, and Lee Larson, who helped watch clocks for me.

McCarty found some incisive moves against the Iconoclast.

Jim Briggs-Joe McCarty
1975 Michigan Open
1.a3 c5 2.e4 d6 3.d3 g6 4.f4 Bg7 5.Nf3 Nc6 6.c3 e5 7.Be2 Nge7 8.O-O O-O 9.Be3 b6 10.Nh4 Bh6 11.Rf3 Bg4 12.Rf2 Be6 13.Nd2 exf4 14.Bxf4 Bxf4 15.Rxf4 g5 16.Rf6 gxh4 17.Rh6 Ng6 18.Bg4 Qg5 [0-1]

Brian Carpenter showed that the Marshall Attack can be especially fierce if White tries to mount a counterattack.

Edward Zywicki-Brian Carpenter
1975 Michigan Open
1.e4 e5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.Bb5 a6 4.Ba4 Nf6 5.O-O Be7 6.Re1 b5 7.Bb3 O-O 8.c3 d5 9.exd5 Nxd5 10.Nxe5 Nxe5 11.Rxe5 Nf6 12.d4 Bd6 13.Re1 Ng4 14.h3 Qh4 15.Qf3 Nxf2 16.Bxf7+ Rxf7 17.Re8+ Bf8 18.Qxa8 Nxh3+ 19.gxh3 Qf2+ 20.Kh1 Qf1+ 21.Kh2 Qxh3+ and mate next move; [0-1]

Tim Redman, a welcome entry from Illinois, yielded a draw in this round, the first expert to do so. I had been watching the top Class A players, thinking back to 1971-72 when Class A was able to win the championship; but, after Round 2, it seemed less likely, as Quigley, Oldenburger, and Murray were all a half-point down.

Round 3

Saturday night and all’s well.

Bruce Suchanko joined the Nice Guy list, bringing a sandwich to a hungry director. Sometimes it seems that there just isn’t enough time to eat.

The first major upset! McCarty, #3 seed, took it on the chin from Don Vandivier. At the other end of the table, Bedell, the lowest rated player in the tournament, made sure that he’d never have to take a bye by defeating Vandenburg for his second victory in three games.

Vic Hall didn’t play the Zot, and won.

Lindsay made maximum use of the c-file, as well as some potent diagonals, against Arganian:

Fred Lindsay-David Arganian
1975 Michigan Open
1.d4 d5 2.Nf3 Nf6 3.c4 dxc4 4.e3 Be6 5.Na3 c5 6.Nxc4 Qc7 7.Bd2 Ne4 8.Rc1 Nxd2 9.Ncxd2 Nd7 10.dxc5 f6 11.Nd4 Bf7 12.Qa4 e6 13.c6 bxc6 14.Rxc6 Qe5 15.Bb5 Bc5 16.N2f3 Qe4 17.Rxc5 Rd8 18.Bxd7+ [1-0]

And Ron Geno had to work like mad to get three pawns for a piece—and when he finally got them, there was nothing he could do with them.

Ron Geno-Morgan Everett
1975 Michigan Open
1.e4 e5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.Bc4 Nf6 4.Ng5 d5 5.exd5 Na5 6.Bb5+ c6 7.dxc6 bxc6 8.Ba4 h6 9.Nf3 e4 10.Ne5 Qd4 11.Bxc6+ Nxc6 12.Nxc6 Qd5 13.Nxa7 Rxa7 14.Nc3 Qe5 15.h3 Ba6 16.Ne2 Bd6 17.c3 O-O 18.b3 Nd7 19.Nd4 Nc5 20.Ne2 Nd3+ 21.Kf1 Qf5 [0-1]

And now, after mentioning several Nice Guys, I’d like to give you the winner in that category: Ron Grzegorczyk.

Les Smith’s working schedule wouldn’t allow him to play his fourth-round game at the usual time. I told him that if he could find another player with his score who would be willing to play a Round 4 game in advance—like midnight Saturday night—he could get it in; otherwise he would have to forfeit. Grzegorczyk agreed to play—his fourth game in one day, since he was a Saturday entry. Thus was a forfeit avoided. That is really Nice.

Dave Whitehouse and I played the pairing game during a dull moment—names of tournament players that look well together. Like White and Black. Or maybe we could pair the Carpenters together and they would sing. Geno-Jean? Sounds like a song title. Hey, Dave, why don’t you enter the tournament so we could have a Ford-Whitehouse pairing? The worse the pun, the better.

Round 4

Experts meet Class A players, and great is the slaughter—of the Class A players. Maybe the rating system is accurate after all.

On the top board, Dupuis played a prepared variation against Poschel. It didn’t work.

