The 1971 Candidates matches as Tigran Vartanovich Petrosian saw them

Tigran Vartanovich Petrosian published the following article in the Armenian chess magazine Shahmatayin Hayastan, No 5, May 1972.

I took it from the book to which Petrosian himself contributed to. The book's name is Tigran Petrosian: His life and Games. Authored by Vik Vasiliev. Petrosian, Averbakh and Suetin contributed to the book. The book was translated into English by Micheal Bachman.

In this part 1, I will transfer you what Petrosian talked about his matches against Huebner and Korchnoi. Also, his pre-candidates tour thoughts. His comments about his match against Fischer will be in the second part.

Without further ado, let me leave you one-on-one with Petrosian's narration:

The candidates' matches as I saw them

After I lost my World Champion's title in 1969, I had to face a new problem. How should I arrange my chess life in the future?

The world championship title has never been the main aim of my life. So here I was wondering what to do. Should I simply continue to make periodic appearances in strong tournaments, trying to maintain a reputation as a strong grandmaster, or should I once more try for the champion's crown? There are quite a few examples of sportsmen who, losing their high position, have tried unsuccessfully, even pitifully, to regain what once was theirs. For a chess-player, time is inexorable, and it is impossible to make time stand still.

But when the 1970 Interzonal tournament finished, my hesitations immediately ended. I saw that most of my opponents — Yefim Geller, Mark Taimanov, Bent Larsen, Wolfgang Uhlmann, were players of my own generation. Some of them were only two or three years younger than me, the rest were older ... so I decided I had no moral right to refuse battle.

There was one other circumstance which impelled me to play in the Candidates' matches: it would be extremely interesting for me to play a third match against Boris Spassky....

Having decided to play in the Candidates' matches, I thought that there would be little point in beginning with only one or two matches in mind. At the same time I realized that the matches were separated from each other by mere I-11 month intervals. These short interludes should be used for active rest, rather than chess training. That was why my initial training embraced the quarter-, semi-final, and final stages of the competition.

Factually, the Candidates' matches began before the eight grand-masters sat down at their respective tables; they began as soon as the International Federation had made the drawing of lots.

The drawing of lots was rather a strange affair. One quartet com-prised the strongest Soviet grandmasters — Korchnoi, Geller and myself, along with the youngest competitor, Robert Hubner from West Germany. In the other group were the strongest Western players, Fischer and Larsen.

A lottery is a lottery, and anything can happen there. But . . . as I was looking through my papers one day, I came across an interview in a 1966 edition of Literaturnaya Gaziela. Among other things, the reporter asked Botvinnik what he thought of Euwe's idea of selecting the challenger in a match between the strongest Eastern and Western chess-players ... and so, Dr Euwe had had the idea many years ago. And that, which had been only a suggestion when he was an ordinary grandmaster, under his presidentship became a reality.

Last year, when I went to Holland to play in an international chess tournament, I asked Dr Euwe, both as a candidate and a journalist, to say something about the drawing of lots. The FIDE president was unable to communicate any details, and only replied shortly, that everything had taken place normally.

The draw for the world football championships are carried out with the participation of dozens of journalists and spectators; surely the world chess championships are not so insignificant, that no-one should have any precise information about the drawing of lots?

But let us return to the quarter-finals of the Candidates' matches.

It seemed to me, at this stage of the contest, that mine was the most difficult position of all. For the other participants, whatever was the ,result of their matches, a sensation would not occur. A victory by either-Korchnoi or Geller would be considered quite logical. Naturally, Larsen was stronger than Ulhmann, but Larsen is well known for his erratic play. He can crush any opponent, but then he can lose to anybody too.... Even Fischer-Taimanov, which everyone expected the American grandmaster to win, left some doubts. For Taimanov was a strong, very experienced grandmaster, who had -beaten nearly all the world's greatest players in his time. Even such an expert as Mikhail Botvinnik declared that if Taimanov prepared well, he would have his chances against Fischer.

Coming to my meeting with Hubner, then, it must be said that the whole chess world had no doubt as to the result of this match. On the one side was an experienced grandmaster who had newly lost his champion's title, on the other, a young, inexperienced player, who had carried the grandmaster's tide only a few months. Everybody, absolutely everybody expected me to win, and this put me in a very difficult psychological situation.

In the preparatory period, I analyzed Hfibner's games, and the results were by no means entirely pleasurable for me; the young German player was developing extremely fast. In 1970 Hubner was far stronger than in 1969, not to speak of 1965, which was the first time we met over the board. Yes, as far back as 1965 I had played Hubner in a simultaneous display in Köln (Cologne), Germany, and, as a matter of fact, I lost.

As a chess-player Hubner was constantly developing. His style of play was purely positional, even classical. So I concluded, in con-tradiction to most of the commentators, that there was a very difficult struggle ahead of me. At the same time, speaking frankly, I was fully confident of victory.

One of my old trainers, grandmaster Alexei Suetin, travelled with me to Seville as my second. The young Moscow master, Igor Zaitsev, also came to assist us in our work.

The Seville organizers were not very rich, and our playing arena was to be a basement supplied rent-free by an insurance company. Nonetheless, Hubner and I, together with the organizers, surveyed the place and decided it was quite possible to play there.

The match, as is well known, had an unexpected passage, and an even more unexpected end. Six draws in a row, then Hubner lost the seventh game, resigned the match and went home. What was the reason for this strange finish?

In my opinion, before the match began, Hubner was convinced he would lose. To all appearances, he had come to Seville simply to draw a few games with the ex-World Champion, lose a couple, and then go home. But then the first game ended in a draw, then the next, then the next ... and however modest a player he might be (and Hubner is a very modest chess-player), he automatically began to think in this way: 'My powerful opponent is completely unable to defeat me. In that case, why shouldn't I be able to beat him?'

As soon as Hubner began to think of victory, he began to get nervous as well. In the sixth game the West German player approached the judges and asked them to move the game into another room, because the conditions were 'very noisy'. The judges rejected this, because the conditions were in fact quite normal. Besides, even if it had been very noisy, the organizers did not have any choice about the playing room. And finally, had we not looked over the hall together before the match and given our assent then?

In the seventh game Hubner gained the advantage, but later on I managed to take the initiative and win the game. Now Hubner's nerves gave way completely. After the game was over, he theatrically tore up the score sheet in front of us and quickly disappeared. Next day we learnt that he had announced his resignation to the judges and gone home.

Independent of the results of the Seville match, Hubner is a very gifted chess-player, and if he works properly at the game, he should have a big future.

The results of the other quarter-final matches are well known: Korchnoi beat Geller, Larsen beat Ulhmann, and Fischer scored 6-0 against Taimanov... .

At the end of this last match, which took place in Canada, the chief arbiter, Bozidar Kazic, published a very interesting article, where, amongst other things, he relates the following incident: one day Fischer was spending one of his free hours on the tennis court with the representative of the Canadian chess organization, and made a disparaging remark about the poor playing arrangements. The Canadian was surprised, replying 'Mr Fischer, I cannot understand why you should be dissatisfied. Surely we were not the ones to invite you to Canada.. ..'

Kazic, wittingly or otherwise, had revealed a secret that the initiators and financiers of the Canadian match were Americans. Meanwhile it was the intention that Kazic should be the arbiter in Fischer's future matches. After the publication of the aforementioned article, Kazic's candidature was taken away....

What is more, there was a clause in the Spassky-Fischer match conditions, whereby the arbiter was not allowed to write or publish a single line about the match as long as he lived.

But let us return to the semi-final matches. Once again the American grandmaster did the impossible, winning 6-0, this time against Larsen. This was already something that nobody had expected. A present-day grandmaster simply hasn't the right to be crushed so utterly by another grandmaster. In the previous instance the 'wipe-one-might be partially explained by Taimanov's relatively advanced years, apart from the fact that his chances were not rated very high in the first place. But the Fischer-Larsen result was simply stunning.
In chess there is an unwritten law, that the loser does not generally speak after the match is over. Above all this is because he is to a certain extent seen as having to justify himself, and what he says, therefore, carries less weight. But Larsen nonetheless had the courage to publish an article in which he revealed many curious details. Chess-players had first to accept, with surprise, that Larsen had agreed to play on his rival's 'home ground'. Besides that, it turned out that Larsen himself did not know until the very last moment, where the match was to be held. First he was promised one venue, then another, and so on ... Larsen writes that the climatic conditions had a very bad effect on his health, and for the first time in his life he landed up in hospital with high blood pressure.

Let us turn to my match with Victor Korchnoi. This, as is well known, had very little excitement up till the ninth game. The first eight games were drawn. Some people even, half serious, half joking, suggested that we were both of us 'afraid of winning and falling into Fischer's hands'. And Fischer himself, when asked, which of us was likely to play more successfully against him, refused to comment, saying his answer might have an effect on the course of the match....

In reality, how is it possible to explain this spate of draws? Imagine two chess-players of equal strength, who have been participating in tournaments together for over a quarter of a century, who know each other down to the smallest detail ... in those 25 years, out of all the games played between us, I have only managed to secure a one point advantage, and that point was scored in 1946, when Korchnoi and I met in a junior tournament....

If we keep that situation in view, then it is no longer so surprising that the draws followed one another. And the struggle was in fact not that peaceful. First Korchnoi held a certain initiative, then it passed to me. Finally, I managed to win the ninth game. In the final, tenth game, I obtained a large plus, and offered a draw, but Korchnoi refused. As it turned out, the tension of the struggle was so great that my opponent did not realize how difficult his position had become. Later on Korchnoi's game became hopeless, and when the time for adjourn-ment arrived, he addressed me in the following manner: 'I could resign here or agree a draw.' From a sporting point of view, a draw and a win in this game had the same significance, so I replied 'Of course, a draw.'

This is end of Part 1. He talks more extensively about his match with Fischer. Narrations about that match alone is at least 75% of these narrations. Let that be part 2.