The Q & A Way
Are You A Number Or A Letter?
By Bruce Pandolfini


Question: I am an amateur player, something like an ELO 1800. I
am 34 years old and trying to improve my chess. My program is to
play against the computer, learn from endgame books, solve
problems, and read and analyze master games. I also like
Nimzovich's "My System." As a father and engineer, I have only
an hour or so a day to study chess. From your experience, how
many hours per week should I spend on my chess to reach 2,000? 
Moreover, can I do this in 2 or 3 years, or will it take more like 4
years?  Also, which will be the optimal time distribution in
openings, tactics, strategies, endings, playing, and analysis? (Marc
Segovia, Uruguay)

Answer: I would have to know more about you to give a fitting
answer. In order to respond to your needs, I would want to know,
for example, how many years you've been playing, how long
you've been at 1,800, what your regimen was before you
established your current program, which chess books you've read,
which chess periodicals and journals you regularly see, the types
of chess software you may own, how often you play, both in
tournaments and casually, if you've received any chess instruction,
especially recently, and if you're comfortable with analyzing in
your head. Your answers here would not fill out the picture
completely, but at least they would enable me to reply more
sensibly and appropriately.

This is where you might want to seek out the aid of a nearby
professional, someone to analyze and evaluate your play. In a
couple of sessions, an experienced analyst should be able to assess
your strengths and weaknesses and make some recommendations.
If you can find such a mentor, get him or her to lay out a course of
study for you that pertinently addresses your specific problems and
requirements. It is this person, not a distant responder, who should
help you decide what to study and how to apportion your time. If
the initial meetings turn out well, you might then agree to see this
local teacher on a fairly steady basis, probably once a week, to
monitor your progress and continue steering you along the right
path. Even if you don't wind up seeing this advisor that often, you
should still arrange some kind of follow-up to judge how well
things are going. For sure, it will be helpful to have ongoing
counsel, heading toward your ultimate goal of 2,000 ELO in
approximate ability.

If everything goes your way, you have a decent chance to reach the
expert level, perhaps in the next 2-3 years. It's not guaranteed, but
you are young enough, and as an engineer, you're probably used to
implementing ideas and following a rigorous curriculum. But since
what I know about you is still superficial, I wouldn't urge you to
commit fully to a goal that might prove beyond your reach (not
that it is). My suggestion therefore is to proceed a little less
ambitiously at first. Instead of setting your sights directly on 2,000,
aim for intermediate goals that can be built on successively.
Inevitably, these steady increments should lead to 2,000 anyway. 

Start, for instance, by shooting for a rating of 1825. After you
knock this off, target a slightly higher goal of 1,850. Once you get
to 1,850 (let's be confident that you will, though expect to fall
back a bit now and then), set the bar still higher, say to 1,875, and
go for this mark. Proceeding in this manner, pursuing gradual, but
definite gains, is an entirely realistic approach for the amateur who
wishes to improve. And even if you run into a roadblock, this
method should still keep you involved as you search for a way to
get beyond the impasse.

With regard to what you're doing -- learning from endgame books,
solving problems (I trust you mean tactical, real-game positions,
not composed problems, which tend to have less everyday
application), analyzing master games, and reading Nimzovich's
"My System"  -- all these are excellent activities from which to
acquire chess knowledge. Percentage-wise, I don't think it matters
so much. Using your hour a day to do any of the above seems
productive to me. I do think, however, that you'll need to find
additional time, beyond the period set aside for study, to play
chess, at least several hours per week. Playing against the
computer, by the way, is fine, but playing online may be even
better (most players prefer exploiting human foibles over computer
glitches). Finally, you might want to play some face-to-face
games, too, where you can vividly see those who are about to die,
and they can salute you in person.

Question: I have been frozen around B strength for years, though I
don't have a rating. I am going to be 44 years old and have no
more than 10 hours a week for chess. This includes play. I also like
checkers, but can't find opponents. I would love to get close to
1,800 in chess, but I don't seem to go anywhere. How can I get to
the high levels? How does this happen, how do some people get
there, and how come there are many obstacles? Also, how come I
sometimes play below my class? (Philip Cici, USA)

Answer: Let's not comment on your class until you've joined the
U. S. Chess Federation and played in some rated tournaments,
because this is the only way anyone can say with accuracy how
good you really are. Otherwise, all this talk about ratings makes no
sense. I'm not suggesting that you're not a B player, or even better,
but thinking of yourself as a B player doesn't mean that you play
like one in legitimate competition. There are simply too many
intangibles that don't become concrete before the chessboard
cements them. To determine your true strength, your play must be
tested for real, in officially rated games. This brings me to your
questions, which I will now try to answer, also for real, as I
understand them.