Paul Dupuis-Paul Poschel
1975 Michigan Open
1.c4 c5 2.Nc3 Nf6 3.g3 d5 4.cxd5 Nxd5 5.Bg2 Nc7 6.Nf3 Nc6 7.a3 e5 8.b4 f6 9.bxc5 Bxc5 10.O-O Be6 11.Bb2 O-O 12.Rc1 Qe7 13.Na4 Bd6 14.Qc2 Na6 15.d4 exd4 16.Nxd4 Nxd4 17.Bxd4 Bxa3 18.Rb1 Rac8 19.Qe4 b6 20.Nxb6 axb6 21.Rxb6 Bc4 22.Qf5 Bc5 23.Rxa6 Bxa6 24.Bd5+ Kh8 [0-1]

Solid play wins trophies!

Meza and Karpuska combined for the most exciting opening of the tournament (or any other)....

Luis Meza-Walter Karpuska
1975 Michigan Open
1.e4 e5 2.f4 exf4 3.Nf3 Be7 4.Bc4 Bh4+ 5.g3 fxg3 6.O-O gxh2+ 7.Kh1 ...and Meza went on to win this game [1-0]. But I just wonder how many players would have enough courage to try this opening—from either side. Even MCO calls it the Wild Cunningham Gambit. Wild is right.

Another King’s Gambit in this round ended less happily. The names will be omitted to protect the guilty.

NN-NN
1975 Michigan Open
1.e4 e5 2.f4 exf4 3.Nf3 d6 4.Bc4 Be6 5.Bxe6 fxe6 6.e5 dxe5 7.Nxe5 Qh4+ 8.g3 fxg3 9.O-O Qxh2# [0-1]

Two major violations of principle here: (a) never play the King’s Gambit against anyone who’s older than you are, and (b) leave your knight on KB3 until you’re ready to give it up.

A rather fine technical point arose in this round—and tournament players should be aware of this point, simply because it is a little-known rule. You cannot adjust your opponent’s pieces. You may ask your opponent to adjust his own pieces (on your own time) but you are not allowed to j’adoube his knights around so that they face the back rank. And excessive adjustments may constitute harassment. This is a nervous habit that’s best to break.

Round 5

More action on the top boards, as Lindsay surprised Geula, Ciaffone upset Bassin, and Murray popped McCarty.

Fred Lindsay-Fereidon Geula
1975 Michigan Open
 
 

After doubling Geula’s pawns on the thirteenth move, Lindsay had to play very carefully to achieve this position, and the ending had to be calculated with extreme care, since the white king must fend for himself. Lindsay wrapped it up with 37.Qxe5 Qc3+ 38.Kb1 Qe1+ 39.Ka2 Qd2 40.Qb8+. [1-0]

And, with a minimal edge in material, it took Dave Murray a lot of maneuvering to reach this position...

Joe McCarty-Dave Murray
1975 Michigan Open
 
 

...where 51...b4 accomplishes the breakthrough. White’s bishop is amusingly cut off from the action, and after 52.Kxc4 bxc3 53.Kb3 Kb5 Joe McCarty chose to resign rather than dangle in the wind any longer. [0-1]

It’s dangerous to make Round 6 pairings too early; too often it happens that someone becomes disgusted with his play after five rounds and decides to withdraw from the tournament. And if pairings have been made on the boards below the dropout, they have to be ripped up and started over—because a bye is either created or eliminated. So I waited until the last Round 5 game was over before preparing for the morning. And the last thing I remember is a clock saying it was a little after 4 a.m.

At 8:30 in the morning a player came into the tournament hall and heard a strange snoring noise under the director’s table.

Round 6

Showdown in Dodge City. Board 1 featured the two unscored-upon players in the tournament—Lindsay and Poschel. A decisive result in this game would leave the winner a half-point ahead of the field.

The game itself was no surprise, and no disappointment. Both players made cautious, conservative moves, taking no risks, allowing no tactical tries. It was not until the 38th move that Poschel achieved so much as an open file, and ten moves later before he could convert a space advantage into a one-pawn plus in a hard, rook-bishop-and-five vs. rook-bishop-and-four endgame. Meanwhile, there was drama on the clock, as Poschel had only four minutes to make his last seven moves before flag-fall—and immediately consumed fifty-four minutes on the first ten moves of the second time-control, leaving himself only six minutes for the other ten.

Fred Lindsay-Paul Poschel
1975 Michigan Open
 
 

But this was the final position, with White (Lindsay) to make his 70th move. He resigned [0-1], rather than play 70.Ra2 (what else?) 70...Rc1+ 71.Kxc1 Kxa2 72.Kc2 g6; then Black waits until White runs out of pawn moves (which won’t take long) and sooner or later White must play Kc1, allowing ...Kb3. And then while the white king stops the rook-pawn, the black king mops up the kingside. A game with credit to both players.

Murray, after yielding a draw to Larson in the first round, had been coming on strongly, and in this round he scored his fifth straight victory, earning the right to play Poschel in the finals. Playing a risky opening, he gambled successfully, cracking his opponent’s position wide open at a very early stage.

