Table of Contents Title page Key To Symbols Used Foreword Five Decades in Chess Index of Games Part I - Memorable Games Chapter 1 - Combinations & Tactics (Part 1) Chapter 1 - Combinations & Tactics (Part 2) Chapter 1 - Combinations & Tactics (Part 3) Chapter 2 - Attack on the Uncastled King Chapter 3 - Flank Attack on the King (Part 1) Chapter 3 - Flank Attack on the King (Part 2) Chapter 4 - Positional Play (Part 1) Chapter 4 - Positional Play (Part 2) Chapter 4 - Positional Play (Part 3) Chapter 4 - Positional Play (Part 4) Chapter 4 - Positional Play (Part 5) Chapter 5 - Dynamic Play (Part 1) Chapter 5 - Dynamic Play (Part 2) Chapter 6 - Defence Chapter 7 - Openings (Part 1)Defence Chapter 7 - Openings (Part 2) Chapter 8 - Various and Memorable (Part 1) Chapter 8 - Various and Memorable (Part 2) Chapter 8 - Various and Memorable (Part 3) Part II - Memorable Endgames Chapter 1 - Pawn Endgames (Part 1) Chapter 1 - Pawn Endgames (Part 2) Chapter 1 - Rook Endgames (part 1) Chapter 1 - Rook Endgames (Part 2) Chapter 1 - Rook Endgames (Part 3) Chapter 3 - Bishop Endgames Quoted Endgames 2 Learn from Michal Krasenkow by Michal Krasenkow Thinkers Publishing 2019 www.thinkerspublishing.com Thinkers Publishing 2019 First edition 2019 by Thinkers Publishing Copyright © 2019 Michal Krasenkow All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission from the publisher. All sales or enquiries should be directed to Thinkers Publishing, 9850 Landegem. Email: [email protected] Website: www.thinkerspublishing.com Managing Editor: Romain Edouard Assistant Editor: Daniël Vanheirzeele Proofreading: David & Sabrina Koetsier, Ian Marks Software: Hub van de Laar Graphic Artist: Philippe Tonnard Cover Design: Mieke Mertens Typesetting: Mathilde Choisy Production: BESTinGraphics ISBN: 9789492510464 D/2018/13730/28 3 Key to Symbols used ! a good move ? a weak move !! an excellent move ?? a blunder !? an interesting move ?! a dubious move ™ only move = equality ∞ unclear position ² White stands slightly better ³ Black stands slightly better ± White has a serious advantage µ Black has a serious advantage +– White has a decisive advantage –+ Black has a decisive advantage ‚ with an attack ƒ with an initiative „ with counterplay … with the idea of ¹ better is ≤ worse is N novelty + check # mate © with compensation for the sacrificed material 4 Foreword During my chess career I have played almost 4000 classical games, a good deal of them against grandmasters, including world’s top players, a number of which I managed to defeat. A lot of these games are interesting and instructive, and studying them will definitely help any player to get new expertise, learn new ideas and therefore improve their chess skill. This book is divided into three chapters. The first part is a brief description of my life and career. The second chapter includes 54 of my most memorable victories grouped by their main contents (tactics, attack, positional play etc.) while in every section games are arranged in chronological order. The third chapter is specifically devoted to endgames and contains analyses of the 12 most interesting, often amazing endgames, I had in my practice. Some of the games and endings were published (mostly a long time ago) in various chess magazines. All my earlier annotations have been fully revised for this book, with the help of more modern computers and analysing engines. I don’t understand the strange approach of some chess commentators (mostly those providing online coverage of games), who decline using chess engines in order to give more “human” commentaries (which leads to numerous mistakes and blunders as they can’t fully concentrate on the games in the same way as players do). I don’t see any contradiction between human explanation of decisions taken in the games and their verification with technical aids. On top of this, computer analysis often reveals fantastic possibilities hidden in the position, which are as instructive as details of human thinking. I would like to thank my wife Elena, who supported me very much in my life and chess career. Enjoy! Michal Krasenkow Warsaw, July 2018 5 Five Decades in Chess In 1972 an eight-year-old boy, proud conqueror of many of the old gentlemen in Izmailovsky Park, stepped over the threshold of the Moscow Pioneer Palace for the first time. The boy could not predict, of course, that he would one day become a Polish grandmaster. I had already seen a map with the name ‘Poland’ on it, and I certainly knew the names of world’s leading chessplayers and what the grandmaster title