A potential problem for any student of the game is that it's natural
to become stranded on performance plateaus. In order to succeed
at any discipline, we have to be prepared for these periods of
virtual stasis, where no matter how hard we work, we can't seem
to make headway. In fact, it's not uncommon during these times to
play worse for awhile, possibly a phenomenon you may have
experienced. This happens especially when trying to effect new
ideas and techniques. We may become so enmeshed in abstractions
that obvious things are overlooked, and our play suffers. How we
deal with these apparent setbacks and periods of getting nowhere is
cardinal to whether or not we get somewhere in the end. 

It's easy to surrender to your frustrations when progress seems to
be at a standstill. But if you want to break out of your apparent
slump, not that you're in one, you must somehow stay with the
program, whether by hard work, dedication, or doggedness. And
when you finally break out, it may seem as if it happens "just like
that." But it won't be "just like that" at all, regardless how
suddenly and surprisingly the gain in strength manifests itself. It's
likely that you've been getting stronger all along, even if plainly
by accruing experience, but the improvement might not show itself
until all the parts are in place.

In order to understand this better, it helps to think in terms of
learning quanta. Crudely speaking, and let me say, this is probably
not how it really is, but rather a convenient way to describe it, the
1,600 level is at one quantum rung and the 1,800 level is at
another. Yes, there could be other levels in between. 

Let's say, to reach the next level, whatever it is, you have to learn
1,000 new concepts. (This is an arbitrary number, chosen to serve
as an illustration, and the concepts referred to are not necessarily
concepts at all. Moreover, playing at a certain level is not solely
dependent on what you know, but also on how you utilize
knowledge, while all kinds of impalpable factors also impact on
the outcome.) At some point along the way you may have learned
500 new conceptions. This will put you halfway there, but you still
won't necessarily perform that much better in actual play. If you
can overcome your disappointment, and keep plugging away, you
might in time reach a stage where you've absorbed 750 new
pointers. Even here you might not display significant
advancement, but you must be getting closer to making a jump.
You've been installing data, and setting up logical relations, yet
some necessary links remain absent. Eventually you may reach a
point where you've learned 999 new things, but you're still not
there. Then it happens. You learn one more datum, and 1,000 facts
have now been assimilated. Suddenly, you're playing at a more
proficient level, and you can't account for it. The truth is, you've
been advancing all along, but none of these gains could disclose
themselves until everything was integrated into position. This
analogy, regardless of its validity, seems to resemble the way
people improve at chess.

My advice to you? Don't worry so much about how well you play,
and don't lose heart over your failures.  When you lose, try to
understand why you've lost and what you could have done to avert
defeat. It doesn't matter if you're a C player, a B player, someone
who likes the game of checkers but can't find opponents, or
whatever, as long as the game of chess remains challenging and
diverting. Play mainly for the pleasure of it, as often as you can,
and improvement is bound to come. And if it doesn't, you have an
out. You can blame me.

Question: I'm a class A player who typically spends his chess
time: 20 percent opening, 40 percent middlegame
(strategy/tactics), 10 percent ending, 30 percent serious games.
I've found that my opponents rarely are "booked up" and that my
games rarely go into even endgames. Hence  I prefer to emphasize
tactics and middlegame planning. Can you recommend how non-
master players might best allocate their time? (J.F.B. Taylor,
USA)

Answer: You play at the A level, and so you already are quite
competent. I consider the A class to be the first category of good
player, in that most A players have the ability to win won games.
Those who play below the 1,800 mark tend to be less fully armed,
especially in the area of technique. This doesn't mean, of course,
that all A players win when ahead, nor that all B players lose when
behind. But it does imply that the typical A player is acquainted
with most essential winning procedures and therefore can convert
material advantages, even small ones. On the other hand, since you
are a strong player, you must also realize that improving your
strength at this point becomes harder. You might have to work at
it, and since your time is probably limited, the rational plan is to
avoid wasted effort.

