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Your move
By Lawrence Ostlere December 07, 2018
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In the bowels of a grand London building, where the ceilings stretch high above old marble floors, the World Chess Championship final between Norwegian grandmaster Magnus Carlsen and American challenger Fabiano Caruana is well under way.

Surrounding them is the most extravagant anti-cheating operation in the sport’s history. It monitors every shifting pawn, every twitch of the crowd, every vibration in the air. A security agent sweeps all four corners of their glass-box venue and hand-scans each player as they enter. Cameras train on every square-inch of the room and recording equipment listens for cues. Undercover “assets” are deployed among the audience, who sit in darkness behind six-inch-thick soundproof glass virtually blacked out from the inside. “It’s like a cool spy movie, isn’t it?” says World Chess CEO Ilya Merenzon, with a manic grin which suddenly comes and goes, not unlike a Bond villain. “They scan the hell out of it!

Watching them upstairs in a swish room full of TV screens, fresh fruit and glamorous millionaires is Sergey Karjakin, who lost to Carlsen in the 2016 final. Is the military-grade surveillance necessary? “Cheating is a big problem in chess,” he nods. “Anti-doping is pointless but anti-cheating is important. Sometimes in small tournaments I joke with my friends: I sneak a phone into the match, and then give it to the arbitrators just to show that their security doesn’t work.”

In this ancient game of near-infinite possibilities — American mathematician Claude Shannon calculated it has more permutations than atoms in the universe — it is chess’s complexity which makes it so vulnerable to deception in an age when computers are now unbeatable. Yet if there’s one place where Karjakin’s phone trick wouldn’t work, it is surely the world of counter-espionage which seems to envelop this venue at The College in London.

Of all the security measures in place here, perhaps the most eyebrow-raising is the polygraph. On site every day is a former detective superintendent with decades of experience in the police and the military and with particular expertise in polygraph testing, who can be called upon should an accusation of cheating arise. According to research by the American Polygraph Association, this method of lie detection carries 90-95 per cent accuracy.

“It’s more widely used in the US, particularly in policing and law enforcement circles,” says the person in charge of the championship’s anti-cheating operation, Rory Lamrock, UK director of security firm Pinkerton. “The FBI use the polygraph heavily in background screening and recruitment of agents. It’s something unprecedented in high-level chess, and it’s something World Chess were really interested in.”

At this point you might wonder what crimes Carlsen and Caruana had committed to warrant such scrutiny. The answer is none — their track records are squeaky clean. But then this story isn’t really about the two players in the glass box.

What this is really about is chess and its place in the world. It is a sport that has struggled to harness commercial popularity ever since its Cold War heyday in the 1970s, when Bobby Fischer vs Boris Spassky drew worldwide intrigue. Now World Chess is trying to rebuild and rebrand as something slick and cool, exclusive and elite, a sport to be desired — even to be regarded as sexy.

That would explain why World Chess spent several million pounds refurbishing The College in London so that it would have a venue befitting its global showpiece; and why it created its suggestive “Kama Sutra” logo depicting two bodies interlocked over a chess board.

And it also helps explain why the security operation resembles a Bond movie. Yes, it is partly to defend a sporting sanctity that cannot afford to be tainted, and partly to reassure its star players, says Merenzon — but then he also admits: “I know there are no cheats here.” Because another reason to invest in a polygrapher that almost certainly won’t be used is that high-spec surveillance fits with the allure the sport is creating for itself; the mission to catch cheats is almost a bluff in itself.

Merenzon talks about chess not like a sport but like a cultural phenomenon. “Chess is a political experience, it’s going to church, it’s the Nobel Prize, it’s entertainment,” he says. “It’s traditional, but it’s also classic. It’s everything.” It is the last un-developed sport, he says, one which has the potential to become a billion-dollar business

The irony is that a game which requires such little resource to play beyond a lap and a busy brain is very deliberately positioning itself in a place of luxury and exclusivity, with its showpiece final locked behind pay-per-view subscription for most of the world.

Disputes over chess are as old as the game itself: King Canute is said to have killed his brother-in-law after an argument over a game in 1026. But in tackling cheating in the 21st century, the sport has spotted another opportunity.

For while in the modern age the code of integrity which chess holds dear may be harder than ever to preserve, it has now been turned into a commodity to be very publicly protected — with a sophistication which reinforces the game’s new, seductive and commercially attractive image.

The Independent

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