At Last, King Bobby

It was 2:47 p.m. when Bobby Fischer strode onto the stage at the Reykjavik Sports Hall and signed the score-sheet on the chess table. He had arrived 17 minutes late to resume the adjourned 21st game in his world championship chess match with Boris Spassky. But Spassky was not there. The 2,500 spectators soon learned why. "Ladies and gentlemen," announced Referee Lothar Schmid, "Mr. Spassky has resigned by telephone at 12:50. Mr. Fischer has won this game, No. 21, and he is the winner of the match."

As the audience hurst into applause for the first American ever to win the official world championship, Bobby nodded, smiled shyly and hurried from the hall. Spassky, reached by a newsman, was philosophical about his defeat: "I'm not sad," he said. "It's a sporting event and I lost. Bobby's the new champion. Now I must take a walk and get some fresh air." From Iceland, where for the past two months he has covered the Fischer-Spassky match for TIME, American Grandmaster Larry Evans cabled his resume and impressions of the historic contest:

WAS Boris psyched out by Bobby's antics even before the tournament began? That is the great riddle. The match was really much closer than indicated by the cold statistic of the final score, 12 1/2 points to 8 1/2. In fact, it was really two matches. To put the contest into perspective, Bobby's whopping lead of 6 1/2 to 3 in the first half (a win is a point, a draw half a point) must be compared with his narrow 6-to-5 edge in the last eleven games.

Like a chess game, the entire match was divided into three phases: opening, middle game, ending. No one knew better than Boris that he had failed to secure much of an advantage playing white in the first game and that Bobby had beaten himself by trying to win what was clearly a dead draw. Nonetheless, Bobby's mistake encouraged the Russian team, which had counted on his impetuosity and overconfidence.

Ping Pong. When Bobby forfeited the second game by not showing up because of a dispute over TV cameras, no one thought that he could be persuaded to resume the match if the officials insisted that the game be awarded to Spassky. Boris probably had reservations about accepting the gift point, but he may well have felt that Bobby's behavior should not go unpunished. The officials stood fast.

Thus it was probably with consternation and shock that Boris saw Bobby not only show up at the last minute for the third game, but also display the effrontery to demand that it be played in a dingy back room, ordinarily used for Ping Pong. "Just this once. Never again," said Boris, thereby sealing his own doom. By remaining intransigent, he probably could have provoked another walkout by Bobby and won the entire match by forfeit. Gradually falling behind after Bobby played an unorthodox move early in the game, Spassky finally extended his hand in defeat at the 41st move; it was the first time he had ever lost to Fischer. Boris was still leading 2-1, but he had lost an important psychological edge; Bobby now knew that he could bloody his opponent.

Spassky recovered strongly in the fourth game; only Fischer's great resourcefulness under fire enabled him to stave off defeat and force a draw. But the fifth game was an utter fiasco for Boris. Playing white against the Nimzo-Indian defense, he failed to secure the initiative, vacillated and then, on the 27th move, committed one of the worst blunders of his career. After realizing his error, Boris resigned on the spot. "My position was bad anyway," he shrugged as I met him on his way out. He seemed wearily detached.

Now the match was tied, 2 1/2 to 2 1/2. The sixth game indicated that a new phase, the "middle game," had begun. This was Bobby's most impressive victory, a classic model of switching the attack from one wing to the other. Mindful of his bitter experience in Game 4, Bobby, whose first move is almost always pawn to king four, changed to a queen pawn opening for the first time, boldly outplaying Boris on his own ground. Boris resigned on move 41, and lingered onstage to applaud Fischer's brilliance.

In Games 7 through 10 Bobby's slashing attack continued. He increased his lead to 3 points, hacking away all resistance. But in the eleventh game, Bobby used his favorite Najdorf Sicilian defense once too often, snatching the so-called "poisoned pawn." This time, Spassky was ready; he crushed Bobby for his finest--and last--win of the match. Game 12 was a draw. But Boris blundered on the 69th move of Game 13; in the eighth hour of a marathon contest, he threw away a draw and fell behind, 8 points to 5.

The Reykjavik "endgame" started with Game 14, the first of seven drawn games in a row. Far from being dull, these were slam-bang affairs in which Spassky dipped into almost superhuman reservoirs of strength to fight Bobby to a standstill. Boris did not become world champion by accident.

At 35, still in his prime, Spassky is not as innovative and flashy as Bobby, but the match proved that he is a grittier, tougher opponent than ever. He is a complete player, at home in both the wide-open king pawn or the positional queen pawn opening. Boris lost the last game, but only because he was under the pressure of the 11 1/2-8 1/2 match score. He did not have to sacrifice his rook on move 19 in a bold attempt to win--he could have settled for two more draws and gone home with a more respectable score. Yet he still might have drawn the game with a better sealed move before adjournment.

The impact of the Reykjavik match on world chess is bound to be healthy. The Russians are likely to intensify their search for young grandmasters. So are the Americans, now that there is some money in the game. In fact, the search is already on all over the world for a fitting challenger to King Robert, whose reign promises to be long and stormy. But there is one player in the world with a chance right now to beat Bobby Fischer. That is Boris Spassky. I would like to see a rematch, and I think Bobby would too.

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