TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/caps/85/85capspt.1

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                h¿                                                          November 18, 1985

SPORT

Bitterness and Brilliance in Moscow


Kasparov becomes the youngest world chess champion


Not surprisingly, a musical titled Chess is already in the works
for next year in London. The tunes may be catchy, but the
story, based on this year's championship confrontations in
Moscow, can hardly be better theater than the real thing. Last
weekend, on the stage of the opulent Tchaikovsky Hall, after two
months of acrimony and audacity on and off the board, after
jitterily watching his obdurate foe almost come from behind and
after being driven all the way to the final game in the series,
Gary Kasparov at 22 became the sport's youngest world champion.
He rang down the curtain on Anatoli Karpov's decade-long top
billing with a decisive, 42-move victory, to the obvious delight
of a capacity crowd of 1,500.

From the first act the histrionics of the protagonists seemed
at least as tailored for the theatrical boards as for the
chessboard: the cool and politically well-connected Karpov, 34,
defending his crown in his hometown, vs. the crowd-pleasing,
passionate young provincial up for a title shot. Intensifying
the tension was old- fashioned human loathing. Long before the
end of the match, the contestants were barely speaking to each
other, and shook hands perfunctorily. "The best part," a chess
master told the Chicago Tribune, "is that these guys hate each
other!"

The animosity began in a controversial and inconclusive match
that was halted last February. Karpov was leading 5 games to
3, but Kasparov appeared to be closing on him fast after a
draining record of 40 draws. Then World Chess Federation
President Florencio Campomanes, a close friend of Karpov's,
abruptly stopped play because, he said, players, officials and
organizers were exhausted. The real reason, many insiders
charged, was that the champion was physically and
psychologically frazzled, ripe for a humiliating defeat. An
enraged Kasparov shook his fist:  "They are trying to deprive
me of my chance!"  Later he sneeringly told the German magazine
Der Spiegel:  "Karpov views the title 'world champion' as a
natural prefix to his family name."

The only similarity between the contestants is that each plays
with a red Soviet flag on his side of the table. The darkly
handsome Kasparov is a long-distance runner, pop-music buff and
sharp dresser who regularly dates a striking blond stage
actress, Marina Neolova. But another woman in his life has long
been more important. After the death of his Jewish father Kim
Weinstein, Kasparov took the maiden name of his Armenian mother
Clara; she has ruled his career ever since. At the
championships she sat motionless each day in the same third-row
seat, watching intensely. Though he now wears the crown,
Kasparov, raised in the republic of Azerbaijan, 1,200 miles
south of Moscow, remains an outsider to Moscow's powerful chess
establishment. "My relationship with the federation," he
concedes, "couldn't be worse."

Karpov, on the other hand, is what a Swiss newspaper called
Homo sovieticus:  a culture hero and close ties to the late
leader Leonid Brezhnev, recipient of the order of Lenin and a
strong voice in the inner circle of Soviet chess. Owner of an
impressive collection of rare stamps, the chilly and distant
Muscovite is a well-known ruble millionaire who is rumored to
be a dollar one as well. Although he enjoys rare Soviet
amenities like a mobile telephone in his car, Karpov does not
ignite the imagination. "Style?" he once puzzled. "I have no
style."

He does have a well-developed playing style, however, a lethal,
creeping strategy that has crushed the world's best, including
Soviet Defector Victor Korchnoi in both 1978 and 1981. Using
that same measured approach, Karpov had built a lead of 5.5 to
4.5 over Kasparov following the tenth game. For this match a
limit of 24 games was imposed, with a draw counting half a point
each; a final tie would leave Karpov as champion. His start
looked promising. But in the eleventh game, Kasparov's
aggressive and innovative openings began to take a toll. The
increasingly confident challenger developed an almost arrogant
swagger in his play. He won the 16th game by unexpectedly
moving a knight into the heart of the champion's pieces, a
placement that British Grand Master Raymond Keene described as
"a giant octopus with tentacles spreading everywhere."


Kasparov was so sure of victory in the 19th game as it adjourned
for the night that he dismissively made his next move public,
instead of sealing it in the usual manner so that Karpov could
not contemplate alternatives during the overnight recess. It
was an unprecedented act in championship play, and it brought
the audience to its feet in pandemonium. Grand masters hung
over the balcony railing like prizefight fans. Spectators
shouted, "Gary! Gary!"  Karpov resigned his hopeless position
without resuming the next day. With only four games left,
Kasparov was leading 11 to 9.

Then the challenger lost his elan. Despite what appeared to
some experts to be a promising position in the 21st game,
Kasparov offered a draw, sending the audience out of the hall
with looks of incomprehension. Karpov won the next game, and
they drew the 23rd encounter, leaving Kasparov ahead by just
12-11. His sudden caution had brought him to the final game,
but his lead meant he needed only a draw. In the last game,
Kasparov regained his aggressive form. Unveiling a brilliant
trap, he forced Karpov to resign. The dramatic finale ignited
Kasparov's fans, who joyously chanted the new titleholder's name
as he marched off the stage. While Kasparov enjoys the
accolades and the official cash prize of nearly $500,000 for the
championship, his mind will not be far from the board. For
there is still a third act to come. A rematch between the
avowed enemies has already been set for some time in the next
six months.

--By J.D. Reed.  Reported by David Goodman/Moscow