Studying tactics is sensible, and you should solve tactical problems
constantly, always doing them in your head. Since you feel your
opponents are not particularly booked up, it also seems plausible to
study the opening, because knowledge here might enable you to
score quickly. But based on what you've said, I question the value
of putting excessive labor into middlegame planning, as important
as this aspect of the game is. If I read you right, it could be that
many of your games are being decided earlier, much before the
middle of the game, which implies that greater capital might be
made by emphasizing opening preparation. (If you're enjoying
strategic study, however, and feel it's been really helpful, by all
means continue with what you're doing.)

I do think that you might gain significantly by exploring the
endgame, especially trying to develop your technique for winning
won games. But it's not so obvious where to find an abundance of
this material, inasmuch as books generally don't dwell on practical
positions with distinct material dominance. There's room for
creativity here. You could, for instance, look to positions where
players have already resigned. Chess books are full of them. A
huge share of these lost positions reflect situations of decisive
material imbalance. I would take the more serviceable positions
your quest produces and play them out against a computer. You
could do the same thing with a partner, but it's hard to find one
willing to defend irreparable games. Artificially intelligent beings
don't seem to mind. 

Anyhow, keep a record of your results. See how well you do when
up by a pawn or two, or if ahead by a piece, rook, or queen.
Determine how you fare with different combinations of pieces,
such as rook for minor piece, several minor pieces for two rooks,
or whichever entertaining assortments arise.  See how long it takes
to mate or clean out the opponent's forces. This should definitely
increase your technique. It will also provide information on which
types of positions give you the most trouble, and therefore need
special attention. 

Generally, I don't like laying out formulaic programs, where
students follow the same prescriptions regardless who they are and
what their needs may be. Some teachers prefer teaching this way,
but it doesn't take into account tangible differences in the way
people learn. They learn in a multitude of different ways, so a
multitude of different teaching philosophies and corresponding
curricula may do. 

As far as the proportion of time you devote to this or that, I don't
think it has to be so arithmetical. The percentages should always
add up to 100 no matter their distribution. Don't worry if you wind
up exceeding your planned allotment in a particular area, nor
should you fret about the best way for non-masters to allocate their
time. Examine or do whatever intrigues you at the moment, and go
with it. The enthusiasm generated by this should feed off itself. I
hope, for your sake, it already has.


Question: I have only a certain number of hours a week to study
chess. Between 5-10 hours. How can I compete with people who
study 10 hours everyday? Isn't it hopeless? (James McNamee,
Ireland)

Answer: I understand your concern about the shortage of time,
and the fact that you may have no more than an hour a day to study
chess. It's hard to compete with people who study six, eight, or ten
hours a day, when one has only six, eight, or ten hours for the
entire week. In fact, it's virtually impossible to compete with these
full-time students at all, not that there's so many of them. 

Let's consider a few things. Do you really think that full-time
students study all day long at maximum intensity? Isn't it likely
that the law of marginal returns will go into effect, and as time
passes, less will be obtained from comparable labor? Don't you
think that, with prolonged, unbroken study, some of the effort
might be purposeless, wasteful, or even counterproductive?

You don't have to answer these questions, but they suggest how to
compensate for having less study time than others. You can obtain
more from your efforts, and counteract time discrepancies and
restraints, by working at full capacity for a certain critical period
(however long this should be). The point is that some kinds of
learning are not necessarily functions of time. Instead they are
more dependent on intensity of focus. That is, unless a specific
threshhold of concentration is reached, in just the right way, the
secrets of the given level might not be revealed, regardless how
long one sits over the chessboard. So the full-time student may
have opportunities to learn more, but the student who works harder
for shorter stretches may, in some cases, have chances to learn
better (only a theory). But I can see your point, which could
explain my sudden sense of despair. 

Question: I have two questions. How can I use a computer to help
my openings? The other question is, what do you think about
robots who play chess? (Jeffrey Shaffer, USA)

Answer: I've known a few automatons who play chess, but no
robots, so I haven't cogitated about your second question very
much. But regarding your first question, I can offer you some
advice. Start by getting a robot. If you have no luck finding one,
you can resort to an ordinary digital. 

