Chess is a drug. Joseph Blackburne called it, "
mental alcohol". In moderation, the game can enrich a balanced life. A well-played game offers pleasure not only during and immediately after play, but often for many years.
For long-term pleasure, for example, there is my fifth round game that led to second place in the 2012 Collyer Memorial. I was playing not to lose. My opponent took the game down a path where a draw was extremely unlikely. We both thought I was worse, but I soldiered on, playing strong moves to keep myself in the fight. Then, after spending substantial time calculating some endgame possibilities, I discovered that I had the better game (see “
Pawn Wars”). This ending has become a staple in my teaching and still challenges me while examining a testing alternative that my opponent could have played. Had he played that move, my necessary response to maintain the advantage tests my calculation skills. A single error shifts the advantage to my opponent. Such is the pleasure of the game.
On the other hand, chess can become an obsession where winning is all that matters. To be pulled from the game may cause anxiety, attention impairment, headache, high blood pressure, insomnia, and other symptoms. Losing also provokes some of these symptoms. For instance, while writing this post, I had a morning where I managed to outplay an opponent 200 points higher rated, only to drop my rook unprovoked in a rook vs. bishop endgame. The likely win became a sudden loss. The very next game, I was a pawn down, but my rooks and queen were more active. Then I gave away my queen for nothing. My fury with myself suggested an elevation in blood pressure.
A chess playing binge followed and after more substandard play, I began to focus better and won a sequence of games. There was not much pleasure in the wins, but it was easier to stop playing.
Binges usually leave me tired, but so does tournament chess. Binges in search of redemption after poor play leaves me in a sour mood. My wife notices because I’m less fun to be near. Tournament chess leaves me with memories to cherish and games worthy of study.
Losing sometimes motivates me to play better, as it should. But losing can fuel obsession, and then substituting quantity for quality becomes a danger. When the play becomes a long session of just playing for wins, rather than enjoying the struggle, chess lacks the pleasure that is gained from solving problems against a difficult and talented opponent. One Friday, I was tired due to responsibilities in the first week with a new puppy. In such a state, I was playing chess online with little pleasure and much frustration. I was not well focused. It was the Friday before the Spokane Chess Club’s premier event. IM John Donaldson gave a lecture and simul that evening. I had pulled myself away from an online binge in a sour mood, but my disposition improved once I was among chess playing friends for Donaldson’s event.
During the weekend, I played in the tournament. Losing my first-round game to a much lower rated talented junior was not disheartening, even though it meant weaker opponents for the duration of the weekend and certain rating loss. The play, analysis, and camaraderie of a chess tournament lifts the spirits. My longest game was in the last round against an opponent from Tacoma. It was a battle. My play was far from perfect, but I enjoyed the struggle. Such contests are at the heart of chess’s appeal. Winning was quite satisfying, especially because of challenges my opponent threw in my way. The game lasted more than three hours and I spent another five or six analyzing the game in subsequent days.
Sometimes a string of losses is nothing but pain and obsession, especially when the first loss made clear that I am not prepared to play. For instance, I lost five of six games one night recently because I was playing late at night when I was too tired to continue my reading of Theodore Roosevelt,
The Rough Riders (1899). Moreover, I had consumed two or three glasses of Scotch. One glass never has a detrimental effect on my play. A second glass can go either way. The third should not be consumed prior to or during a chess playing session. If I recall correctly, that third glass came after some losses and after my wife retired for the evening. As the clock moved toward midnight, I was drinking Scotch without tasting it and playing chess without enjoyment.
It is better to practice moderation in chess, in drinking, and in combining the two.
Most often, my chess playing binges are in the middle of the day. I am awake, alert, and sober. Perhaps sobriety is open to question, however, because the behavior of playing one game after another without reflection is reminiscent of the way I drank beer in college, one after another until I could take no more. Then, quantity was the means to a goal: inebriation. I don’t live that way now.
The worst part of chess binges are my attitude. I regret the waste of time. I could have gone for a walk, done some chores, or read a book. I have unfinished writing projects that interest me. Frustration with my lack of self-control can lead to depression. Rating loss can provoke repetition of the behavior.
After a quarter century of online chess play, I’m coming to terms with binges as an element of my life. I am okay. Binges happen. Going forward, I will accept these moments of obsession as a by-product of my love for chess.
When my chess obsession interferes with other aspects of life, it becomes a problem. Jenna Ostria has some
useful tips for curbing this obsession. My health is my top priority. While accepting myself even when I binge, I also work to keep chess in balance with other areas of life. Each day I make time for chess, household responsibilities, and reading. My new puppy also demands attention! She also brings joy.
