Janette the Jewel in a City of Stone

The IBF’s Asian Grand Prix in Uzbekistan was an interesting curiosity and a memorable backgammon odyssey for those who ventured to Tashkent; an intriguing place, of tremendous breadth, scope, friendliness & culture.  There are countless of these fairly little known cities scattered the world over that most of us will never get to see, and I will always be grateful that backgammon gave me a reason to visit such a magical gem.

My hotel was the honeycombed marvel that is the Hotel Uzbekistan, a great pioneering breakthrough in 1974, and the top hotel of the day, but untroubled by interior designers since.  It takes a Spartan approach to the heating of water or scrambled eggs, the beds are rock hard and the WiFi intermittent, but for about 25 quid a night, I was content in my nook.

The tournament venue was pretty spectacular and the production values incredible, but it could all feel a little oppressive.  Were we welcome to support and watch matches or not?  Where could one stand without getting told off?  I didn’t take a single photo of a position or the action [on very strict instruction], but I saw Raj fire off a position snap, and half expected him to get carted away by the many armed guards patrolling the venue.  In short, although it all felt highly professional, it could also feel a little joyless.  Part of the magic of backgammon is in its humour, colour, farce, and lightness of touch.  We’re not curing cancer here, but sometimes the venue had the vibe of an operating theatre.

The astonishing production values contrasted heavily with the disastrous nature of all things registration, which rarely rose above chaos, confusion and sometimes despair in the six weeks before.  A nigh on hysterical body of men and women – maybe 750 – battled for the 350 spots in the main, which then started 28 short, but the Iran war had a part to play.  Some overland journeys made by the Iranians were inspiring.

Day 1 of registration [I arrived on day 2] sounded like at least three hours of mid-level horror.  To invest so much in the one of the world’s largest carpets and the hundreds of individual cameras for the boards, and the countless other large expenses, and so very little on clerical, seemed like a choice non-sequitur.  I paid online, but when I arrived they demanded cash, as they couldn’t find evidence of payment – because they refused to work on weekends, and there had been a holiday.

The delays for day one of the Main Event were appalling, climbing to over 2 hours at one stage, and the intended round 4 was scrapped.  But as players started to fall, things naturally became smoother.  The first day or so was dominated by Longgammon, a dreadful game, devised by sadists for masochists, and is very dull to watch.  No hitting, blots are points, and both teams go in the same direction.  But the Russians like it a lot and the IBF CEO Mr Kremlev played an exhibition against Mochy and won.

I loved the Wizard of Oz style egg-timer when someone took a break, a great ‘one in the eye’ for the bad manners shown by some in matches when a 5 minute break becomes 20.  The egg-timer became a terrifying race against the unknown, especially when you had to factor in the world’s most ill-equipped toilets [about a 4 minute round trip away] and perhaps a body still adapting to local exotic cuisine.  I once returned to see a ref hovering over my board, stopwatch in hand, threatening goodness knows what.  I had done my best.

I enjoyed the slapstick drama of Geir Pedersen field a shellacking during our match.

“Sunglasses OFF the table!”
“Sorry.”
“Phone OFF the table!”
“Sorry.”
“Lighter OFF the table!”
“Sorry.”
“Water can remain!”
“Thank you.”
“What is this?”
“My snuff.”
“Snuffbox OFF the table!!”

Poor Geir was a bumbling wreck by now and proceeded to drown his gums in globules of snuff.  He was shaking like a leaf to go 2-6, but then the snuff kicked in and I was toast.

Brits Flatter to Deceive

The UK stats for the triple-elimination main were won 32 lost 33, which was a disappointing return.  Both myself and ‘the Packster’ suffered total wipe-outs and others misfired too.  Oli had a marvellous event but got caught up in “Bubble hell”, getting bubbled [the round before the money] no fewer than four times.  He got to 7-1 in the main but then lost twice.  Overall he had a 12-6 return for the big events, plus he had a good run in the super speed.

Pete Heskett also went well in the Main but finally bowed out at 5-3.  However, our heroine was Janette Hodgkinson, who only just made the trip, so flummoxed was she by the registration ordeal.  But she just kept on winning, getting into the top 100, then top 50, then top 20 [19=].  As I highlighted at Dubai ’24, she knows how to whip in a fearless, aggressive cube, and late on ended the runs of the great Hideaki Udea and the legendary Akiko Yazawa.  Incredible really.  And she wasn’t done there, reaching the quarters of the ladies, and placing 3^rd in DMP.  All in then, an 18-6 return for the week for the performance of a lifetime, and some time spent in a darkened room with Uzbeki Inland Revenue to secure safe passage West.

