[Note: Earlier this week Alex Zhai published his reflections on what it was like competing for the IHSA state chess championship. One of his teammates, Annie Liang, thought Alex left out an important part of the experience. She tries to remedy that in her own first-person article.]

By Annie Liang
Gargoyle senior editor
Posted Friday, March 9, 2007, The OG, features

YOU'VE HEARD ALL the usual story lines: the mental grinds, the complicated positions, the indefatigable list of openings and endgames to memorize. But how about players crowded together, watching with breathless anticipation as a teammate races the clock, his fingers flashing over the board and moving pieces with lightning precision? What of the turmoil in a player's mind as she chooses between a safe move and something gutsier, knowing full well one misstep could mean the team's loss?

To me, chess is a lot more than that first list I shared with you. Phrases like “mental endurance” are certainly applicable — but so are words like “intensity,” “fight,” and “thrill.” Seeing chess stereotyped as a lukewarm, unexciting activity only describable through lukewarm, unexciting words frustrates me because I feel like there's a whole other side to the activity that most people don't hear about. After all, when's the last time you saw a chess headline that read: “What a game! Ruan's clock-beating performance seals ECIC title”?

With this in mind, I'd like to bring you to a chilly morning in Peoria on Feb. 9 and do my best to show you the two-day IHSA state tournament in a different light.

State 007: It's going down

As my team walked through the glass doors of the Peoria Civic Center, we had reason to feel good about our chances. On first board, we had sophomore star Gordon Ruan, a chess talent respected by every player in the state. On second, we had junior Alex Zhai — an infamously slow player whose last-minute surges of brilliant lightning play bully his opponents (despite what's often a 30-minute time difference on their clocks). Last year, neither of them lost a game at state.

On third board, we had junior Geoffrey Beck — an endgame expert whose swift calculations turn equal-looking positions into massacres. On fourth — senior Marquis Wang, an aggressive, gutsy player capable of pulling off overwhelming attacks. On fifth, I brought back a respectable 6-1 record from last year's state tournament.

On sixth board, we had sophomore Alan Liang, a player whose skill had escalated in the last month and won approbation from our top two boards. On seventh, we had Daniel Cheng, a freshman who had just joined our ranks but was nevertheless consistent and reliable. On eighth, we rotated sophomores Greg Atherton and Brian Wang, both talented players.

Entering the colossal tournament hall, we made our way toward the roped-off section at the front. Reserved for the top six teams and their opponents, sitting in this section had once been the dream of Uni chess teams. Now, it was our reality.

An early, crushing loss

After listening to the long, tiresome list of rules and standing up for the national anthem (sung by one of the few girls in the room), we all sat back down and prepared to start our first game. The first round went by uneventfully, and we started off the day with an easy win.

The next round wasn't so.

Seeded third, we had presumed we would be given a couple of easy teams to warm up against. I didn't expect a serious match until round three. But New Trier (ranked 18th coming in, 10th at the finish) was the product of a much more difficult conference and played far above their seeding. Quickly, I realized my opponent was more than competent (he eventually placed third on board five) — if I wanted to win, I would have to fight tooth and nail.

Even so, when a blunder turned my game from a winning position into a losing one, I wasn't worried. My opponent was surprisingly good, but I was confident the rest of my team wasn't having similar troubles. Then Alex lost, and a cold fear seized me: Could we lose on round two? Was that really a possibility?

Suddenly, my game seemed much more important. Down a rook, I should have been lost. But when both my opponent and I fell into time trouble — each with under five minutes on our clocks — I went into an attacking frenzy, desperately hoping that my opponent would find a way to mess up. I've never been one to play well under time pressure, and in this situation — down on pieces with the nagging voice going, “Oh God, we might lose,” in the back of my head — I was terrified.

But luck was mine that round. Seizing an opportunity, I maneuvered the position into one for which a draw looked favorable. With less than one minute left on my clock, I offered a draw. I remember trembling as my opponent asked permission from his coach (a standard procedure in close matches) and finally, after a couple heart-stopping moments, accepted.

Letting out a shaky breath, I stumbled out of my seat. Alan gave me a “Freaking-hell-you-pulled-that-off” hug and told me the significance of my draw: If I had lost, our team would have lost. The draw gave us a chance.

The match now depended completely on a win at board one. I must confess that when I first heard the match was in Gordon's hands, I felt relieved. If we were depending on Gordon, I thought, our victory was sealed. But even chess genius Gordon Ruan has his off-games. As a crowd of us watched with bated breaths, Gordon seized an advantage, seemed poised to win, and then found himself in a forced draw. The match was lost.

Picking up the pieces

What went wrong? There's no one reason, but I believe that among our flaws was a severe dependence on Gordon and Alex. With their chess skills being so incredible, it's easy to assume they'll never lose. At state we received a reality check: They could.

After our early loss against New Trier, I was crushed. As a senior finishing off four years of participation at state, I wanted to end strong. Losing in our second round was definitely not part of the plan. We hadn't even gone up against our toughest opponent yet — how were we going to place in the top three if we couldn't beat No. 18?

But we rebounded to win our third and fourth matches. At the end of the day, I had hope again. Our record was 3-1, the same as it was last year. If we wanted to win a top three trophy, we still could.

Under one condition: We had to win all of our games the next day.

The next day

It cannot be denied Friday ended disappointingly. But Marquis, Geoffrey, Alan, Alex and I found inspiration from “That '70s Show” and “Scrubs” after our matches, and by the next morning we were ready to reassert ourselves up at the top.

