A chess match that was larger than life

Perhaps it's hard for today's computer-savvy youth to realize it, but there was a time, just 35 years ago, when the world's attention was riveted on the 64 squares of a chess board that stood between two men just like an iron curtain stood between two nations.

Bobby Fischer, a 29-year-old American grandmaster, squared off against defending champion Boris Spassky of the Soviet Union in of all places Reykjavik, Iceland, an oddly appropriate place for one of the great symbolic battles of the Cold War to be fought.

Fischer was the youngest-ever junior champion (at the age of 13) in the rigorous mental sport, and the youngest-ever U.S. champion at the age of 14. One accomplishment followed another, and the genius of Fischer was quickly realized, not just by the world, but by Fischer himself.

Unfortunately, it also became quickly apparent that Fischer had a talent not just for chess, but also for eccentric, boorish behavior and outlandish public statements. Despite his considerable talent, he might indeed have remained a merely colorful oddball of the chess world were it not for machinations of fate that drove him and Spassky together that summer of 1972.

Spassky was altogether the opposite of Fischer, a relatively quiet and professional technician against the loudmouth brat. Spassky was a product of the Soviet state where all personal accomplishment reflected glory to Marx and Lenin, and Fischer was the ultimate egoist whose light always shined brightest on himself.

The tortuous negotiations that led to the match in Reykjavik are a story in themselves, but the actual chess was magical.

Fischer was at his fiery best, but Spassky was dour and determined. Game one of "The Match of the Century" was played before TV cameras, and Fischer said the noisy, bulky intrusion affected his concentration, leading to a strategic blunder in the endgame that cost him the game. Pouting, Fischer then sat out game two, resulting in a forfeit and a huge 2-0 deficit. It appeared that all was lost, but national pride was on the line and apparently a telephone call from Henry Kissinger was instrumental in keeping Fischer in the game.

The rest of the match was played in a back room far from the whir of the cameras, and Fischer somehow regained his composure and quickly pounced on Spassky, who may have been unnerved by the emotional rollercoaster that was his opponent.

Fischer dominated the rest of the match, winning seven of the next 19 games and losing only one. He won the match 12.5 to 8.5 and became the only American to ever win the World Chess Championship. From coast to coast, there were celebrations of the maverick eccentric's accomplishment, and for a while the sale of chess sets may have rivaled tennis racquets if not baseball bats.

Fischer went on to live a mostly unremarkable life that teetered between seclusion and derangement, and died last week at the age of 64. He had many flaws and much to regret, but his summer in the bright lights of Iceland will never be forgotten.