By Alex Zhai
Gargoyle assistant editor
Posted Sunday, March 4, 2007, The OG, features

A FRIGID GUST of wind greeted me when I stepped off the van, still not feeling fully awake at 8:30 a.m. The temperature was below zero and easily permeated my normally adequate coat. The shock of cold reminded the 10 of us why we had taken the hour-and-a-half trip to Peoria.

It was Friday morning, Feb. 9, the first day of the two-day IHSA state chess championship, held at the Peoria Civic Center. The state tournament is the culmination of the chess season, and it had been on our minds all year. With no distinct divisions based on school size, the unequivocal 2006-07 state champions would be crowned by Saturday evening.

The teams of eight compete in the seven-round tournament, but we brought nine players, alternating our eighth-board player between rounds. The 10th person was French teacher John Garvey, our faculty sponsor, who drove us to the competition site. (Chris Merli is our coach and joined us later.)

Last year, Uni placed fourth in the state, a record-setting achievement for a school that has typically been excluded from the top 10 by much larger schools near Chicago ever since the IHSA dropped its Class A small-school division in 1995. (Uni won six Class A state titles between 1978 and 1994; last year's finish was the school's highest in the one-class system.)

However, fourth was one place short of winning one of the three state trophies, roughly 2-foot-tall prizes that seemed inordinately superior to the plaque we received instead.

This year, Uni was seeded third. Could we bring home a trophy this time? I shivered from the chill and a touch of anxiety. We weren't sure what to expect, but we hurried inside.

The games begin

The Peoria Civic Center is a massive building. As I entered, the walls extended far beyond my field of vision, horizontally and vertically. The broad façade of glass and steel gave way to the nondescript beige of smooth concrete that dominates the interior.

The chess players were corralled in two rooms, which were unremarkable except for their immense size. Depositing our belongings at a table in the second of these, we headed off with chess sets to the tournament hall.

When I sat down for the first round, the cavernous room, which readily accommodated approximately 1,000 people from 121 schools, seemed to buzz with restlessness. The tension lingered as a speaker delivered the opening announcements and made note of important rules, his voice echoing from vaulted ceilings that must have been 30 or 40 feet high.

Finally, we were told to begin our games. The digital clock beside the board read “5_60:00” — one hour for each side, with a five-second delay on each move. I shook hands with my opponent, who started the clock.

Slightly nervous, I hesitated for the first several moves, constantly on edge for fear of making a major mistake. However, as the game developed, I began to settle down. My opponent was playing passively and allowed me to control most of the board. Pretty soon, I won the game.

The first round was an easy win for the team, but we wouldn't have time to enjoy it. There isn't much time between rounds to recuperate, and part of the challenge is simply having the mental endurance to last through all seven rounds.

Several minutes past 11, we finished the last game, gathered up our chess sets, and left the tournament room. We would have to fit in lunch before the second round started at noon. Unwilling to pay $3 for a hot dog inside the civic center, most of us opted to brave the cold and buy from the food court at a nearby mall.

To my dismay, a long line of hungry chess players crowded the somewhat shabby smoke-filled dining area. I soon discovered that the food wasn't cheaper either, but I decided to stay in line. Eventually, I ordered, and they handed me a number that they would call when my food was done.

It was not reassuring that the lady at the counter could not estimate when the orders would be ready. I was beginning to consider leaving without the food when they called my number at 11:45. Quickly downing my lunch, I returned just in time for round two.

Unexpected setbacks

Things started to go wrong in the second round. Up against New Trier, I had the black pieces, incurring the automatic disadvantage of not having the first move. In close games, it often takes 10 or 15 moves for the black player to reach an equal position, if he ever does.

In this game, I never did. My first five or six moves were rather careless, and it cost me. As my opponent played threat after threat, my poorly planned position fell apart. Next to my name, I was forced to circle zero points. Partly due to my loss, New Trier defeated Uni. With this early setback, our team would need to defeat a strong opponent later on to climb back.

For me, the defeat seemed to carry over to the next game. Again, I failed to reach equality in the opening. Under time pressure and a little shaken from the previous game, I played a poor endgame and eventually blundered. Again, I lost, but fortunately, the team won.

Knowing I could ill afford to lose a third time, I redoubled my efforts in the fourth round. Luckily, my opponent made an early mistake, enough to decide the outcome of the game. At least I ended the day with a win. I needed to put the two losses behind me for the next day.

By the end of the fourth round, it was past 8 p.m., and we hadn't eaten dinner yet. After nearly 12 hours in the civic center, we were ready to check in at the Super 8 Motel and catch a late meal at Hardee's.

When we returned, someone turned on the television for a break from chess. For about an hour, we idly watched, flipping through the channels. But eventually, with another full day of chess ahead, we decided to go to bed. Exhausted, I promptly fell asleep.

