R.I.P. Emory Tate — My Favorite Opponent

I couldn’t believe it when I got into Facebook this morning and saw a stream of testimonials to Emory Tate. International Master Emory Tate: many times Armed Forces champion, a person full of wit and passion (especially for chess), and a chess player second to none in his imagination and attacking ability.

I’m warning you now, this is going to be a long post, so settle in for a good read. Tate truly died in the saddle: He was playing yesterday in a tournament in San Jose, collapsed in the middle of the game and died, apparently of a heart attack. He was born in the year that I was: 1958. This one really hits home. When Walter Browne died earlier this year, it was a similar shock, but at the same time you could see how frail he was. But this one really came out of nowhere.

To explain what made Tate different from all other top-level masters, I think it might be useful to draw an analogy with table tennis. Years ago, everyone played Ping-Pong with hard rubber paddles, and the name of the game was power. Slam, slam, slam, overcome your opponent with reaction time, speed and bravado. Then the soft rubber paddles came in that allowed players to put a ridiculous amount of spin on the ball, and all of a sudden the game changed completely. The new game was all about craft and guile, and the old-fashioned power players could no longer compete for championships.

That’s what Emory Tate was: an old-fashioned power player. When you get beaten by most International Masters or Grandmasters, you sometimes feel as if you haven’t really had a fair match. They don’t seem to do anything special; they just trick you, or squeeze you to death ever so gently. That wasn’t the way with Emory Tate. When he beat you, you knew you had been beaten. Unfortunately, his style doesn’t win national championships. But it does produce epic, memorable games, and it catches even grandmasters off-guard sometimes. One testimonial I read said that Tate has won 80 games against grandmasters.

I gave a ChessLecture one time about Emory Tate called “My Favorite Opponent,” which he was. I played him five times, with a score of 1 win, 2 losses and 2 draws — a record that I’m proud of. Almost every game was exciting and hard fought, and in almost every game I had chances to win or to draw. That was the thing about Emory. He wasn’t afraid to take risks, even against lower-rated players. So you could catch him sometimes. His style was a good match for mine.

I’d love to show you my win against Emory, but because this is a testimonial, I won’t do that. I want to show you Emory in his element, and the best example of this was a game that we played in Ohio, in the 1996 Cardinal Open.

Position after 23. Bh6. Black to move.

FEN: 1r3rk1/2q3bp/1n4pB/2pPpp2/b1P5/Rp1B3P/1P1Q1PP1/4RNK1 b – – 0 23

Here, rather surprisingly, Rybka says that the position is equal. But as White, I felt that I was barely hanging on. I had just played 23. Bh6 in an attempt to exchange off Black’s dark-squared bishop, which is eyeing my b2 pawn in a most menacing way.

Emory’s next move may not be objectively best, but it is vintage Emory Tate. He is determined to open the diagonal for that bishop, and he absolutely does not care if he has to sacrifice an exchange to do it. He played 23. … e4!? I played 24. Bf4 and he replied 24. … Qb7. And here, like a sucker, I took the bait.

The computer says I should simply retreat my bishop; after 25. Be2! Ra8 26. Ne3 White actually has a 0.5-pawn advantage, according to Rybka. This is why grandmasters (usually) beat Emory. His move … e4 was too impulsive; White has succeeded in blockading the kingside pawns and his previously disorganized pieces are starting to work together nicely. Against a White player with craft and guile, and most importantly the discipline not to take the material, Emory might not have won this game.

But that wasn’t me. For me, the position was all about hard-rubber table tennis. Power versus power. So I took the rook: 25. Bxb8 ed 26. Bd6 Nxc4 27. Qxd3.

Position after 27. Qxd3. Black to move.

FEN: 5rk1/1q4bp/3B2p1/2pP1p2/b1n5/Rp1Q3P/1P3PP1/4RNK1 b – – 0 27

If ever there was an Emory Tate position, this is it. A position of bewildering complexity, with pieces hanging all over the board. Once again, the move that Emory chose did not pass computer scrutiny, although it looks natural enough. Emory, too, was only human — just a better, braver type of human than most of us.