Pete Hodson deserves special menche for going 3-2 up in the Main; and despite a grisly blunder that saw him exit the DMP [Double Match Point] in round 3, uttered one of the week’s great lines.  When his opponent danced on a one point board in that DMP game, he chanted to Pete:

“But you CAN’T cube!”

Quick as a flash, Pete replied,   “But YOU can swear!”

Finally, Raj had a fine run in the Team Event [with Akiko and David Wells] to reach the semi-final.

Minus the Speed, where Jason Pack did well to reach the last 16, and Oli’s above super speed, and the DMP, this is how the Brits fared:

Identity scruple and Mochy drama

This was perhaps the most dramatic match of the week with Mochy playing a fast rising star in the latter stages of the Super Jackpot, aka Masters.  His American opponent plays under at least six pseudonyms, and decided to be Chinese for the day, which does somewhat make a mockery of things, and is a statistician and historian’s nightmare.  What’s to stop the rest of us calling ourselves Charlie Chaplin or Mickey Mouse in competition?  Also, why should all others have opponents who know precisely who we are, how we play, and can adjust their games accordingly.  In the 2^nd round match my opponent saved me from looking lost and said, “we’re over here.”  “How did you recognize me?”  “You won Gibraltar – you’re famous…”  a sweet thing to say, but his game plan can be instantly adjusted; he may have even seen footage and know that I bluff double 8 cubes.  We all adjust our games to opponent strength and reputation, and let no man say otherwise.

Startling climax to a great match

The DMP [double match point] game was a sensation with Blue making his 6 prime and instantly losing it here, with this 31 off the roof.  What is your play?

Blue tried bar/24 4/1 which is one of those “anything but” plays, dropping him from 54 to 44% wins.  The correct move is the natural bar/22 4/3*.

After much more to’ing and fro’ing Mochy burnt his final game clock down from over 4 minutes to 2.7 seconds.  He then had to decide whether to stay or come out with this 65.  He classily came out – which many would have eschewed – but he now has 0.3 seconds to get his hand back to clock.  He took 0.31 for a brutal time-out, admittedly down to 12% in the game.

Mochy then explained how after some 25 years, his body, when low on time, is programmed for a 12 second delay, but here it’s only 10, due to baffle boxes being quicker.  An extremely dramatic moment – something you don’t see much.

Slava the marvel

Many of us recall Slava Pryadkin’s fabulous win in the 2013 World Championships against the great “Trabi” who was becoming somewhat unbeatable over a long Monte Carlo match.  A hugely dedicated player this last some 40 years, and an interesting, exciting final against Artur Muradyan, who all but won the concluding game after picking up two checkers [with 9 of Slava’s checkers borne off], but then made the classic technical blunder of opening up his board prematurely.  One can feel with two checkers caught that you’re home and hosed, but the dice gods are watching.  This poor 54 for Slava doesn’t take off a checker, so he basically needs a 2 from Artur, and then find boxes [66] – which is exactly what happened.  That technical blunder a minute earlier had come home to roost.

Parting thoughts

In summary then, a fine week and there’s stacks here that was positive and of course the facilities were amazing, although the playing room got terribly hot under the bright lights.  There was a lovely resting area, with a huge screen, and fine food and drink laid on.  The commentary and streaming was ok [particularly the fine work of Seb Wilkinson], but unpredictable.  During the crucial round 10 with some huge matches, there was an unexplained 5 hour break in programming.  And plenty of the streaming was Longgammon, ugh.

The update of online playing draws and results was inconsistent and spotty at best, and the refusal to update registration lists in the build-up for periods of 5 days at a time was appalling.  If not for the huge amounts of added money, many would have chucked it in.  But the lure of the filthy lucre kept us hooked and patient, despite many becoming quite frantic.

In short, I think the community would prefer less bells and whistles, and a bit more clerical.  Or in the priceless words of one GM:  “I had a great time but lost everything so fast that I would say, ‘I suspect I spent more time in queues than at the board.‘ ”

Travel arrangements forbade me attending what is described as the most spectacular awards ceremony in living memory:

Herewith some images from Mr Minwalla’s walking tour of Tashkent: