A Giant slain, some horror sickos, and a BG world record

After a 10 year hiatus from tournament play, Will Cockerell returned to the fray with a wild ride at the Merit International Open, Kyrenia, Northern Cyprus

After several years of no backgammon at all, I returned to play during Covid via the BG heroin that is Backgammon Galaxy. It’s not for everyone, but 40,000 players in 2020 has become 120,000 now. I hover around the 1,000 mark in the rankings, but I know the top 500 is “where it’s at”. I thought about Monte Carlo in July, but my game was in a mess and the costs so prohibitive. But Cyprus in the off-season, at an all you can eat and drink, wonderful hotel? Now that’s value.

I naively flew into Paphos which is too far away, and had a hideous 6 hour transfer to the hotel, where I learned all about the occupied, stolen land that the two sides dispute. I had a fun practice match with UK prodigy Ollie Squire taking a commercial break from his maths studies at Durham. He is top 100 on Galaxy; a superb achievement for one so young. Ollie and I then ganged up on Martin Barkwill and nicked him. I had my first win of the week.

Tournament day dawned and I indulged in a 2 hour slugfest with Yankee high roller Brandon Macklin who’d recently had a high-stakes all-nighter with my roomie Chris Rogers and narrowly edged him – so no slouch. We played an absurd 22 games, which indicates caginess from both, before I found myself in this encouraging position at DMP. Maybe I have 97% here? But I was unable to navigate that pesky 3%… I exited the playing room and hurled myself from the rocks into the Mediterranean below. As I furiously thrashed around for some 40 minutes, I questioned every life choice made till now. I may have been unlucky against Brandon, but I also knew I hadn’t been good enough: far too anxious, especially in the face of his stern demeanour. He particularly disliked my various ways of communicating a pass: “Super game,” “Well played,” “Incredible”, “Nope,” “Blimey” & “this is a nightmare”, as I’d reach to turn over the scoreboard, were met with [an increasingly frustrated], “do you mean PASS?”

You meet BG legends at these events and in Justin Bor in the second chance I had found the doubles partner of the great John Rockwell. They donned superb Marilyn Monroe shirts for the event. John has the suave demeanour of someone who’s hung out with Marilyn so I asked just that, and his response was the perfect mic drop really: “oh sure, I was great friends with Tony Curtis from my days at the Playboy Mansion, so I visited him on set for Some Like It Hot and got to know Marilyn.” It’s actually a quadruple mic drop that, isn’t it.

Justin and I had a wonderful game, and at 5-7 to 9 I was all but certain to gammon him for match, but he hit the last gasp shot amongst much mirth and hilarity from our little crowd. It had turned into a fun exhibition match, with Justin riffing off my pithy shtick, egged on by the ever droll Malcolm Robertson.

My interest in the Main was over – it could be a long three days incoming. I jumped into a Speedgammon event and promptly drew perhaps the greatest BG prodigy of all time in Zdenek Zizka. The dice acrobatics required are swift and severe for speedgammon. 10 seconds per go and a time bank of 120 seconds. Match to 5. After two games I was 3-0 up. That was the good news. ZZ had burned through 1 second, and I had burnt 110. And that was going as fast as I could… He then promptly decided to really mess with me and launched into a 3,4,5,7,9 back game, which totally whamboozled me, and to say I “got hit”, would be an understatement.

This is where we ended up about 60 rolls later, with me hanging onto those 10 seconds for dear life:

It’s not a comfortable spot, but they don’t call me “Back-game Billy” for nothing, and I rolled that baby home to whitewash the great man.

I lost the next and stupidly entered the “Superspeed” (7 secs per roll and 30 secs in the bank). This is a minor farce and is all about ensuring your dice don’t roll properly. If they do you’re buggered, because there simply isn’t then time to play as well. I got to 4-0 and was about to bear off my final men for the win, when my opponent pointed to the clock. I thought I still had 6 seconds left, but something had gone awry and I was out of gas.