Our first round on Saturday was against Chicago Luther South, our toughest competition among the smaller schools. (The state tournament doesn't divide schools according to enrollment; since 1995 all Illinois schools have vied for the same title, regardless of size.) We swept, winning on every board.

Most of our attention then turned to a different game: Lincoln-Way Central vs. Maine South. Led by the Strunk brothers, two of the state's top chess players, Lincoln-Way Central (seeded fourth) had already proved itself an intimidating force. Their Friday matches had been massacres, and they seemed in a good position to win state.

If, however, by some stroke of luck Lincoln-Way lost to Maine South, our next round would be against the victorious Maine South team. If we defeated them, we would participate in the championship round. Hope was renewed.

After winning my game, I headed over to watch the Lincoln-Way Central vs. Maine South match. To my surprise, Maine South was holding strong. After another 30 minutes, it was clear they even held a slight advantage. If Lincoln-Way wanted to win, they had to win both games on the top two boards.

Agitation was evident on the faces of all four players. It was like the last possession of a basketball game with only 30 seconds left to play and a tight score. The intensity of that moment was binding. Frustration, fear, and bitter determination radiated from their spots — all emotions I could relate to.

When Lincoln-Way Central lost, I felt relieved, but not happy. Watching as their first board, a senior, clutched his head in his hands, I realized I wasn't the only senior at this tournament wishing for a state championship. Lincoln-Way Central deserved just as much as us to win — if not more — and they, too, were watching as it slowly slipped away.

Lose yourself in the moment

The game I'm about to narrate is perhaps the most nightmarish one of my entire chess career. Heading down to the tournament hall for the sixth time, I had butterflies in my stomach. The state championship match wasn't so far off — if we won this match, it could be ours.

My opponent started off the game with a crazy opening — one I wasn't used to — and I spent a good five to 10 minutes deciding between two moves, one of which would open up the position, and the other of which would close it. I finally made my decision when I looked over toward Marquis' board and realized his opponent had used the exact same opening. Instead of copying Mark's move, I decided to go with exactly the opposite for the arbitrary reason: “Hey, let's make these two games different.”

After my game advanced out of the opening phase, I built up a strong attack. In fact, up until the last five minutes, I felt my Maine South game was the best I had played at state. The position was thrilling, and as my eyes flew across the board, I saw possibilities, opportunities — a web of hidden connections and patterns. I remember thinking at one point, “This is the kind of position where, if I lose, I will have to kill myself.”

But my opponent turned out to be an excellent defender, finding a way to dodge every thrust I made at him. Despite my advantaged position, I was unable to convert my attack into a material gain until finally, after much effort, I won a couple pawns.

Then everything went wrong.

I have excuses: I was low on time again; I was playing an endgame (a position with only pawns and a few pieces on the board) — something I have never been good at. But in the end, it was simply my fault. If not in a winning position, I was at least in a good position to draw.

With the ticking of the clock racing in my brain, I made a foolish move — and then another, another, and another. My position shattered before me as I miraculously found a way to lose the endgame. Even at the very end, I had an easy forced draw. My opponent later told a teammate of mine that in the seconds before I made the one possible losing move, he was about to offer me a draw.

I sat in shock at my outrageous stupidity for a couple moments and then resigned. Getting out of my seat, I was already furious — but not enough, it turned out. At that point, I still thought my team had a chance to win.

After a few moments of confusion I learned that the match was already over. Mark had lost in a similarly winning position on board four, Gordon had been bested on board one in a close position. If Gordon had drawn, Mark had won, or I had won, the match would have been ours. But in the end, time pressure and a couple of wrong moves tipped the scale. Maine South walked away with an undeserved victory.

As we were cleaning up the pieces, my opponent told me, “You played well.”

The words stung. I replied bitterly, “You played better.”

Maine South: What does it take to be No. 1?

Before that round, I had spoken with a couple of friends on Lincoln-Way Central's team. They were up against New Trier, the team we had lost to; we were up against Maine South, the team they had lost to. I made a bargain: They would get revenge for us, and we would get revenge for them.

In the end, neither of us got any sort of revenge. We fell to the same two teams — two teams we definitely should have been able to beat. In the same round, defending state champion Niles North fell to Whitney Young. Everywhere, it seemed, things were going wrong.

Coming into this year's state tournament, very few of us expected Maine South to be a serious title contender. Teams like Niles North and Lincoln-Way seemed much more talented and deserving.

But when it comes to the top 10 or 20 teams in the state, I've learned “much more talented and deserving” doesn't actually account for much. Roughly, all of our teams are equal. At tournaments like state, skill gives you the opportunity to win. But sometimes luck decides it.

Maine South beat Whitney Young in the championship round — another extremely close, extremely lucky match. My Maine South opponent later told me his coach said God must have wanted them to win state.

But there's nothing we can do about luck, only skill. Alan's stellar 7-0 performance (good for second place individually on board six) is proof that practice helps.

Unsatisfied with our eighth-place finish at state, we've begun to consider a trip to nationals in Kansas City April 13-15.

Throughout my Uni chess career, I know there's been talk of going to nationals but never any action. This year, I hope it will be different — not for the opportunity of placing in the top 25 and bringing back a trophy, but for the second chance the tournament offers.

So trust me, if I go to Kansas City, I will not lose because of an endgame.

RELATED

— Alex Zhai: Playing in the IHSA state chess tournament

— 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