*Or: How £27 Bought Me Nothing but Itchy Feet*

Disclaimer

This blog is written in a light-hearted spirit. Any financial decisions regarding tournament entry fees, refunds, or Domino’s pizzas are entirely my own and should not be taken as financial advice. Any references to my chess titles or ratings are purely factual and not an attempt to intimidate small children, tennis parents, or unsuspecting blitz opponents.

It was supposed to happen.
After eight long years without a “proper” chess tournament (we’re ignoring last year’s catastrophic blitz attempt where I managed to play worse than my son’s Lego horse at checkers), I was ready. The UK Blitz qualifier in Bristol was calling my name.

But fate – or more precisely, tennis and work rotas – had other plans.

Our son had a tennis tournament. My wife was working. And yours truly was left holding the fort. So, I bit the bullet, stayed home, and waved goodbye to my glorious comeback.

Did I at least ask for a refund? Of course not. The £27 entry fee still sits in someone else’s bank account, and I’m chalking it up as a charitable donation to British chess. (If anyone asks, I like to think of it as sponsorship.)

The Itch (Not Athlete’s Foot)

So why am I writing this? Because I’ve got the itch. Not the sort that needs cream from the pharmacy, but the sort that screams: you need to play over-the-board chess again.

Online blitz and bullet might scratch the surface, but it’s just not the same. I keep up with the latest theory in correspondence chess, but let’s be honest: the way “real” humans play OTB is often less Stockfish 17.1 and more “Oops, I hung a rook.”

The Correspondence Chess Paradox

Here’s the funny bit: as an International Master (IM) in correspondence chess with an ICCF rating just shy of 2400, I do actually know my theory.

I can tell you what the latest silicon monster thinks is best in some obscure line of the Najdorf, or why the Caro-Kann has mutated yet again.

But knowing what a computer would do and actually facing a live, breathing opponent across the board are two entirely different experiences.

The computer never sneezes on its score sheet, forgets its opening prep, or blunders a queen because it got distracted by the fire alarm test. Humans, on the other hand… well, let’s just say theory often goes out the window after move 10.

So yes, I may have a correspondence IM title, but OTB?

That’s a whole new battlefield.

Next Stop: Barnstaple

And so I had a look at the English Chess Federation (ECF) calendar and spotted something tempting: a Rapid tournament in Barnstaple, North Devon.

– Time control: 25 minutes + 5 seconds per move (from the start, no faffing about).
– Format: 6-round Swiss tournament.
– Players: Maximum 50.

For those unfamiliar, a Swiss pairing system is a magical (and slightly sadistic) way of ensuring that everyone gets to play all the rounds without being knocked out.

You don’t play everyone (unless the field is tiny), but instead you’re paired against someone on the same score as you. Win, and you’ll face another winner. Lose, and you’ll face someone else who lost. It’s like karma… but with pawns.

Money, Money, Money

Here’s the catch.
I can’t just waltz in with my “supporter” ECF membership. No, no, no. I need to upgrade to Gold membership (an extra £22). Add the £15 entry fee and we’re looking at £37 for six games of rapid chess.

In other words, each game will cost me more than a large Domino’s pizza.

But hey – unlike pizza, at least the games won’t leave me bloated. Probably.

The Plan (with a splash of nostalgia, expectation—and humility)

So yes, I’ll upgrade my membership this weekend and register. The only slight mystery is my rating.

– My last ECF grade was 177A (October 2012).
– As for FIDE, there’s at a 2016 4NCL event, though it doesn’t seem to represent an active official grade now.

So, entering the tournament as an “unrated” (or at least ambiguously rated) player again—fun times. What will they slot me in at? Maybe somewhere in the 1600s. Or maybe I’ll surprise everyone and get 1800+.

Either way: my target is simple — show up, play my games, and avoid totally embarrassing blunders. If I manage that, I’ll count it a success.

Most importantly:

I did check with my wife. She is not working that weekend. Which means… I really don’t have an excuse this time.

And with the time control, I might even be able to record a few games and post some analysis here. (Brace yourselves for blunders in HD.)