Genius as a curse: Bobby Fischer

I recently finished watching the series “A Queen’s Gambit” on Netflix. I was pleasantly surprised it had nothing to do with British royalty, but instead revolved around the game of chess. I haven’t played chess in over twenty years, but it brought back pleasant memories of playing the game when I was younger.

As I am prone to do, thinking about the game of chess got me thinking. Suddenly I found myself going down a rabbit hole. I remembered watching the movie “Searching for Bobby Fischer” about a young child who found at a very early age that he had a gift for playing chess. I then began researching Bobby Fischer, the man himself. I had always known the basics of who he was. I knew that he was an American chess player who rose up the ranks quickly at a young age. He was a prodigy. He became a U.S. champion who threatened to challenge the Russian dominance of the game. I knew he beat a world champion Russian player in the early 70’s, only to disappear from sight at the peak of his success for decades until re-emerging in the 1990’s (1992) to play a rematch against the same player he beat in the famous 1970's (1972) match. After winning the rematch, he disappeared again. I knew nothing of his controversial political stances or his misogynist and anti-Semitic views. I wish I didn’t. He would have been much more of an inspirational figure to me.

All that is just a back story for the purpose of this article. The thing that got me thinking was his last words before he died. The only person by his bedside when Fischer died at the age of 64 in 2008 was a psychiatrist (not his own). According to this psychiatrist, Fischer’s last words were, “Nothing is as healing as the human touch.”

What? Where did that come from? Fischer was famous for being a recluse. His passion and sole focus in life was chess. It appeared he had time for nothing else. He hated publicity. He hated the media. He hated being out in public. That is what made these final words seem so very out of character.

I was stunned. I wasn’t shocked by the statement, because I totally agree with it and have thought it for the longest time. I was shocked by the person who said it. But should I have been?

Many times it is the thing that people don’t have that they long for, that they are desperate for. I understand that Fischer was married at some point and did have a child. So it is not like he was hiding in a monastery all those years. But the prevailing belief was he was hidden away, alone, in a cabin deep in the woods somewhere, surrounded by chess boards and books.

I went out and bought a biography on Fischer, "End Game" by Frank Brady. I was particularly fascinated by his childhood and young adulthood. And it really got me thinking.

As a young child, Fischer became obsessed with the game of chess. His mother became so concerned that Fischer did nothing else but play or think about chess that she brought him to a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist reassured her that there were things far worse than chess that the child could become addicted to. But that got me thinking of the adage that too much of anything is a bad thing. Even chess. His obsession with the game stunted his growth, socially, and Fischer grew up uncomfortable and awkward interacting with other people. He also became very much a diva - unwilling to play in games unless everything from the lighting, to the feel of the chess pieces, to the comfort of his chair, to the room temperature were to his satisfaction.

After easily conquering his American competition, Fischer struggled in his first encounters with his Russian counterparts - probably the first time he had faced any kind of adversity, and defeat, at the game he was so obsessed with. After losing his first game (they were scheduled to play twenty-four games) with world champion Boris Spassky in the famous 1972 match, Fischer didn't show up for the second game, claiming the TV cameras were making too much noise among other things. Fischer only agreed to play the third game in a back room, away from the main stage, and away from all spectators and TV cameras.

Fischer went on to finish the match against Spassky and made a stunning comeback to become world champion. Fischer became an American hero. Then he disappeared.

Fischer is a fascinating psychological study in so many ways. Did his obsession with chess make him not only socially inadequate, but did it also drive him insane? Did his easy, early success make him fear to play anymore, and possibly lose, when he became challenged by worthy adversaries in the Russians? Fischer did not appear to defend his title in 1975 (the world championship was played every three years) and lost the title by default. Yet all the while Fischer proclaimed himself the best chess player in the world. When he played in his 1992 rematch with Spassky, both players were considered past their primes and the match was considered an exhibition, yet Fischer insisted that the match would be to determine the world champion.

How does any of this relate to me? By no means do I consider myself a genius like Fischer (he supposedly had an IQ of 181. Albert Einstein's was 180 by comparison). I can, however, relate to his social anxiety, and perhaps even performance anxiety. I, too, had high expectations put on me by my father. I could come home with a report card with four A's and one A- and my father would berate me about the one A-. I was the smartest kid in my grade up to 7th grade. I was also the best athlete. But I was by no means popular and I didn't have many friends. I didn't have time for friends. If I wasn't attending CCD on Sundays or Portuguese school at the local Portuguese social club two hours per day, three days per week, I was at home studying.

Everything was pretty easy for me athletically and academically until middle school when a couple more school districts combined. Then, high school? Now we had all the students from the entire town in one place. I went from being a big fish in a small pond to a small fish in a big pond. Looking back now, it affected me more than I realized at the time. Now, not only was I socially behind, whatever confidence I may have had was shattered. And I withdrew more and more from people, beginning my lifelong trend of fleeing, rather than fighting.

The obvious comparison with Fischer would be while Fischer was playing only Americans, he was the king. When he went onto the world stage and players of all countries were brought together, things weren't as easy. After barely beating Spassky in 1972, he refused to ever play again until he needed the money in 1992. Was he afraid he was going to lose more often? Did the thought of losing become unacceptable? Take his chess dominance away from him, then who was he? Chess was his whole life. It defined him. If he started losing at chess, would that define him as a loser?

On the flip side, was Fischer afraid of becoming the best and all the attention that came with it? All he wanted to do was play chess, preferably alone in a back room or a basement. He didn't want to do interviews on TV with Johnny Carson. He didn't want to make commercials. He didn't want to do book signings. He just wanted to play chess.

In some respects, I am, or I became, like that. Again, I never professed to be the greatest at anything, but I was pretty darn good at a lot of things. Jack of all trades, master of none applies to me academically and athletically. But looking back now, I don't think I put in the work necessary to become the very best at anything because I was afraid of being the best. I don't like being in the spotlight. The brighter the light, the more revealing the flaws.

Finally, the story of Bobby Fischer got me thinking about how in order to become the very best at something, one has to sacrifice many things, including sometimes your sanity. In contemporary terms, Tom Brady is considered the greatest quarterback in NFL history. But what did he sacrifice? Many could argue, including Gisele, that his obsession with football cost him his marriage to a supermodel wife.

The same goes for Tiger Woods who was well on his way to becoming the greatest golfer of all time. Look up Larry Bird, the Boston Celtics' legend, and the absent relationship he had with his daughter during his playing days. You can look at any number of child actors who turned to drugs and alcohol as young adults because they couldn't handle the fame and success they had at an early age. Examples are everywhere of people who dedicated everything to their craft, only to see their personal lives fall apart.

I think we are better off simplifying our lives and being happy with success in our personal lives, and focusing on our day-to-day life and our friends, family, and support groups. Be happy in our small ponds.