27. … Nxb2? After this move, Rybka says that White equalizes with 28. Qe2! The idea is to get the counterplay on the e-file going as quickly as possible. It turns out that Black cannot save both the exchange and the c-pawn, because if 28. … Rc8 White has the remarkable 29. Qe6+ Kh8 30. Bxc5! Rxc5 31. Rxa4! The weakness of Black’s back rank means that he cannot recapture.

Well, what can I say? I didn’t see it. Most humans wouldn’t see it either. I played the more passive 28. Qb1?, Emory played 28. … Nc4 29. Rxa4 Nxd6, and the advantage swung back in his favor.

Let’s fast-forward to the position where the game was truly decided.

Position after 35. Rxb2. Black to play.

FEN: 1r3bk1/7p/3n2p1/R1pP1p2/8/Q6P/1R1NqPP1/6K1 b – – 0 35

Here it’s Black to play and win. I mean that seriously. Black has one move that, according to Rybka, gives him a four-pawn advantage. Any other move is only equal.

If only Emory had played the right move here, I could present this game as a true Emory Tate brilliancy. But he didn’t. The correct move is 35. … Qe1+! It’s a beautiful little twist. If 36. Nf1 Black wins a rook because White’s queen is overloaded: 36. … Rxb2 37. Qxb2 Qxa5. Or if 36. Kh2, Black wins a rook with a fork: 36. Qe5+! What a sweet little combination out of nowhere!

Instead, Emory played what seemed to be a crushing combination: 35. … Rxb2?? 36. Qxb2 Ne4. It’s curtains for White, right? If you defend the knight, Black is going to checkmate you after … Qxf2+.

The trouble with Emory’s combination is that he’s allowed White too much counterplay. In desperation I played the saving move: 37. Ra8! Qxf2+. And now comes the moment I will ever regret.

Position after 37. … Qxf2+. White to move.

FEN: R4bk1/7p/6p1/2pP1p2/4n3/7P/1Q1N1qP1/6K1 w – – 0 38

Which is the right square for White’s king? h2 or h1? You have ten seconds to decide.

With literally only seconds left to play three moves, I chose the wrong square. I played 38. Kh2?? and threw away a hard-fought draw. The reason this is a blunder is that after 38. … Nxd2! I could not reply 39. Qf6 because of 39. … Nf3+! 40. Kh1 Qg1 mate. If I had played my king to h1, first of all, Nf3 wouldn’t have been check, and secondly my g-pawn wouldn’t have been pinned.

Instead I played 39. Rxf8+ Kxf8 40. Qf6+, but after 40. … Kg8 it’s easy to see that Black’s king can escape the checks by running to h6. I resigned three moves later.

Amazingly, after 38. Kh1!! Black would have had no way to win. (I’ve checked this on the computer, of course.) The basic point is that if Black moves his knight, he has no good defense to Qf6; he has to either checkmate White or else get his queen to h6, which is only good for a draw. And after 38. Kh1 there are no checkmates. Black can’t seem to “lose a tempo” to set up his desired … Nf3+. The other very important point after 38. Kh1 is that if Black plays 38. … Qxd2 39. Qxd2 Nxd2 it’s only a draw because he has to sacrifice his bishop to stop the d-pawn: 40. d6 Kf7 41. d7 Be7 42. d8Q Bxd8 43. Rxd8 =.

What a game! Of course, it’s far from perfect. Tate made significant mistakes on move 27 and on move 35, and in some sense the deciding factor in the game was my time trouble (always my Achilles’ heel). Nevertheless, it’s a beautiful example of Tate’s style of play. In the final analysis he completely deserved to win. If you play this way, putting extreme pressure on your opponent, you will win nine times out of ten — even if “objectively” your opponent could have saved himself.

It’s so hard to believe he’s gone. I’m glad that he didn’t suffer too long. Emory Tate, truly an American classic.