Caleb Hara

Created November 27, 2021 as a hypothetical feature for Sports Illustrated within Practicum: Writing in the Arts

To many, the Covid-19 pandemic marked the end of days where something truly electrifying was allowed to happen on a court of field. It was an acceleration of the sports world’s slow trend downwards into corporate puppeteering. In the past individuals were able to push back against this effect with the energy of the people behind them, but during Covid this became impossible to do without a regular audience. Players stopped speaking their minds all at once, instead choosing to read off of scripts written by the massive companies that they represented. They didn’t trash talk, or express themselves in ways that might be controversial, as neutrality in the public eye is what yields more consistent profits. Both on and off the field, both the games and their players seemed to be suffering from a troubling case of anemia. These once bold competitors were becoming timid at the same rate as the rest of the world, and it was sucking all of the fun out of viewership.

Another aspect of the sports world that was sliced at the seams was its feeling of community and ceremony. Before the pandemic, it was quite easy to get lost in the experience of cheering alongside others without even having to be fond of a game itself. Quarantine also squashed this effect completely, showing many that they didn’t take as much of a liking to the games being played without others around to enjoy them with. Sitting alone at home to watch what is normally a shared experience isn’t so appealing when it’s mandatory. Especially when that experience is a less exciting version of what it used to be.

Without the fiery flare of the players, or dimensions of community, sports fans during the pandemic were left yearning for more. They found themselves opting for other hobbies, and tuning into the world of sports less and less.

There was a form of sport during the pandemic however, that was free from all of these restraints. A game that has almost no corporate puppeteering, and that allows its players to speak their minds freely. A game that is as enjoyable alone, as it is in a group environment. A game that is so accessible, that anyone with even the most limited circumstances can play. Yet a game whose top players are wild geniuses, who wage complex psychological warfare on their opponents. You may be surprised to learn that such a game even exists. You may be even more surprised to learn, that this game is chess.

Yes, the some fifteen hundred year old game played by geezers and whippersnappers alike is a contemporary battleground like no other. That’ll be belief-suspending to some, given the game’s past reputation of being a snooze fest played by waspy intellectual diffidents. But chess in the modern day is fast-paced, and action packed. Its players are eccentric, passionate, and wear their hearts on their sleeves. Not convinced? Well I don’t blame you without witnessing it firsthand, so allow me to paint you a scenario that will at least emulate that effect.

The two largest names in the chess world are Hikaru Nakamura, and Magnus Carlsen. Magnus has been sitting at the zenith of chess as the World Champion for the last half decade, whereas Hikaru is both a top five world ranked player, and the largest chess streamer on the planet. Magnus is a handsome young man from Norway, who has had modeling contracts in the past with movie stars. Hikaru has been sponsored to play chess by Red Bull, and earned the nickname “the bullet demon” for his ability to play hundreds of moves in under a minute. In the late spring of 2020 the two were set to play a match in the semi-finals of an online tournament. Due to the popularity of both, it was bound to be the most viewed outing of professional chess ever recorded.

Now, if you tuned into the streaming platform Twitch the day before the first half of the match was set to take place, you could have potentially witnessed something extraordinary. Both Magnus and Hikaru were streaming, which is odd, given that it wasn’t something that Magnus was known to do. If you took the bait, and decided to watch him, you’d have realized pretty quickly that something wasn’t right. You would have seen him fuming, frowzy, and staring at the chessboard in front of him with eyes like two rifles.

“There are people in the chat who are saying I’m pretty humble. To that I have to say, there are more creative ways of insulting me. I’m not a humble guy at all, and I don’t wish to be.” You’d hear, in response to the comments that some were leaving in Magnus’ chat. On the board in the background, he’s decimating another grandmaster with minimal effort, taunting their play while he does it.

“There’s the queen. There’s the knight. There’s mate. Cool.” He says, before flicking his gaze back to chat. In the downtime, you take a deeper look at his peculiar streaming setup, and notice that Magnus is up to something even stranger than you initially thought. He isn’t playing on his own site – Chess24, but instead playing on their rival site – Chess.com. Even more unusual is that he also has a cutout of Chess24’s interface placed atop the area around the chessboard, so that their rival site isn’t visible at all.

Now this you understand immediately as some form of subliminal shot, but the uninitiated might require an explanation. Before this event, there had been some rising tensions in the Chess community between Chess24 and Chess.com. This stemmed mainly from the latter’s skyrocketing popularity, and much larger player base. A large reason for the success of Chess.com is that Hikaru Nakamura is very much their poster boy. He is the site’s highest rated (and some might argue best) player, and the highest grossing brand ambassador for the platform. Hikaru was also the world’s most popular chess streamer by a decent margin, which only served to push his chosen site’s traction further. In the past, Magnus had absolutely dominated Hikaru almost every time they played, and maintained a mental edge over the bullet demon that some say wouldn’t allow him to play at his full potential. With Hikaru’s newfound streaming niche however, it appeared as though this tide was changing. He was playing the best chess of his entire life, and his confidence seemed unwavering.

Chess24 hosted a tournament a few weeks prior that was to be both played, and streamed on their platform. Chess.com also decided to stream coverage of the event, using their own interface, and Hikaru’s stream. After several days straight of Chess.com’s coverage being the most popular option, Chess24 threatened legal action against them on twitter for streaming one of their own tournaments without using their site. Both Hikaru and Magnus were extremely vocal about this would-be drama, with Hikaru pointing out the hypocrisy of Magnus and his constituents. Many fans sided with Hikaru, concluding that Chess24 staff were merely jealous of their rival’s success and popularity.

So, with a match tomorrow, against an arch rival that was also his opposition in an ongoing feud, Magnus took matters into his own hands. The chess world had turned against him overnight, but instead of trying to discourage his image of being a villain, it was villainy that he embraced. He loudly marched onto the site and streaming platform of his nemesis with the intention of taking it over, and asked for anyone to try and stop him. Accepting any and all challengers, he began chopping down the site’s elite one by one. All the while, his setup using Chess24’s interface provocatively mirrored exactly what he believed caused all of the commotion in the first place. The message was clear. What Magnus was doing was not an act of random musing, but a deliberate attack against anyone who wasn’t on his side. Perhaps above all else, it was his own way of showing Hikaru that all of his newfound public support meant nothing on the chessboard. The result of their match would be how it always was. As if to confirm this thought, someone then asks him another question in the chat as the next game appears on the screen. Without hesitation, he lashes out in retaliation. “Some are saying Hikaru is going to shut people up when I lose on Thursday? I don’t get it. Who is he going to shut up? And who am I going to lose to on Thursday? Because I’m definitely not losing to Hikaru.”

If your curiosity wasn’t already fully piqued, it would have been after that. You might have sat down, maybe grabbed a drink first, and watched the remainder of the spectacle. Over the next four hours, Magnus crushes just about everyone on the site mercilessly. He trash talks his way through every single game.

“Probably the worst player in the world.”

“I’m going to beat this guy ten times in a row.”

“He’s probably pretty mad right now.”

If you caught their bout the next day, you might have tuned in just in time to see the final score. You would have found out that Magnus had won every single game. For some reason, Nakamura seemed spooked, and looked mentally defeated before they even started playing.

The bullet demon found himself exorcized. It wasn’t even close.

Now, those of you who know what happened next know that the utter dominance of Magnus in the first day wasn’t the end of the story. Hikaru reached deep within himself to mount a comeback on the second day, and eventually beat Magnus in a tiebreak match that looked to be one of the most satisfying victories of his entire career. The chess world fell into a mad frenzy, erupting into celebration or lamentation of the outcome depending on who was being rooted for.

Many believed that this would be the height of the game’s ascension within quarantine, and it happened months before Netflix’s Queen’s Gambit launched it into the peak popularity of the chess boom. Even those who weren’t active participants in the chess community were tuning in daily to watch the action, aware of both who the players were and the stories behind them. The public eye was on chess, more than any other game, and the exact conflicts I just described were the main source of all of the excitement. Chess was providing a dramatic, storied viewing experience that couldn’t be found anywhere else. Despite losing in the end, what Magnus did was far more brazen than anything you could have found within contemporary sports. It’s also only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the game of chess, and the public found that out soon enough.

The chess scene is chalked full of eccentric characters. The two players I’ve already brought up certainly fill spots within that list. Magnus has been known to enter online bullet chess (1 minute games) tournaments while completely drunk, and donate all of his prize money back to the website after winning. Hikaru has been filmed initiating fistfights with other players after intense late night games become heated. While it’s true that you can find equally unruly individuals in other games and sports, few of them provide a platform for players to showcase this side of themselves on a regular basis. Chess on the other hand, holds mandatory press conferences after matches despite one of the players having to sit with the fact that they lost. If asked a question that feels contemptible, players will often lash out at the press, fans, commentators, or other players.