Let's say you have luck. Command the robot to play against you in
a way that helps develop your opening repertoire. Specifically,
play short games against it, stopping at move fifteen or so each
game. See how the robot evaluates the final position. More than
likely, it will assess your position with a negative number, which
means you will be standing worse. Follow the game backward,
until you arrive at a point where the robot thinks you were doing
well, in that it affixes a positive number to your position. Then try
to play from there, this time essaying a move different from the
one that gave you a minus sign. Keep repeating this process,
playing and retracting, in each case going back to when you had a
positive number, until you achieve move fifteen with at least an
equal position or better. Count how many times you must begin
again until you finally reach move fifteen with at least an equal
position. This number, averaged out to include all your attempts, is
your "takeback index." Optimally, you'll want to get your
takeback index down as low as possible. The robot may have other
plans, but no matter, you'll surely learn something about the
contested opening, which brings us back to reality.

Question: I have a question about burn out. How do you recover
from it? I had a period where I lost interest in the game and
basically quit playing. Now I'm thinking about playing again.
Where should I start first? I know that I studied too long and
played very little. What should I do? (Jesse Pittman, USA)

Answer:  It sounds as if you did the right thing in taking a needed
break. Now that you might start playing again, you should
probably take it slowly at first, beginning with a few casual games
against pressure-free opposition, to get your feet wet. If this proves
rewarding, you can continue at this level or pick it up a bit with
slightly more challenging opponents, if you want to test the waters
further.

But don't feel as if you must play superior opposition supposedly
because this is the way to improve. Some devotees blithely
recommend "playing up," claiming this is the only way to get
stronger, as if to become a better player is the sole reason for
playing chess. Becoming as good as you can at your chosen
pastime is certainly important, but whatever happened to having
fun and being mentally stimulated? And playing up is hardly the
only way to get stronger. Nor does resigning game after game in
itself improve one's play, not unless one has an iron stomach and
can find the will power to learn from losing. (I'm not suggesting
that you experienced this problem, but it's a fairly typical one,
affecting most of us.)

We're supposed to learn from our defeats, and, ideally, we should
try. But being repeatedly bludgeoned into submission is likely to
leave even the tough-minded insensate. We all need some winning
once in awhile. I push some of my students to the extreme (which
makes me wonder about myself), driving them to play the most
formidable opponents available. But most players couldn't cope
with such a procrustean program. The bulk of humanity requires at
least an occasional win or two. So to accommodate this need, I
usually prefer that most students practice against opposition of
mixed abilities, where the real test is adjusting to the constant
changes in the playing strength of one's adversaries.

My advice, therefore, is to find the right combination of pleasure
and challenge. Try to develop a suitable group of playing partners,
who afford chances to contest reasonably close games, where
decisions can go either way. You should be winning between 45-
55 percent of the decisive games, and if you are losing slightly
more than you win, it should be because of little things that seem
learnable.  As time goes by, and you begin to win a much higher
ratio of the games, you can then look to increase the caliber of the
opposition so that winning once again requires intelligent effort.

You didn't ask about tournaments, so I'm not sure if they factored
in your decision to pull away. It could be that you should refrain
from playing in them until you decide this is truly what you want
to do. They needn't be repellent. But if you enter a few events, and
wind up having some bad results, there's nothing wrong with
taking another break, at least from tournaments, until you've
regained your resolve. After all, unless you are trying to be a
serious competitor, why do you need to assume a serious
competitor's grind? By the way, top chessplayers take breaks, too.

Speaking to the problem of your studies, I would suggest not
becoming involved in long projects, where the rewards are far off.
These tend to sap resolution, with the result being that nothing gets
completed. It's true that a journey of a thousand miles begins with
a single step, but so does one of a single mile, and most of us can
traverse this with proper pacing and encouragement. Accordingly,
prefer books with 200 problems instead of 300, 100 instead of 200,
and 50 instead of 100. Some of the creators of those denser
volumes that offer lots of examples (though not all, such as Lazslo
Polgar with his  wonderful tome "Chess"), seem to be more
concerned with giving you your "money's worth." Often they
appear oblivious to the discouragement a student naturally
encounters in feeling overwhelmed. The truth is a few good
problems may impel greater momentum than many diffuse or
unrelated ones. When it comes to study, sometimes less is more.
Finally, when unsure which level to work at, start with the middle,
and see what happens. If your effort succeeds, fine. If it proves to
be off the mark, you're in position to step back or forward,
whichever seems appropriate. Medium is the message.


Question: I have been teaching chess to the youth of NYC for a
few years now, and a problem that has never been easy for me is
how to prepare a student for a "tournament slump." It is often the
case that a student is truly growing as a player, but may encounter
a few tournament losses in a row, and they sink into a significant
despondency, sometimes wanting to quit chess altogether.

