Wednesday, 25 March 2015

From the sublime to the ridiculous

 At last we reach the final round of the BUCA Championship - which, I concede, was played over a month ago. The reader may not believe me, but I am working through the games as fast as I can! I'm afraid this is crunch time for my degree though, and with my dissertation taking up my Easter holiday (which started today) things won't improve straight away. Soon it will all be over, but in the meantime we are where we are - reminding me about it doesn't make things go any faster. (But I am glad so many people wish it did.)

 Mini-rant aside, I am glad to wrap up this strange tournament and try to take stock. The final round gave us Manchester, yet another daunting task - this time it was 164-221, 147-194, 128f-182, 130-176. As mentioned previously, rotation put me on board 1 - a fitting way to bow out of BUCA. White against Sixten Thestrup (221) meant a field averaging 209, however, I don't seem to get nervous before games any more, and just hoped for a good game. As to what actually happened...



 Once the smoke cleared, we had lost 1.5-2.5 (DWLL), finishing near the bottom of the table with 4 points from 10. But given our pairings, we performed superbly: we were always competitive in defiance of our grades. Besides, we won gold on board 1 and bronze on board 3 - this game should have made it 3 medals! But - it did not.

 I make no apology for repeating my view that such appalling play is completely predictable with so little time, and unbecoming of a national championship. If this was played in the 4NCL we would be laughed out of the building! Black's opening was unsuccessful, especially with 9. Ne1?! going unpunished. Once I was allowed 15. a5 and 16. d5, I had a huge advantage. It then unravelled even more quickly: I had no idea what to do, and was spectating as black soon improved his position beyond recognition. Then he too threw it away, I walked into a tactical knockout, he also missed it, and the fun really started! It is moves 15-25 that really grab my attention - the total loss of direction, transfixed by e5, reminds me of this game. I have reservations about the old platitude that it's better to have a bad plan than no plan at all, but this is a striking example of the dangers of drifting.

 Still, my failed conversion hangs over the game. I seem determined to make myself a tragic figure, and failing to win with an extra Queen is a new low. At such moments I can't help asking myself: what do I have to do? I am not scared of stronger opponents - but I am scared of the trivially won positions I am getting against them. The doubt is horrible - if you can't win positions like this, how can you expect to bring home any game? At least there is also hope to be taken from it - as someone said later, I was winning in a way that no 164 has any right to be against such an opponent! Given that I outplayed Sreeves, hoodwinked Chandna and gave Weaving a real fight, I left Birmingham absolutely convinced that I can and do play well above 164. Hopefully then, when I do finally sort the technical problems out, the gains should be spectacular.

  With BUCA over, our focus returned to the Bristol League relegation dogfight. We played a crucial match against Horfield B two days after getting back.

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