meant in those days. Becoming a grandmaster was one of my dreams, but the enchanting world of chess had kidnapped me, whether I achieved it or not. I had never considered - probably wrongly - the goal, the level for which I would have to strive. I just played and moved forward. I was born Mikhail Azos on November 14 1963 in Moscow. I never knew my father. My mother’s parents, Shloma Azos and Anna, née Salganik, were Jews from the Ukrainian town of Radomysl. Under Stalin’s rule they had had to move to Kazakhstan (alas, I don’t know the details) but finally, at the end of the 1940s, my grandfather, a qualified economist, was transferred to the capital and worked in one of the numerous departments of industry until he retired. My mother Galina worked as an engineer in the Institute of Nonferrous Metals until her untimely death in 1989. It was a usual family of ‘Soviet Intelligentsia’. My grandfather and mother belonged to the Communist Party, so they raised me in a spirit of loyalty to the regime. This loyalty was not shaken until my army service. One day my grandfather, a keen chess player, taught me the rules of the ‘royal game’, and after some time, as I mentioned above, he took me to the Moscow Pioneer Palace. I was lucky. Chess was one of the few areas of life in which the Soviet Union had real and not just paper achievements. That is why the Communist Party devoted a lot of attention to maintaining that tradition. In Moscow itself there were several training centres for young chess players, in the so-called Houses of Pioneers (centres for developing children’s abilities in various fields), sports associations etc. The three strongest chess schools were situated in the Moscow City Pioneer Palace (among those who studied chess there were Artur Yusupov, Igor Glek and Yuri Piskov), in the Sports Boarding School, where talented chess players were gathered from the whole USSR (Evgeny Bareev, Yuri Dokhoian, Alexander Zlochevsky) and at the Young Pioneer Stadium (Andrei Sokolov, Alexei Vyzhmanavin). There were experienced trainers; in addition, the most talented of us had the opportunity to attend one of the grandmasters’ schools, named after Botvinnik, Smyslov, Petrosian, Geller etc., in which the country’s leading trainers such as Mark Dvoretsky, Alexander Nikitin and Boris Zlotnik conducted classes at training camps. There were a lot of individual and team tournaments, for various championship titles and just for chess categories. However we kids played almost exclusively with each other. Open tournaments, in which everyone could face a grandmaster, didn’t exist in the USSR. This significantly hampered the progress of young players and is why gaining the title of national master by a junior aged 16-17 was considered an outstanding achievement. My path to the top was by no means a speedy ascent. My first trainer in the Pioneer Palace was Evgeny Penchko - a colourful, legendary figure, an unusual but outstanding educator of several generations of chess players. It was he who instilled in me the principles of fair play and respect for the opponent. After a year of classes and playing in tournaments, I reached second category. Unexpectedly, those successes were followed by stagnation. For two years I tried unsuccessfully to make first category. 6 Faithfully, several times a week after school, from the age of ten, I made my own, long, way to the Pioneer Palace which was at the other end of town and took over two hours there and back by subway, to play a game or listen to a lecture by the trainer. (For some time I attended the classes of Master Alexander Chistiakov, which, however, did not stick in my memory.) I bought and read chess books, watched the TV Chess School, presented by eminent grandmasters like Alexander Kotov or Yuri Averbakh, but all in vain. In subsequent tournaments, I missed out once by half a point and once by a point or more. Finally I decided to quit chess. Today I am smarter and know that the development of a talented child often proceeds unevenly. Accumulated knowledge and skills can be hidden under a visible lack of progress for a long time. To reveal them, sometimes only one kick in the right direction is needed. Unfortunately, not everyone gets it in time. I was lucky. One day in the summer of 1975, I went to the Pioneer Palace to collect my documents. I found a new trainer there, Victor Lublinsky, a well-known master and participant in finals of Soviet Championships in the ’40s and ’50s. He convinced me to abandon my intentions and sign up for his group. “Well,” I thought, “I’ll