And the light is gone
This week, Vladmir Kramnik announced his retirement from classical chess. It was quite a shocker to the community as many of the keen adherents would argue that his decision was made in haste. To chess lovers, it’s always tragic to see somebody they enjoy watching play leave the big stage. Yes, he suffered a poor performance at Tata Steel Chess last month. As a result, Kramnik recently dropped to his lowest rank (#15) in 27 years. To us, mere mortals, that’s still a fabulous place to be. You are the 15th best player in the world. How bad can you be and you can always climb up, right?
Well, to a champion like Kramnik, perhaps it’s not about the number but about the spirit. You can count the former, not the latter. And once the light is out, it’s best to call it a day.
Fortunately, the top layer of chess is filled with gentlemen and ladies with little to no squeak of misdemeanor or controversies. Kramnik obviously belonged to the elite league of those immensely liked for their calm manners and respectful nod. In some ways, isn’t it amazing that you spend close to three decades in the limelight and yet manage to behave? Maybe other sports maintain lower standards of decorum.
Anyway, coming back to the Russian master, he saw it coming. Apparently. His retirement, according to him, was an event in motion. The 43-year-old saw that the spark that drove him to sit pensively in front of the board for hours was dimming. When the news of his retirement reached his peers, Viswanathan Anand made the most formidable comment: it’s too early for Kramnik to retire. Given Anand’s longevity — do you see Magnus Carlsen playing among the big boys and girls at the age of 49? — maybe he knows what he’s talking about.
However, what about the rest of us? At what point are we supposed to know that we are done? Or is our existence so devoid of creativity that the juice in question never matters in the first place? We’ve found our peace in our routine so the whole world’s not a stage for us.
Two weeks ago, when I read about Andy Murray’s decision to retire, a part of me was surprised as well as vindicated. Surprised because he is celebrated for his never-say-die attitude. Vindicated because tennis is unforgiving and the physical toll on him was just a matter of time. I can’t think of any other sport that pins down a person as individualistically as tennis. It’s nothing less than a miracle that Rafael Nadal’s knees still help him walk. And Roger Federer’s ongoing career is nothing less than a celestial event.
That’s some body talk there.
As far as mental struggles go, Kramnik’s decision makes sense to me although in parts.
Imagine being the best footballer in your neighbourhood. Now imagine being the best footballer in your city. Now imagine being the best footballer in your country. Now imagine being the best footballer in an European club. Now imagine reaching a point when you are none of the above. You used to be what you want to be now. Time passed by and before you could notice, somebody else is what you once were. The gift of uniqueness has been handed over to somebody else. All this happened right in front of your eyes. You saw it coming.
Just like Kramnik did.
From being that kid who destroyed older men at chess and making patzers back home wonder “Isn’t that magical?”, Kramnik must be relieved to finally get to be on the other side. To others, he was full of magic. His mind did wonders in the labyrinth of light-coloured and dark-coloured squares.
Not anymore.
For a change, he’d be able to appreciate the magic as it bids him goodbye.
