Chess

Last week at Bad Kissingen, Germany, E. D. Bogoljubow, onetime Russian chess champion, paced the floor while he awaited his opponent's move. When Dr. Max Euwe of Holland made his move and pushed the handle on the timepiece that began eating up the seconds allotted to Bogoljubow, the latter made no lunge for the seat which he had vacated. In his mind the board was quite as clear as though he had it placed before him. He was not worried. All he needed was a draw to win first place in the International Grand Masters Tournament, to repeat his triumph gained at Moscow three years before. On the 36th move he succeeded; achieved a situation which his opponent could not prevent his repeating ad infinitum if the aggressor wished it. He did.

Thus ended the contest between twelve of the world's greatest masters of the game. Each had played eleven times, once with each of his opponents.

U. S. champion, rugged, cigar-smoking Frank James Marshall had started well, but finished only seventh. Jose R. Capablanca, Cuban, former world's champion, took second money. Though his final score was less than Bogoljubow's, a moral victory was his, for he had defeated Bogoljubow in their only personal tilt.

The Cuban has often observed that it is not always the most brilliant player who wins a tournament. In fact it is more often the exception than the rule for the special brilliancy prize to be awarded to the victor.

He has maintained that modern exhaustive analysis has brought the game to the point at which one of his shrewdness can draw every game he plays, that theoretically to gain a victory one must dare an unsound combination. If, sufficiently intricate, its weakness fails to be detected, the game is won. Alternative is defeat. Thus less imaginative plodders can take advantage of more brilliant players' hazardous conceptions.