If a king falls in a chess match, and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?
Earlier this month, Seth Stevenson masterfully wrote about the greatest feat in modern chess history: Brooklyn-born Fabiano Caruana (pictured) winning seven straight games and tying three more against top 10 opponents, including world champion Magnus Carlsen.
If you have even a passing interest in chess, game theory, some of the world’s brightest minds, cat fights, and historic performances, I implore you to read it.
Writes Stevenson: “At one point during the Sinquefield Cup, I was watching from a quiet viewing lounge on the first floor of the chess club. I glanced over to my left and saw a man sitting alone. It was Rex Sinquefield. I tried to make conversation, but he politely brushed me off. He was utterly focused on watching Caruana play. An orphan turned plutocrat, now transformed back into a little boy watching his favorite game.
“I suddenly realized that he’d created this institution, funded this tournament, flown these grandmasters here and housed them, out of the purest, simplest love imaginable. He may not have lured droves of spectators to the event, and may not have reignited the world’s love affair with chess. But for two weeks at least, he helped the world’s most storied game flourish as it once had, with dedicated fans witnessing an incandescent burst of greatness that seemed to come from nowhere.”