Perspectives

By Burt Hochberg

Does Chess Need a World Champion?

 Who is the strongest player in the world today? Despite likely
demurrals from Karpov, Kramnik, Anand, and one or two other
supergrandmasters, most people would agree that the honor
belongs to Kasparov, at least by virtue of his rating, which at 2815
is not only higher than everyone else's but is higher than everyone
else's who ever lived.

But if there can be only one world champion, Kasparov is not he,
not officially. Depending on whom you ask, the words "world
champion" can be applied to any of four worthies: Kasparov, who
has the highest rating; Karpov, who is the present holder of the
"official" FIDE title; Fischer, who won the title fair and square and
has never been defeated; or IBM's Deep Blue, the vanquisher of
Kasparov in a match in which he loudly proclaimed that he was
representing the entire human race. (This point was made also by
Yasser Seirawan in his excellent article, "Whose Title Is It,
Anyway?," in the August issue of Games magazine.)

Does carrying the FIDE title make its carrier ipso facto the
strongest player in the world? Are you not the strongest player in
the world unless FIDE says you are? When Scarecrow asked the
Wizard of Oz for a brain, Tin Man for a heart, and the Cowardly
Lion for courage, what did the Great and Powerful Oz give them?
A diploma, a testimonial, and a medal.

Let's be fair - Kasparov's results over the last decade fully justify
his claim to be the dominant player of his generation, irrespective
of his rating and whether or not he wears the crown. But does he,
or do we, need the formal title of world champion? Does that title
really mean anything?

Before the institution of the world championship existed, the
world's number- one players--Philidor, Anderssen, Staunton,
Morphy, and others who preceded them--were clearly recognized
as such. When Steinitz introduced the title in 1886, it merely
formalized, but did not establish, that he was the best player in the
world. No one doubts the preeminence of Lasker during the first
two decades of this century. Alekhine and Capablanca were the
dominant players of their time, regardless of which one of them
held the title; they were, so to speak, co-champions. Alekhine's
defeat of Capablanca in 1927 was the result, in large measure, of
Capa's nonchalance; a second match between them (which it seems
they both wanted to avoid) would have changed nothing,
historically speaking.

The situation clouded somewhat during the Botvinnik era. Self-
described as *primus inter parus* (first among equals), Botvinnik
was officially the world champion for all but two years between
1948 and 1963. But did his possession of the title mean he was the
best player in the world all that time? In his three matches with
Smyslov, Botvinnik's overall winning margin was merely a single
game (18-17 with 34 draws). Though Smyslov was officially world
champion for only one year, he was rated higher than Botvinnik
between 1950 and 1957, a period during which most experts
believe he was the best player in the world even when Botvinnik
held the official title. If ever the title of world champion was
meaningless, it was during the period of Soviet domination.

Then came Bobby. There's no doubt that the title meant something
to him. It meant more than anything. Proof of that is the fact that
after winning it he stopped competing. But with or without the
title, Bobby Fischer was unquestionably the greatest player of his
time.

The same is true of Kasparov. Even if he loses a few matches and
his rating temporarily dips below one or more of his rivals', his
overall record and the quality of his play mark him as world
champion de facto even if he isn't "world champion" de jure.

While watching the U.S. Tennis Open this year, I thought about the
position that Pete Sampras holds in world tennis. All agree that
Sampras is the best player in the world, and he remains so even
though he failed to make the final this year. John McEnroe, who
ought to know, calls him perhaps the greatest player ever. So what
if he loses the occasional match and his ranking goes down for a
while. He is undeniably the best player of his generation. The title
"world champion" doesn't exist in tennis. Who needs it?

Speaking of chess, the public needs it. Corporate and other
sponsors need the favorable publicity world championship matches
generate and they spend big bucks to make sure they get it. And as
long as big bucks are at stake, the top players will bend heaven and
earth to get their share. They need it too.

OK, so we need a world championship. But world championship
matches are complicated. The system in use for a long time
required that a match had to be won by two points, with a tied
match declared if the score reached 9-9. No problem so far, since
the money can be simply split. But the title can't be split. It just
complicates everything, as the Fischer-FIDE debacle of 1975
proved.

What if the championship could be decided in some other way? It
can! Go back to 1948, when Alekhine's death left the title vacant
and the best players in the world participated in a match-
tournament to find the new champion. What's wrong with that?
The money can be fairly apportioned, and the title is not in doubt
unless there's an unbreakable tie for first place, which can then be
resolved in a short match. Simple. 

Note: This is the last of the twelve regular columns I agreed to
write for The Chess Cafe. I thank Hanon Russell for inviting me to
contribute to the best chess site on the Web, and I hope you've
enjoyed reading what I've had to say. Due to my continuing
responsibilities as a senior editor at Games magazine, and with a
new book ("Chess Braintwisters") coming out in early 1999 from
Sterling Publishing Co. (shameless plug - I trust you will all go out
and buy a copy) and another book manuscript due the following
fall, I need to reduce my other activities. I hope to be able to
contribute occasionally to The Chess Cafe in the future. In the
meantime, try to behave.