Picking up the pieces

Seconds before resigning the decisive game of the world championship, Ian Nepomniachtchi’s hand, trembling with emotion, involuntarily toppled the captured pieces at the side of the board. It was a crushing disappointment to lose a match in which he had taken the lead on three separate occasions, and come agonisingly close to an almost unassailable lead in game 12 (of 14).

Days after the match ended, ‘Nepo’ posted a splendidly ambiguous tweet: ‘Although blind chance sometimes decides the fate of a particular game, it can hardly prevent you from becoming the strongest chess player’ – followed by an emoji of a man in the lotus position. I still can’t decide what he meant. Was it a bullish assertion about the future? ‘That tiebreak game was an unlucky break, but I’ll be back.’ Or a statement of humility? ‘We played 18 games and I missed so many chances – I wasn’t up to it this time’. He so often evinces both brash confidence and searing self-criticism that it could be either, or both.

Speculating on whether these sporting moments are determined by chance or by destiny is part of the joy of being a spectator. One can, of course, flatter oneself either way – some fancy the dice spinning before their very eyes, while others bask in the unveiling of a historical truth. It is amusing to recall the twists of fate which made Ding’s path to the title match even possible. Almost inactive during the pandemic, he failed to qualify for the 2022 Madrid Candidates event, but a place opened up after the Russian Sergey Karjakin lost his spot after spouting political bile. Though Ding was the highest-rated player available, he hadn’t played enough games to be eligible, so crammed 28 into one month to pass.