Nicky Check got stood up by John Hurst for the doubles as JH missed his flight. Nicky tried to entice me, but didn’t sell it well as he was still in the Second Chance so I could well be on my own. I told him I’d think about it. I saw a young lady, Josie Bichler, who had been almost certain to take a huge lead vs my old comrade Karsten Bredahl but had suffered a horror swing and then defeat. Like me, she was staring down the barrel of a rather empty few days. We sat down for some heads-up money play and enjoyed an entertaining romp, 13-10 to her. 30 bucks well spent. We got along well and had some good laughs. A pleasant connection made. We shook hands and perhaps that was to be our story.

What to do… what to do…?

But Nicky’s offer was playing on my mind… were we really going to be an effective pair? Nicky bemoans not being able to crack Galaxy’s top 5,000. Josie plays off 5. I felt that Nicky was going to find the lady’s figure hard to match, so I propositioned Josie by the pool. I had shown her my wares for 2 hours, and she gave me a piercing Heidelberg stare weighing up if she had seen enough in that quasi job interview. She had, but wanted an edge on entry and winnings. Done. I was back in play. We went and got smashed to prepare. She also beat me again in a 3 pointer, so I suggested hypergammon. That’s two checkers, not 15. She beat me at that too. I was running up quite the little tab to this friendly creature. She in turn was becoming more and more anxious I never seemed to have any money. I told her, yes, I was surprised one of my pals had lugged over 7 grand from UK. “Yes, and you don’t even have 7 euros,” chided Josie. I checked. I didn’t even have 7 cents.

The campaign begins

We played a solid first round match against Tim Parfitt and Mike Grabsky. The intensity was deep and Tim was watching how I threw like a hawk and pounced with firm words when my dice cup kissed the playing surface. Never been called on that before, and it played havoc with my already dodgy motor skills. We agreed that Josie should do the driving.

Our next oppos were a little weak and I was hugely averse to us shipping any early or easy cubes. This obviously shot up our PR but we got there. In the next we clashed with real quality in Raiabi and Amiri, the latter close to grandmaster status. They put us under terrible pressure and the first time we ever led was to go 6-4. They make gorgeous, hand-crafted dice cups, and the next day in a gesture of supreme comradeship, they presented Josie and I with gratis ones of our choice. Simply a beautiful gesture. Here’s mine:

 

First fisticuffs

I thought we were done for the day, but had to play round four through to nearly 1am. We ground out a careful 4-0 lead versus Vilmaz and Bahgivan and then took a hairy take with around five back. There was a major backgame in the offing, but I’ve no idea if it’s ok to do that with such a lead. Josie was a bit iffy about it too. But we committed to the 1,3 until I suddenly had a chance of the 3,4, which is weaker but saves a lot of gammons. We got the last gasp shot, and Josie and I had our first major fight in the bear-off. What a superb position this is. Can you find the 11 play?

I saw only monsters with two off the ace and picking and passing from the 4, while Josie was sure. But I simply couldn’t allow it. I just knew we’d get hit with that horrid distribution and begged to rip 3. We did and you guessed the rest, they zap 63 65 44 and nick the race. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Err, try misplaying a crucial 11. Some top players in the world also make my play but they’re wrong 81.2 to 82.7%. Josie was in a mildly simmering rage for the rest of the match which we managed to close out, and as teammates coming apart at the seams, we hit the bar in earnest. With the bar closing, Josie’s rising irritation with me saw her say: “I’m going to need more alchohol to continue this conversation”. She did a deal with the bar staff… one last prosecco, and a half pint of, er, Prosecco.

I mused to Josie that we’d had a pretty special 36 hours since connecting after her Bredahl loss. How was she finding the whole Will Cockerell experience? She gazed at me and launched in: “I find you quite entertaining, but most of all I find you quite annoying… You’re overly dramatic… you have a nervous manner, you make me anxious at the board, you overthink, you seek affirmation which I am in no position to give, you NEVER have any cash, and you misplay crucial 11s.”