When distinguished grandmaster Viswanathan Anand was asked by a reporter,

“Could you elaborate upon what you mean by doing your best?” In reference to a remark he had made earlier, Anand responded by saying,

“Doing your best, means doing your best. I don’t know why you don’t understand English.”

In another instance, he was asked,

“Did you try to really calculate all these complications, all these variations until the end somehow?” He replied by saying,

“No. I was actually thinking about what to eat tonight.”

Grandmaster Sasha Grischuk has entire compilations on youtube dedicated to his sharp tongue in post-game interviews. When he was once asked, 

“How long have you been preparing for this game?” From a particularity patronizing member of the press, he leaned back in his chair and said dryly,

“My whole life.”

In a more extreme example, Grischuk chastised the organization running an event for the playing conditions the players were being subjected to. He went on a tangent about how the bathrooms being used by the players are the same as those used by the general public, and how the state of the toilets are less than acceptable. After the organization refused to change the playing conditions, he chose to relieve himself during his next game using a plastic bottle of water. When asked about it, he pulled the bottle out in the middle of a press conference and allowed everybody to see.

Quarantine propelled chess players from being niche micro-celebrities only recognized by the game’s tiny player base, to public figures with some genuine recognition. The most popular of which became guests to major podcasts, TV interviews, recipients of sponsorships, and in some extreme cases the center of global controversies. All of their eccentricities were regularly visible on a worldwide stage, and as such they were dialed up to eleven. While the players in mainstream sports became gradually more reserved from having to stay indoors, chess players became more bombastic. They were more entertaining to watch, and therefore more likely to draw you away from those sports into their own little world. Of course, it wasn’t the only game that grew exponentially during quarantine. But it was the only one that managed to sustain its growth. Yes, the game that has existed since the sixth century ended up being the lone survivor of the Covid-19 era. Now years later, sports are back in full swing as the preeminent source of worldwide viewing entertainment. In spite of the fact that its own popularity has shrunk in prominence, chess has managed to maintain a well-established community of regular players and viewers.

So why did chess rise to greater heights, and stand the test of time better than its contemporaries? If the fraternity and theatricality of the game aren’t necessarily greater than that of other forms of competition, what allowed it to eclipse the world of competitive gaming? The answer, lies at the heart of what makes any sport worth playing in the first place. Which is, its playing experience, and core elements, after the social aspects have been stripped away. In other words, chess became a great game, because it is a great game. Something that admittedly feels like it could be said for anything that reaches a certain level over time. But there are a few things almost entirely unique to chess that allowed it, at least during Covid, to become the greatest of them all.

Chess is more accessible to the world than just about any other game or sport. The barrier for entry is remarkably low. One can find themselves playing against any number of opponents on a whim, by simply having a board, computer, or phone at their disposal. This easy access also means that it is one of the most diverse games on the planet in terms of its player base. There are only a handful of countries that don’t boast a roster of regular participants in high-level tournaments, and even in those countries the game is well-recognized in casual environments. Because of its massive representation across borders, chess is also responsible for providing incredible opportunities for the underprivileged. One such story is that of Tanitoluwa Adewumi, who won the 52nd New York State Scholastic Chess Championship at age 8 while living in a homeless shelter. Just a few years prior, he and his family had fled Nigeria to escape the threat of violence from the terrorist organization Boko Haram. After immigrating to the United States as refugees, they moved in and out of shelters for the next two years. The family struggled immensely to find financial footing, until Tanitoluwa’s win provided enough means for them to afford proper housing and funding for their children’s education. Tantioluwa achieved this tremendous feat after only just over one year of playing the game. He began practicing chess after enrolling in a middle school club, shortly after his family touched down in America. At first learning by his own accord, he was eventually aided by coaches after his natural talents were discovered. Now years later, it appears that Tanitoluwa’s love for the game hasn’t waned as he’s grown older. He continues pursuing his dream of becoming the world’s youngest chess grandmaster, and his family is reportedly thriving.

