So, Kasparov (the world's greatest chess champion) has gone and written the book I wanted to write. 
On the back page, the blurb says:
"As Sun-Tzu distilled the secrets of the art of war, and Machiavelli unveiled the lessons to be learned from courtly intrigue, Kasparov - a player whose record is likely never to be rivalled - reveals how and why the game of chess is a fitting and powerful teacher of how to be prepared for, and how to win in, even the most competitive situations."
Kasparov became world champion in 1985 at the age of 22 - the youngest ever. He remained champion until about a few years ago, when he lost to his former student Kramnik. His reign as champion is one of the longest. More than that, chess experts believe Kasparov would have probably beaten any of the great champions of the past, if they were still alive: Steinitz, Morphy, Alekhine, Tal, Fischer, Capablanca, ... ah, the list of the greats.
It is Karpov who Kasparov beat to become world champion. Karpov struggled to regain the title for a few years; Kasparov had to defeat him a few times before he gave up. It is no surprise that Kasparov credits Karpov with making him.
"It wouldn't have been possible for me to stay at the top for so long without the education Karpov gave me about my own game and my own weaknesses. Not just revealing to me the weaknesses, but the importance of finding them for myself."
The genius of the book, to me, is not in its concept, or his many chess tales and words of wisdom, it is about the old discovery I made back when I was at Ain Shams University, Cairo: the cleverest do not usually link their success to their style or attributes; they recognise that success comes in many different forms; they recognise the weaknesses of their attributes and style; they just focus on beating the competition. That is the true test for them. Among the best, competition rests on humility.
Kasparov is very frank about his shortcomings, about separating his personal style from excellence in chess. He is a dynamic, attacking player; yet he praises to the sky other champions whose personal style was to build up their defences, let you attack them, and then proceed to asphyxiate you. Kasparov took risks; yet he made the grade by struggling hard to beat Karpov, who was a renowned "accumulate small advantages" type player.
How did I come to work so hard? I worked hard because my mother taught me to. [!!!]
How many moves ahead did I see? It depended on the position.
What went on in my mind during a game? I tried to recall my preparation and to calculate variations.
Did I have a photographic memory? My memory was good, but not photographic.
What did I eat? A heavy lunch of smoked salmon, steak and tonic water before each game.
I learnt from this book that there IS something called chess talent.
"It is clear to me I would have not achieved such success at anything other than chess. The game came to me naturally, its requirements fitting my talents like a glove."
I always thought chess was such a complex game that it would be impossible for someone to be born with an innate ability for it. But, it turned out, there are children of six who display an intuitive understanding of the game and excel in it easily. Kasparov was one of them. Once his natural aptitude was discovered, his father sent him for chess schooling. These child prodigies are usually unstoppable until about 15, by which time they have usually become grandmasters. But going from the tens of thousands of grandmasters to champion is another story.
It was nice to have Kasparov reinforce something I had worked out for myself: the importance of every little decision. For Kasparov, chess is a game of decisions: You have many options, so why did you go for this particular move?
He recalls coaching a 14 year old prodigy. At some point, Kasparov stops the boy, taps on a pawn, and asks him why he'd just pushed it one square down. "Because in the game between grandmasters X and Y, in 1964 at Copenhagen, X was in a very similar position to mine, and he moved his pawn forward. All the analysts said it was the best move". Kasparov set him straight. He was sympathetic though; he remembered himself as a 12 year old sitting across from former champ Bottvinik, a stern but great teacher, who had inculcated in him that "just because you have seen grandmaster X do this move, you must not do it, tell me, _WHY_ are you doing it."
I discovered the book about a month ago; and I am still absorbing it slowly. Like chess, the book is dense with possibilities, and it requires reflection.
I could have gone into a sulk. After all, I wanted to write a similar book to this. But seriously, who am I to complain if Kasparov decides to write the book for me?
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