try once more, give it one last chance.” Lublinsky worked in the Pioneer Palace for just one year, but for me that year was a breakthrough. My new trainer was not only accessible and did not just present the basics of chess strategy and tactics, but adorned his stories with numerous memories and anecdotes from his life. From the years of Victor’s youth, Capablanca, Lasker and other outstanding figures of chess history went straight to our souls. Teenagers of the ’70s felt like witnesses to the famous tournaments held in Moscow in 1935 and 1936 or the USSR championships of 1949-50. Here is a story which stuck in my memory (God knows why): Lublinsky played in a tournament against the well-known player Alexander Konstantinopolsky, who had the longest surname among Soviet chess masters (later he was awarded the honorary grandmaster title). The game was adjourned. Older readers probably remember what that procedure involved: one of the players wrote the names of the opponents, the position, and the clock readings on an envelope, and his rival, after due consideration, secretly wrote his next move on his scoresheet instead of making it on the board. Both players’ scoresheets were sealed in the envelope, which was kept in the arbiter’s safe till the game was resumed, usually within the next few days. So Victor began to write on the envelope ‘Lublinsky - Kon...’ and suddenly realized that the name ‘Konstantinopolsky’ wouldn’t fit on the line! So he decided to shorten it and wrote ‘Kon-sky’, which means ‘horse-related’ in Russian! When he saw this, his opponent felt terribly offended and did not speak to Lublinsky for a long time. The group led by Victor (later taken over by Master Eduard Shekhtman) included a number of future grandmasters and international masters: Yuri Piskov, Sergei Sergienko and later Maxim Notkin (nowadays a famous Russian chess journalist). The other students were not so successful in chess but let me mention their names anyway: Gennady Mikhailov, Gennady Shevchuk, Anatoly Boshkin, Armen Stepanian, Leonid Levin, Leonid Edelstein, Alla Kantorovich, Anna Baranova, Olga Orlova and Tatiana Saburova. We are now scattered all over the world, from Israel to Germany and the United States - and I found myself in Poland... Immediately after beginning classes with Lublinsky, I gained the first category, and at the end of the school year I became the champion of Moscow among pioneers, i.e. under 14 years of age. 7 In 1976, I moved, along with several colleagues from the Lublinsky group, to another school, which was far from home but close to the Pioneer Palace. Boys and girls who gathered in the school were members of several sport sections of the Palace, so that they could more easily combine learning with practising sports. Indeed, the facility was enormous, although I had to get up before dawn. (Since then I have been more of a ‘lark’ and cannot get used to the ‘owl’ lifestyle.) On a side note, I became an involuntary participant in a certain ‘scam’. Even before we started attending the new school, the leadership of the Pioneer Palace created a ‘school representation’, which was entered for the Moscow Pioneers team championship, and after winning it, for the USSR championship (the so-called White Rook tournament). Unfortunately the team which was runner-up in Moscow protested and we were disqualified from the competition. I remember how the manager of our chess section complained to us (who were nearly turned back from the road to the airport!) about the intrigues of enemies who didn’t care about the honour of the capital. We won the White Rook tournament a year later and again, without my participation, the following year. As I mentioned earlier, Lublinsky was replaced after 1976 by Master Eduard Shekhtman, who was once a member of the training group of the former World Champion Tigran Petrosian. Eduard taught me, above all, systematic self-work on chess. I achieved a good level in junior tournaments: twice, in 1978 and 1980, I shared 5th-7th places in the USSR U18 championships (won respectively by Zurab Azmaiparashvili and Jaan Ehlvest). I attended several sessions of the Vassily Smyslov school, where I learned a lot from the ex-World Champion and also from Dvoretsky, Zlotnik, Grandmaster Yuri Razuvaev and other prominent trainers. It was Razuvaev who instilled in me a love for the games and style of the great Polish chess player, Akiba Rubinstein. My love is still there, but my style is very different! I also started to participate in adult tournaments. In 1977 I became a candidate