Time for redemption

The next day I woke up feeling extremely refreshed, partly invigorated by the prospect of redeeming myself from the previous day's disappointing performance. Although four of the seven rounds take place on the first day of the state tournament, in some ways the second day is more important. This was the day when the toughest teams would play each other. One or two upsets could drastically affect the rankings at the top.

Our second round loss had knocked us back, but at 3-1, a little luck could still put us within range of third place. We weren't up against a tough team in round five, but fourth-seeded Lincoln-Way Central was up against sixth-seeded Maine South. If Maine South won the match, we would very likely play them in the sixth round.

Just as on day one, the first round of day two came easy, with everyone winning their games. But how would Maine South fare? I went over to their table to find out what opening the Maine South second board played, just in case. As white, he played the English opening, so I guessed that he also played the Sicilian defense, the analogous opening for black.

At the time when I left the tournament room, the match between Lincoln-Way Central and Maine South could go either way. Sensing that the next round might be an important one, everyone seemed a little nervous.

Garvey joined us.

“Surprise,” he said. “We're playing Stanford Olympia.”

There was a general sigh of relief — Stanford Olympia was a team we had previously routed. Then he told us our real opponent, Maine South.

Only two teams had a perfect score, and they were playing each other. If we could win the next round, we were back in the running for the top three.

The decisive round

It was going to be a tough match. Determined not to lose in the opening as I had done in round two, I asked teammate Gordon Ruan, our first board, to go over the basic ideas for playing against the Sicilian defense.

A few minutes before the start of the next round, however, a rare silence fell over the team as we tried to get focused. Soon, word spread that “pairings are up,” which meant it was time to return to the tournament hall.

The match against Maine South started well. True to my prediction, my opponent played the Sicilian defense, and the opening went more or less smoothly. Before long, my opponent made a mistake and lost a pawn, but I had used a lot of time, probably overcompensating for my early mistakes in the games I lost.

Suddenly, we reached a position where the best-looking moves caused us to return to the same position. If a position ever occurs three times, the game is automatically drawn.

“Draw?” he asked. I got up and looked at the other games, and we seemed to be winning or equal in all of them. With less than five minutes on my clock, the offer was attractive. I could get out of the repetition with probably a small advantage, but was it worth it? After pondering for a couple minutes, I extended my hand. “Draw,” I said and shook hands.

I was the first one to finish, so I could only bite my lips as I watched the other games progress. When Maine South's eighth, seventh, and sixth boards fell to us in succession, our prospects for winning were looking great. Meanwhile, the game on board three reduced to a draw. With a single win on either board four or five, Uni would prevail.

We were winning on both boards, so I expected the anxiety to gradually unwind as we sealed the victory. But suddenly, both the Maine South players made a comeback, and we had to hold our breaths a little longer. With all the players low on time, the moves came rapidly. Every move seemed an opportunity to turn the tide. Somehow, Maine South won the two games.

Now, our only hope stood in Gordon on first board, but he was down to seconds on his clock. A draw was enough for the team to win, but unable to play accurately enough in a tricky position under time pressure, Gordon was soon forced to resign.

We lost, and with two losses, we weren't going home with a trophy. Most of the team sulked around the competition table, the defeat all the more bitter for how close we came.

“How did we lose?” we kept muttering, a rhetorical question that seemed to be the natural way to share the anticlimax.

Finishing strong

Chess players value sportsmanship and honor alongside tactical adroitness and strategic insight. Grandmasters will play out a losing position if their opponent has won the game with a particularly beautiful or unexpected combination. Our next round — the final one of the competition — felt like a token effort after the state tournament meta-game that we had already lost in the previous round.

I decided I should finish the tournament strong, whether it mattered or not. Every quality chess game is a good story, the relentless struggle of two conflicting armies. It is a miniature drama with the players' personal thoughts and reactions captured in the maneuvers unfolding over the board.

I planned to uphold this spirit in the last round and put in the same energy that I carried into the sixth round. When I shook hands with my final opponent at the start of the match, it was simply a chess game, nothing more.

I ended the state tournament with a methodical win. As my opponent resigned, I realized that the tournament had been surprisingly fulfilling. The trip to Peoria seemed worthwhile in spite of the setbacks.

Uni ended up at a respectable eighth place, but competition isn't only about winning. It is about withholding no effort, testing the limits of determination as well as ability. I packed up the chess pieces, and I was already feeling the motivation to improve for next year.

RELATED

— 2007 Gargoyle photos: IHSA state chess tournament

— 2007 Gargoyle coverage: Uni places eighth at state tournament

— 2007 Gargoyle preview: Uni goes to state

— IHSA: Complete 2007 chess results

— IHSA: Chess record book