The Queen's Gambit: What Chess Taught Me

Beads of perspiration begin to form on my scalp. The palpitations feel so intense that I imagine they must be audible. I stare across the board at the soon-to-be ex-state champion. The blood has drained from his face. His arms, folded and leaning confidently on the table before before this, have now flopped to his side. He stares into the distance, trying not to betray any emotion and then glances back at the board momentarily. He lifts his head to briefly scan the growing crowd of onlookers, almost as if wishing that no one had noticed the mistake he made. He stops the clock, signs his score-sheet, offers me the briefest of handshakes in resigning the game and then spins his chair to face away from me and the board. Unexpectedly beaten and looking like his world had crumbled in on him - despair.

I had just crushed the ego (a monumental one at that!) of the schoolboy state champion in the final round of the tournament. For all the euphoria welling up inside me, I felt some compassion for the player I had just beaten. He probably was a better, more talented player than me. If we played a series of games, he'd probably have won. Yet, here we were, the roles of victor and vanquished reversed and I knew exactly how he must have been feeling because I had experienced the pain of unexpected defeat - mostly brought on through over-confidence. One mistake in a game that he had played very well right up to that point.

The way the tournament was playing out, we seemed destined to meet in one of the later rounds. I was always conscious of him lurking about during my games in the earlier rounds - watching my pattern of play, the openings I used and the time that it took me to wear opponents down. My style of play was modeled on positional strategy - exploiting small advantages in a position. His was a swashbuckling, attacking style of play. He always had a smirk on his face when watching me (or anyone else) play.

On my part, I had learned to consciously control my emotions when at the chessboard. Don't give any clues away no matter what you felt inside. It helped me think clearly when I was in conscious control. I learned resilience and how to bounce back from mistakes. In this game, I had made a mistake early on - not fatal, but enough to give me a very uncomfortable ride. He knew it, and smirked when I made that mistake. I remembered reading somewhere that 'the mark of a good player is that when he has made a mistake, he strengthens his resolve and makes it as difficult as possible for his opponent to exploit that advantage.'

The truth is, I felt a degree of trepidation, going into that final round, knowing that I was playing the defending champion. He must have sensed that and his confidence showed: he played an opening - the Caro-Kann Defence - that I had built a reputation on. This was his way of taunting me psychologically: 'I'm prepared to play YOUR game and still beat you.'

So yes, I learnt as well not to respect reputations too much. That if you focus on the stuff that you're good at instead of being in awe of what your opponent has, you probably have a better chance of success.

My first experience of an all-consuming passion was chess. Sure, I learnt to think strategically, sure it helped me recognise patterns and make connections between things and events but I learnt, from the age of 8, what it means to be passionate about something.

But more than all that, when I look back now, I learnt about emotions - both in myself and in others. It is possible, I know, to be both competitive and compassionate. You understand why winning means everything to some people and the devastation that losing a game brings to the same. So too how prowess at chess can compensate for social awkwardness??

Watching The Queen's Gambit brought a flood of memories back - the palpable excitement and anxiety of entering a tournament hall, the smell of wooden chess pieces spilling out of a box, clocking eye contact with the player you're drawn against, feeling the pressure of a crowd around you when you're locked in battle with a higher ranked player, the ticking of chess clocks at the start of play, the irritating little tics that some players have..... it's a full on sensory experience. Not once, in all that silence, did I hear myself breathe.

Pete Pereira has crafted and delivered leadership, team and organisational culture change solutions for the the past 18 years. He has also created a suite of assessment tools around leadership, job design and trust.