While I let them know that losses may be seen as healthy learning
experiences, I know that even nowadays, when I fall into a slump,
most all the consoling in the world doesn't help my wanting to stay
in bed for a week.

Maybe it's just a matter of maturity. Anyway, I'd greatly
appreciate a response. (Jonathan Max, USA)

Answer:  Whenever a venture seems to be faltering, whether it's
competitive, instructional, or both, something should be changed,
even if only in appearance. The idea is to give the entire enterprise
a fresh face, so the student can begin again with renewed vigor. If
a student falls into a slump, taking a respite, or doing something a
little differently for awhile is logical. Perhaps assigning a related
project might keep the student motivated until the time is right to
re-enter tournaments. You appear to be a sensitive educator, who
can probably come up with your own ideas on the subject, so I
sense your students are in good hands.

Nonetheless, a few words about coping with losing might be
apropos. For everyone, though for children especially, some losses
can be extremely painful. Losing at chess in particular has the
power to leave us feeling outwitted and even humiliated. It may
seem that there is virtually nothing sufficiently soothing to be said
to a young boy or girl after a tough loss, which is one reason it's
wise to prepare them for defeat and potential slumps ahead of time.

Your insight about the inefficacy of some types of consolation
rings true. Often I hear parents and teachers saying how well their
charges had played after a disheartening defeat, obviously to
placate them, but these assuaging comments usually seem hollow.
Unless the loser did play well, he or she is likely to see through
such artfulness and reject it.
 
For this reason, the most experienced teachers almost never tell
their students that they've performed admirably when they patently
haven't. Concerned teachers tend to offer nil in immediate
aftermath, and when they do say anything, whether it's palliative
remarks associated with a loss or compliments during a lesson,
they aim to be specific, demonstrating with moves and reasons
why the praise is appropriate. In consequence, these seasoned
mentors have much more power to ameliorate at crucial times,
when it really matters.

It seems to me the best thing a teacher can do after a student
suffers a painful defeat is to get in tune with the youngster's
feelings. When the timing appears opportune, the teacher might
say something like: "I know how you feel," or words tantamount
to this. Maybe this won't do the trick by itself. The teacher might
still have to follow with a deflecting aside or two, perhaps alluding
to his or her own losing experiences, and how painful they were. If
the teacher can skillfully sneak in a laugh of reflection, maybe the
student can join the teacher in stoic acceptance and humor, with
the teacher suddenly becoming the conduit for the student's own
hurt feelings. It wouldn't be surprising if the laughter soon turned
to a cathartic floodgate, with the kid crying his or her brains out.
(It's not wrong to cry, but as you probably know, it's wrong to
think it's wrong.) Once this release takes place, life generally
moves on to getting some food, throwing and catching a ball, or
participating in some other diverting activity. At the Nationals, for
instance, it's uncanny how often kids will wind up playing speed
chess or bughouse with the very players who beat them in the last
round. 

But you are right to try to cope with these problems before they
happen, for much of the sting associated with losing can be
softened in preparation. Preparing them for the worst doesn't
necessarily mean that the teacher should presuppose a stance of
acceptance -- that it's okay to lose -- for this could dull the
student's competitive edge, triggering the very outcome to be
eschewed. A better approach it seems to me is to show students
that they have options, whether winning or losing, as they have
choices in selecting candidate moves and plans. If winning, they
must opt for the most economical way to win. If losing, they must
decide how to set problems for their opponents, which could
possibly save the game at hand. The teacher's real aim should be
to encourage students to be active participants in making their own
decisions, for in chess few things are worse than feeling that you
are under your opponent's thumb.

Somehow, rather than being a crestfallen victim in a losing game,
a student should be trained to assume the mindset of a
dispassionate observer, who is trying to optimize chances to rescue
a position, as students naturally do during analysis sessions in
classrooms. With the stigma of looming failure thereby removed,
the student can disinterestedly approach the situation looking for
the best moves, as if trying to solve a puzzle, the solution being to
stave off defeat. Students who can be this objective are apt to
achieve at least two things. They will probably become more
resourceful, capable of salvaging many potential losses, and they
are likely to become more philosophical, better equipped to
ameliorate their own pain and suffering. Teachers able to instill
such wisdom are not only helping their own students play better
chess, they are also serving the greater aims of humanity by
encouraging the use of reason and compassion in everyday life.