Chess is an activity that can be loved by itself, which is something that can only be said for a surprisingly low number of competitive games. While most sports require some form of partnership or ritual to create interest, chess requires neither. Sitting around a chess board alongside others can certainly enhance the game’s experience, but those 64 squares are ultimately something that can only be appreciated on an individual level. In chess, there are no teams to share responsibility with. There is no dimension of luck or entropy that can determine a win or a loss. From the moment the game begins, the only two things that can control the outcome are the abilities of you and your opponent. If you blunder, it’s because you made a mistake. If you make a brilliant move, it’s because you had a brilliant idea. You have only yourself to blame, which makes losing feel like a bee sting to the medulla. But it also makes winning, feel like you’re backstroking through champagne.

I’ve asked around about these thoughts, to gauge how others might have viewed the rise of chess during Covid. From people both inside and outside of the chess community, I’ve been met with almost unanimous agreement. Nolan for instance, is a burly 24-year old carpenter from Sarnia. He took to playing chess during quarantine, after being temporarily laid off of his job. Within a year he managed to improve his prowess on the board to the point that he can take games away from even the most established veterans at his local club. He’s back to working full time now, but hasn’t given up playing even one iota.

When I proposed to him that there was a period during the pandemic in which chess became more entertaining and enriching than every modern-day sport, he agreed with me completely. When I took it a step further and suggested that it still feels that way, he cracked a smile from behind a glass of scotch.

“Funny you should say that.” He replied, and proceeded to tell me that he used to wrestle at the top level for the University of Western Ontario. Before that, he played baseball throughout his youth, and was on the football team in high school.

“I used to watch them all too.” He said. “It was a barbeque every weekend for whatever game was on. Now, that’s all kind of grown stale. Now, it’s all chess.”

Nolan stopped watching other sports all together during Covid, when there was nobody else to watch them with. Without the beer, wings, and brotherhood accompanying whatever game was on, he found it more fulfilling to watch or play chess instead.

Now, I’m not suggesting that you should boycott all other sports and games to direct your focus on chess. The sports that I grew up on still hold a special place in my heart, and as such I could never argue that. I’m simply stating that the reasons behind why it overtook the rest of the world during quarantine, are still legitimate outside of the pandemic. While it is true that chess has faced a decline in popularity since its peak in the chess boom, the game itself still offers a playing experience like no other. It has blossomed outwards beyond its niche past, into a brimming community that there has never been a better time to join. So, if you do find modern sports unsatisfying even after they regain their momentum, try playing chess. As crazy as it sounds, it may just be exactly what you are looking for. If you’re beyond the point of persuasion, and absolutely refuse, I would hazard to say that you’re missing out. But before we go our separate ways, I’ll leave you with this.

One of the more disheartening things about post-Covid society is that it feels more segmented than it did before. People cling to groups with such a steadfast grip that they’ve forgotten how to be themselves. They look for others to inform how they think, feel, or act, and imagine that the feedback loop of a collective is a better indication of how to live than what they can figure out on their own. Forced isolation should have been an opportunity for many to foster individuality, but it instead appeared to have the opposite effect. Without the confidence of everyday life people retreated into a feeling of belonging, where they could be supported by like-minded others. The more they became attached to the ideas of their group, the less they had to risk doing something completely alone. And to many, this safeness became less of a comfort, and more an absolute dependency.

If I were to give a single reason as to why sports suffered so greatly during the pandemic, this would be it. Of course, it can’t be exclusively to blame, but its effects feel as though they echo through every empty stadium that a Covid match was played within. The more that society segmented itself, the more difficult it became to live in a way that could be considered special. That which was right became a matter of that which was supported, and the outliers that fell outside of that support were condemned. Before the pandemic, a maverick could do something extraordinary enough to make people forget that the sport they were watching had become a business. During the pandemic it felt as though there wasn’t enough room for these individuals to thrive, leaving nothing to captivate the love for our favorite games.

It is any wonder then, that chess became so popular simply given its nature? It was the perfect outlet for those who wished to push back against the group, and live in some small way without letting others help them decide how. It reintroduced the trailblazers to an open path, by laying the decisions at their feet. It gave audiences racing hearts, even while each of their members watched alone. And that, bringing it full circle, encapsulates why chess was able to become the greatest game in quarantine more than anything else.

In a world where an individual is an outcast, chess forces you to be yourself.