The Newest Idol
Is it art? Science? Sport? "When you're playing for the world championship, " says Tigran Petrosyan, 33, "chess may start out as an art or a science. But in the end, physical endurance is so important that it becomes an athletic event." And so it was last week—at least in the Soviet Union, where there are 3,000,000 registered chess players (v. 6,000 in the U.S.) and everyone else is a kibitzer. In a match that lasted two months and went 22 games, Tigran Petrosyan became the new World Champion of Chess, defeating Mikhail Botvinnik, 51, the perennial titleholder. Few players ever staged a more exhausting battle.
Into Training. The son of a janitor in Tiflis, Armenia, Petrosyan played his first game at twelve. He was a master at 19, an international grand master at 23. But in the Soviet Union, grand masters are so ho-hum that it took him eleven years and uncountable victories to earn the right to challenge Botvinnik, who won the world championship in 1948 and, except for a lapse of two years, has defended it successfully ever since. Like a football quarterback, Petrosyan scouted his opponent—poring over charts of Botvinnik's games. Like a boxer, he went into training, working out all winter on skis to build up his stamina, later tapering off to something less strenuous; billiards. He moved to a suburban house far from Moscow's hurlyburly, played Tchaikovsky to soothe his nerves.
Under the gaze of 1.500 spectators, the match began in a theater across the Moscow River from the Kremlin. Botvinnik won the first game, and Petrosyan was afraid the champion would seize the psychological advantage. Petrosyan shifted tactics. "When he expected me to be warlike, I played as if nothing had happened." By the end of the fifth game, it was all tied up, 2½-2½*and both men showed the strain.
Just One More. Pale and Haggard. Botvinnik seemed to have aged ten years; Petrosyan lost 10 Ibs. Three games had to be postponed when the combatants showed up sick. But training was starting to tell: after 21 games, Petrosyan led 12-9, needed just one more draw to clinch the best-out-of-24 match. As Game No. 22 started, a warning sign flashed KEEP SILENT, and TV cameras eagerly dollied in. After only nine moves, Petrosyan proposed a draw. Botvinnik refused. "Go ahead," he said. "Move." The challenger moved, and leaned back, his face impassive, eyes half closed. Five minutes dragged by, then ten, then 15.
At last Botvinnik sighed, smiled wanly, and stuck out his hand in concession. Tigran Vartanovich Petrosyan was Russia's latest sports idol. Fans chanted "Tigran! Tigran! Tigran!" Flower-bearing women fought to plant kisses on his cheeks, and out in Armenia, a set of triplets was named Tigran, Vartan and Petros.
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*A victory is worth one point, a draw half a point.
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