Dave Murray-Robert Ciaffone
1975 Michigan Open
1.e4 Nf6 2.e5 Nd5 3.Nc3 Nxc3 4.dxc3 d5 5.Nf3 Bg4 6.h3 Bxf3 7.Qxf3 e6 8.Bd3 Nd7 9.Bf4 c6 10.O-O g5 11.Bd2 Bg7 12.Qh5 h6 13.f4 gxf4 14.Rxf4 Qe7 15.Rxf7 Qxf7 16.Bg6 Nxe5 17.Bxf7+ Nxf7 18.Rf1 Rf8 19.Qg6 [1-0].

Rick White left himself a point in front of all of the competition for the first unrated prize with a few stock sacrifices, neatly carried off.

Rick White-Richard Anderson
1975 Michigan Open
1.e4 c5 2.Nf3 d6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf6 5.Nc3 a6 6.Bg5 e6 7.Qf3 Be7 8.O-O-O Qc7 9.Qg3 Nbd7 10.Be2 b5 11.a3 Bb7 12.Bxf6 Bxf6 13.Bxb5 e5 14.Nf5 axb5 15.Nxb5 Qc6 16.Nbxd6+ Kf8 17.Qb3 [1-0].

Round 7

Another definition of a Nice Guy, from the director’s point of view, is the player who stays throughout all of the games of a tournament, even if he isn’t doing as well as he might have hoped or expected. In the 1975 Michigan Open Championship, there were 132 entries—and 127 players showed up for the last round. Fantastic! Chessplayers are nice people.

The last-round pairing, by force, had Poschel on top board against Murray. The tournament champion had to be one of those two. But Poschel could afford to play for a draw, and Murray could not. In addition, Poschel had the white pieces—and a considerable edge in rating, master against Class A.

It was just a little too much. Murray had to take risks to try to keep the position unbalanced, and on the fifteenth move he dropped a pawn for no compensation. The question was no longer “what” would happen in the game, but “when”—and Murray resigned on the 34th move. A well-earned championship for Poschel, achieving a perfect score against the best the state had to offer.

The Marshall Attack scored again, earning a trophy for young Dave Arganian.

Nathaniel Williams-Dave G. Arganian
1975 Michigan Open
1.e4 e5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.Bb5 a6 4.Ba4 Nf6 5.O-O Be7 6.Re1 b5 7.Bb3 O-O 8.c3 d5 9.exd5 Nxd5 10.Nxe5 Nxe5 11.Rxe5 c6 12.Qe2 Bd6 13.Re4 Bf5 14.Bxd5 cxd5 15.Rd4 Bc5 16.b4 Bxd4 17.cxd4 Re8 18.Qd1 Qe7 [0-1].

Geula provided some fireworks on the second board.

Fereidon Geula-Paul Dupuis
1975 Michigan Open
1.e4 g6 2.d4 Bg7 3.Nc3 d6 4.Nf3 Nf6 5.Be2 O-O 6.O-O Bg4 7.Be3 Nc6 8.d5 Bxf3 9.Bxf3 Na5 10.Be2 c5 11.f4 a6 12.a4 Qc7 13.Qe1 Rab8 14.Qh4 e6 15.dxe6 fxe6 16.f5 exf5 17.exf5 d5 18.fxg6 Rbd8 19.Bg5 Rd6 20.Bxf6 Bxf6 21.Rxf6 Rfxf6 22.Nxd5 Qg7 23.Nxf6+ Rxf6 24.gxh7+ Kh8 25.Rd1 Nc6 26.Rd7 Qf8 27.Qg5 Nd4 28.Bd3 Ne6 29.Qg8+ [1-0]. After the queens go, Bc4 swaps off the minors, and Black is at least two pawns down in the endgame—having narrowly survived the middlegame for nothing.

Although there were more draws in the final round than in any other, not many were quick or easy draws, most games being hotly contested as players scrambled for prizes. The last game to finish was Shields-Grzegorczyk, on Board 32, played for a one-eighth share of second Class C and finally won by Grzegorczyk on a flag-fall at move 59.

And thus it ends, for another year.

MCA Membership Meeting

(From p. 12 of Michigan Chess, October 1975)

The MCA membership meeting was held August 31 in Lansing in connection with the Michigan Open Championship.

New officers were elected for two-year terms as follows:

These were the candidates proposed by the nominating committee and were each elected unanimously.

Just out of curiosity: did Dad run unopposed every time he sought an MCA office? It looks that way.

...

The members recognized with a round of applause two Life Members of MCA, former president V.E. Vandenburg and former treasurer Tom Jenkins. They also gave a vote of thanks to outgoing president J.D. Brattin for his four years of dedicated service to MCA and welcomed new president Whitehouse.