AThe San Francisco Examiner San Francisco, California Wednesday, April 12, 1972 - Page 54
Even Chess Has a Strike Problem
Los Angeles — By what cerebral processes editors arrive at decisions long has been a matter of bafflement to those who study the human scene.
A case in point was the big commotion in print over the baseball strike, while a matter of vital international concern was being consigned to obscure corners in the back of the editorial bus.
Alas, the long-awaited match for the chess championship of the world was jeopardized. The American titleholder, Mr. Bobby Fischer, was accused of striking because he demanded a share of the profits from his meeting in June with the champion of the Soviet Union, Mr. Boris Spassky.
The first half of the competition is scheduled for Belgrade, Yugoslavia, after which the principals will shift to Reykjavik, Iceland, for the finish.
For years we have been hammering at authorities to anchor such events as the World Series and the chess championship, but, mulishly, they insist upon floating them. It isn't easy to get from Belgrade to Reykjavik in time for the second half, just as it's a pain when the World Series is yo-yo'ed between Los Angeles and Baltimore.
Both Belgrade and Reykjavik have made it clear to Fischer that if he wants to play for the title, he will be going only for the purse and not for a piece of the gate receipts. Apparently, the player has acceded and the match will go on, but you can see the frustration on the part of any American athlete trying to explain to foreigners the way things should be done.
To start with, every chess player must have an agent, a lawyer and a tax consultant, the last arranging shelters so that his client isn't moving pawns, knights and bishops entirely for the benefit of the government.
To his opponent, Spassky, Fischer may whisper helpfully, “Boris, the first thing you do when you get back to Moscow is get yourself a good tax man. Maybe he will put you into raw land, or an apartment house deal.”
Next, the established player, leveling an eye on international matches, must tie up the ends in relation to television. If the Super Bowl brings 23 million dollars for a lousy three - hour show, you can imagine the TV value of a chess match. Games have taken 20 hours and more.
According to the Guinness Book of World Records, two gentlemen in Sydney, Australia, are still playing a match that began on Nov. 24, 1926. They make one move every Christmas. A result is expected about 1976.
Of course, if TV is to do the world match, beginning in Yugoslavia, a decision must be made whether Belgrade will be blacked out. Already, a politician there has proclaimed that if all the tickets are sold, it would be a crime to deprive the rest of the populace the pleasure of seeing the game.
To try to introduce his colleagues to the U.S. way of doing sports business, Fischer must teach them something about endorsements. For instance, the autographed shirt bearing the Queen's Bishop over the pocket is a lively item in any pro shop. The chess player also shaves, eats chili, uses deodorant and takes aspirin — all endorsable products.
Chess is such an old game that its origin actually is lost in obscurity. Some fix its beginning at about 200 B.C., meaning its players now have been performing well over 2000 years without a cut of the gate. Clearly, today's chess player wants to be no promoter's pawn.