With these howitzers I headed off for words of comfort from my nesting mate Chris, and pledged to square my 20 euro hypergammon debt to her, by sparrow’s chirp.

Super Saturday!

Efim Liberman came to the table and I knew at once he’d give us trouble. There was 50 years of backgammon in that wise, old frame and although minus his partner Mr Asraff (playing the super jackpot), he woudn’t be freaked out by the gathering jeopardy of round 5, and he’d show these two young pucks how it’s done. Josie was in full combat mode and tried to blitz Efim out of North Cyprus. She rained hellfire, game after game. We were overgilding the lily. Efim stared across and shook his head gravely: “Super. Aggressive. Guys…” But after a fraught hour we had 5-2. Asraff rocked up for a brutal 10 minute romp in between super jackpot matches. It was memorable stuff. They had a spectacular row about shipping in a [correct] early cube. Apparently the day before there had been a similar one which climaxed in a hard punch to the kidneys – from old man to young. The cube came in, we turned the game, and were through after some pretty great rolls.

Hung, drawn, but Quartered

We got another solo act in Taschen who plays a firm, aggressive game. Our two minds were always going to be a lot for him to handle, but we were now arguing more then ever, and paranoia was taking hold. The games were hideously tense and we were faced with that always scary problem of hitting on the ace with a 5 point board to give him a double hitting 61 and blots strewn in the outfield for gammon. We agonised and of course it’s right. When we finally made the play, he bellowed in laughter and antagonistic hectoring to say (in whatever language it was): “what the hell were you thinking about? Stop being total cretins and get on with the game!” We missed the gammon ourselves but at 6-2 were looking good. He needed 44 55 or 66 in the next to save the match in the race and found the 55. Ugh. He let out a huge bellow – this guy was pretty scary, a cross between Kojak and Bruce Willis. In the next, another close race and it ended with Taschen needing to avoid the ace for DMP. Out popped 21, oh sweet relief.

Wiping out an entire family

Semis. Deals being made now with a nice cash prize up for grabs. The charming Gene Eydelman sat down to watch, politely requesting we don’t evaporate his entire family. We’d taken care of his uncle; now for his brother: Vlad Eydelman; with Roman Friedman, who made for a courteous and amusing pair, and a match played in great spirit.

It was yet another long, super intense grind, and we were behind for a while, but in a groove now and had our modus operandi: keep them out there, wear them down, examine every facet of their game, no premature cubes, no deep takes, death by 1,000 cuts. We were looking great to roll it home, but then I danced seven times on a 4 point board, incluing a weird 43 44 44 44 sequence. Gammons for them up to circa 50% would be for a grim 5-6 Crawford. I finally found an entering ace, but desperately needed an 8 to hit and survive. 44 would escape from the ace, hit and cover. Out it came.

At the end, Gene commended us both for being super calm and cool over the checkers, but said we should be thankful his family are not Sicilian. I think with the previous night’s shellacking I’d come into the day somewhat chastened, and although I had half an eye on the match, I also had half an eye on what on earth I was going to tell my therapist about the character defects that Josie had flagged. It may have taken the wind out of my sails, but could well have helped my backgammon.

A final Waltz

Onto the final and we had the Turks Okal and Ozson; who had disposed of Gaz Owen and his brother in a freakshow. We had avoided about 32 Grandmasters which is pretty lucky, but hey, we were beating teams who had slain them so they can’t all have been poor. The final – now to 9 – was another slugfest from the outset. Josie really wanted to pass for 1-3, but I was convinced we had a take as they had so much work to do. I talked her round and we turned the game a few rolls later and cashed for 3-2 which looks an awful lot better than 1-3. We nicked points here and there and built to a 6-2 lead. We took a break. “Trade the points from here, lass, trade the points…”