master. Two of my games from the school period, nos 1 and 11, are included in this book. In 1980 I graduated from secondary school. I did not intend to be a professional chess player (in fact, such a profession did not officially exist in the USSR) but of course I did not want to part company with the game. My choice of Moscow universities, in which I wished to continue my education, was therefore limited to those containing chess clubs. The direction was clear: mathematics. A strong chess club under the guidance of IM Iosif Vatnikov (including players like Artur Yusupov and Sergei Dolmatov) ran at the Lomonosov University. Of course, I dreamed about getting into the mechanics and mathematics department of the most prestigious university in the whole USSR, but my mother told me, “As a Jew you have no chance. There is an unofficial percentage standard at the main university of the country for Jews!”. She decided to resolve this matter, and I received a new Russian surname and entry in the Soviet ID document ‘Nationality - Russian’. So now I am known in the chess world as Michal Krasenkow, not Azos, and it is too late to reverse this state of affairs... Still, to my surprise, despite being a top student at school, I failed the oral exam in mathematics! The examiners (I remember their surnames - Makarov and Shvedov) jumped around the whole course and finally declared that I did not deserve more than the score of ‘two’ (‘unsatisfactory’). I was in shock, but colleagues from my first job later explained to me: “Yes, you have a Russian name and Russian nationality inscribed in your papers but your mother is a Jew, so you are not Russian according to the authorities, only RPD (‘Russian by documents’) and subject to all unwritten restrictions.” My mother’s 8 efforts had proved futile. The next university that attracted me was the Institute of the Petrochemical and Gas Industry. The chess club there was directed by my former coach, Victor Lublinsky, who unfortunately died very early, in 1982. So I joined the Department of Applied Mathematics in that institute for evening studies. I moved to full-time studies a year later, before which I worked as a technician, errand boy and computer operator in a design office. Low-productivity work on obsolete computers, a lot of sitting around drinking tea and conversations on various, sometimes risky, topics - this was my first experience of ‘Soviet reality’. The second was to come in a few years’ time. During my studies, chess was put in the background but remained in the field of my activity. Student chess life in Moscow was very intensive. Championship and cup competitions were held amongst the city’s universities. Our team, which consisted of strong players like Igor Glek, Yuri Piskov, Sergei Yanovski and others, won them several times, even overtaking ‘professionals’ from the chess department of the Institute of Physical Culture (Evgeny Bareev, Sergei Kishnev, Alexander Zlochevsky, Aloyzas Kveinys, Valery Yandemirov etc.). In addition, individual championships were held for the student sports association Burevestnik and, of course, there were city championships - quarterfinals, semi-finals and finals. I did not work on chess too intensively, did not play very often and was not very successful. For instance, I never qualified for the Moscow Championship finals, although in 1982 I gained the title of National Master. The situation changed in 1984 when, on the one hand, I came to the conclusion that I lacked the talent for a serious scientific career, and on the other it became clear that after completing my studies I would probably be enlisted into the army as an officer. In the majority of Soviet universities, including ours, students, along with their regular studies, had military training and subsequently, after passing a military camp and exams, they received the rank of lieutenant. Some of them were later enlisted into the army. And again, the unofficial rule was - avoid calling up Jews! As there were very few non-Jews in our group, it was not so easy to fill the required quotas, so RPDs like myself had no chance of avoiding this intake! The only way to make my military service worthwhile was to get into the Army Sports Club and play chess. So the last year of my studies became ‘preparatory’ for a professional chess career. I started playing tournaments more often and more successfully. Games nos 2 and 3 come from that period. In June 1985, I defended my master’s thesis, and in August I was appointed to the army and came to Georgia, to the Transcaucasian Military