Boris opened the door to the world of chess

Boris Spassky died Thursday. He was 88. 

Perhaps your response to that is, “Boris Who?” 

I’ll tell you, because this man from another side of the globe influenced my life. 

Spassky was, at one point, one of the greatest chess players in the world. He was the Soviet champion who took on American Bobby Fischer in an epic 1972 match during the Cold War that was televised (yes, a televised chess match) for all the world to watch, and it did.  

Fischer, who died in 2008, won what became known as the “Match of the Century,” catapulting him to the world’s top spot in chess. 

Spassky was nearly as brilliant. His was a household name among those who grew up playing chess. It was a game that received scant attention in the U.S. until Fischer, a defiant, angry man who disappeared not long after his big win, put it in the spotlight. The 1993 movie about a chess prodigy, “Searching for Bobby Fischer,” remains a favorite. 

It was when Fischer and Spassky clashed that I became fascinated by chess. I collected chess sets — wooden, glass, metal, plastic, 3D and magnetic. I bought chess books about the opening, middle and end games. I was a typical chess nerd whose first move was always Pawn to King 4. The word "checkmate" was used only when I felt it was necessary to rub my victory in the face of an unworthy opponent.

But I worried too much about what being in the chess club would mean for my image in high school, so I never joined. Once, I took on the club’s best player in an unofficial match and won when he foolishly left his king unprotected in the back row and couldn't escape my rook. He wanted a rematch. I refused, to protect my little-known legacy.

My oldest brother, Michael, and I often battled it out over the 64 squares. Speed chess meant using a clock and demanded quick moves. Attack. Retreat. Pawns, bishops, knights, rooks and queens weaved around the board, trying at once to capture the opposing king while protecting our own. 

It was maddening.  

I loved it. 

I hated it. 

I agonized over what to do, and then, despite staring at the pieces forever, somehow not see a bishop staring at my queen and lose her. 

I had a terrible habit of rushing my pieces into the fray, determined to seize control of the center of the board. I saw the big picture, but all too often failed to see the little one. 

Games replayed over and over in my head.

On summer vacations to Whidbey Island, my brother, my brother-in-law and I would sit up into the morning hours silently hunched over chess boards. Wins and losses were noted but soon forgotten as pieces were set back in place to start over. 

My other brother, Mark, knew how to play but didn’t really care about chess. When he saw he was about to be checkmated, he would resign in his own special way: flip the board over and send the pieces flying. Game over. 

Later, I introduced the game to my children. I set up several boards and played them at the same time. They didn’t quite understand it and made wild, illegal moves, but ones that earned them an A for creativity. They would suddenly send their knight jumping across the entire board to capture my unassuming queen, or their rook would fly over pawns to take a lonely knight. They would look at me with questioning eyes, as if to say, “Can I do that?” To which I would cry, “Oh, good move. I never saw that one coming." They would nod, relieved and proud. 

Last spring, my brother, Michael, and I played again for the first time in decades. I won. Took on my brother-in-law next. He beat me three of four. Same old story. 

My interest in chess has returned. I have about five chess sets. Picked up a copy of “Chess for Dummies.” Bought a computerized chess game at the thrift store that in its glory days of the 1980s sold at Radio Shack for $99.99. I even play myself, working both sides of the board equally. I usually win. 

Perhaps it is time to enter a tournament. It will give me a chance to say two words that once meant entering the world dominated by Boris and Bobby:

Your move.

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Bill Buley is assistant managing editor of The Press. He can be reached at bbuley@cdapress.com.