Encroaching chaos

However, the match soon descended into chaos as Josie and I started to fight terribly. We had not been gammoned in the tournament and there was no way I was going to allow that now. But Josie is one of the most aggressive blitzers on the planet and started scaring the life out of me. One blitzing play saw about five blots strewn about like crack candy, and no anchor. But we could make the 20 instead with a sweet 54 off the roof. Well, I was driving and made the play despite her howls of wrath. 5 minutes later we maybe had 55% and no gammon threat against. “Feeling better?” I asked. “I just don’t see how you’re planning to win the game,” she said. I gently pointed out three ways: priming, holding and racing… but sorry if I hadn’t quite committed to one yet. Our personal relationship was now at an all-time low and there’s no question the previous night’s 3am prosecco & vodka-soaked bender was a bad idea. Well, you can guess the rest, it turned into an exciting race in which we had the edge but their 66 killed us. Steam was coming out of my partner and it was similar stuff in the next for 6-5. Yikes. I wasn’t sure who I was more scared of, their team or mine.

Pandemonium to Paradise

Matters were coming to the boil and a large crowd had gathered. In yet another tense game I could either prime or blitz with 11. “Blitz!” came the command. On the way to the blitz from the 6 point I brought my men down to the 5. Just seeing the potential horror of even considering the prime was too much for Josie, who projectile vomited over the table (not board). A slight over-reaction I felt, but fresh tablecloths were ordered, we decamped to a new spot, and I did the gentlemanly thing and blitzed (which I may well have done anyway – I was just lookin’). 7-5 now, and we dominated the next and pursued an undoubled gammon which went up to about 95% before I became way too cautious and let them back in with a breath of hope. Suddenly they needed a 33 or above to save it. We’d seen that twice already in our run… it wasn’t there and we were home.

A Road Less Travelled

I think our tournament was a nice example of playing the opponents not the checkers and trying to reign in Josie’s yearning to play for correctness at all times – which you’ll get with Ralph Jonas as your mentor – for sure an all-time doyen of the game. Also, we were massively altering checkers when protecting leads. She was kind enough to say I completely carried her in the final, and I think one of the secrets to our success what that the more our personal friction grew, the better, broader and more dangerous our backgammon became. You can’t be all lovey-dovey as partners. There has to be an edginess and a contrast in styles to see the whole picture, and a willingness to argue, wind down the clock, and even fall-out. Perhaps we over did that a tad, but we drew the line at the kidney punch (see above).

Josie is quite a bit stronger than me, but has blind spots (don’t we all) that were glaring to me, and where I could step in. It meant for a really solid team which had most bases covered, and we departed as cordial acquaintances and agreed ‘never say never’ to the future. But my feeling is to leave it as is – we broke the world record for winning the largest doubles tournament of all time (185 teams). It’s enough.

And back to my own personal debacle

I had to coach my opponent through our Last Chance match, so great was his confusion, but forgot to stop short of coaching him through the finish line. Doh. In one moment I rolled 41 to get off the gammon, but I didn’t do it. I slotted the three with the ace instead of peeling. Just a bizarre out-of-body experience that happens one in 25,000 times. Here’s Chris Bray’s moment of madness in the 3rd round of the main. He overlooked the fly shot here with 52 which would be 10-6 or even 12-6. Worse still, he came out to the bar. He was cubed out moments later, lost the match and the promised land of Round 4 and some serious value was gone.

In reflection

All in all, the week was a wonderful experience. It was great to play and defeat Zizka in an absorbing struggle; there were four truly shocking losses, and for sure I need to study much harder to justify a return to such a theatre of dreams. As for Monte Carlo, with expenses like that? Goodness, when will they take the World Championships on the road? Whisper it gently but why should the community be price-gouged when there are these wonderful, pioneering tournaments springing up offering such sensational value. This was real backgammon. Affordable if you lose, and as the legendary Karen Davis said when I chatted with her at the bus stop: “I had fun! That’s what you say when you lose isn’t it?” And I’d say most of the 550 players would concur.