District. The unit to which I was directed was located near Batumi, the capital of the autonomous republic of Ajara, and was infamous as the worst unit in the entire Armed Forces of the USSR. The mess reigning in the Soviet Army - the dullness of the commanders (the personification of which was my eternally drunken battalion commander, Major S.), ostentation, corruption - a complete denial of all communist slogans - simply frightened me. Once the company in which I commanded a platoon got the order to put three designated armoured personnel carriers on exercise. Of the nine company transporters, only three were in working condition, but different from those specified in the order. The commander of the company decided to put up the three efficient transporters, but to blur their numbers with mud! Soon I was transferred to Tbilisi, to the district sports club. My life as a military chess player began. 9 Within two years, I significantly increased my level of play and achieved a number of good results: 2nd-3rd with Giorgi Giorgadze, behind Elizbar Ubilava, and 1st in the Championship of Georgia in 1986 and 1987 respectively; 2nd after Rustem Dautov in Kaliningrad in 1986 and 2nd-3rd behind Alexei Vyzhmanavin in Tashkent in 1987 in the USSR Armed Forces Championship. This last tournament, then the strongest in my career, involved two grandmasters, both of whom I managed to beat, and can safely be called the ‘future stars tournament’. All of its participants later gained their grandmaster’s epaulettes, among them Vassily Ivanchuk, Alexander Khalifman, Alexander Nenashev (Graf), Rustem Dautov, Alexander Shabalov, Alexander Goldin, Evgeny Pigusov, Alexander Huzman, Igor Glek, Andrei Kharitonov and Leonid Yurtaev. Although I was a ‘hated occupier’, I made many friends amongst Georgian chess players. In 1986 I defended the colours of Georgia at the so-called Spartakiade of the Soviet Union. An interesting situation arose in the last match against Lithuania. A 5-0 win, which seemed quite possible in the middle of the round, would have given us victory in the competition, but we lost 2-3 and came last, in sixth place in the final group! Games 22 and 49 illustrate the Georgian period of my chess career. I returned to Moscow in 1987, but there was no way back to mathematics. For several years I worked as a coach in the Tigran Petrosian Chess Club, but above all I played, and it must be said that the director of the club, Yefim Nuz, created the necessary conditions for that. At the beginning of 1988 I was 3rd= with Alexei Dreev and Alex Shabalov in the so-called Young Masters Tournament, in which the best young players up to the age of 26 from the whole country took part, with the exception of the few grandmasters. Victory in the event was shared by Alex Goldin and Boris Gelfand, and among the participants there were also Khalifman, Vladimir Akopian, Ilya Smirin, Vladimir Epishin, Lembit Oll and Eduardas Rozentalis. Of course all the participants later became grandmasters. And then in March I made my debut in an international tournament, in Budapest. The Soviet Union was a tightly closed country, and foreign travel, even to ‘socialist countries’, was rare. Before that I had been abroad only once, when I took part in a ‘scientific and tourist’ trip to East Germany as a part of a ‘student exchange’ in 1984. But 1988 was the beginning of the opening of the USSR’s borders and mass travel of Soviet chess players, first to Central Europe, then later to the West. Obtaining the title of international master was a mere formality, and the title of grandmaster came unexpectedly smoothly. In the January 1989 rating list I found myself amongst the top hundred in the world with a high (for the time) 2525 rating and became a tasty morsel for many tournament organizers. I easily made a grandmaster norm at the tournament in Ptuj in Slovenia, with more difficulty in Budapest (I had to win my last round game with Black against the Danish IM Carsten Hoi), and was then invited to the tournament which took place in the medieval castle of Lillafured. The tournament was organized specially for the famous Zsuzsa (now Susan) Polgar, to give her the best chance of a grandmaster norm, so some of the players invited were clearly weaker than their ratings indicated. As a result a third and last norm was obtained, not by Zsuzsa, but by me. During that time, I experienced another extraordinary adventure, called ‘rapid chess’, then more often called ‘active chess’. This version of the game had just appeared on the chess scene and immediately 10