Playboy Interview: Garry Kasparov

Chess is a strange, strange game. It's played on nothing more complicated than a regular checkerboard. A child can learn the movement of the pieces in a few minutes and the full rules of the game (a good deal simpler than, say, Monopoly) within an hour. The object of the game is as straightforward as football, kick the can or capture the flag: two armies, one black, one white, each trying to beat the other. Nothing to it.

Nothing to it, but just start trying to consider all the moves and the countermoves that will enable your army to beat the other guy's. The. complexities go spinning off into mathematical infinity. One baffled mathematician estimated the number of possible moves and combinations in the average chess game as roughly equal to all the atoms in the universe.

Chess is and will always be the king, the emperor, the noblest of all games. Neither bridge nor go, nor Mastermind nor any of the fads will ever be able to supplant it. The skills required in chess--art, science and war--have fascinated and maddened great minds since its obscure invention in India (some say Persia) in the Sixth or Seventh Century. Napoleon, Castro, Lenin and a host of other, more savory figures of history were chess players, and doubtless many of them took inspiration for their geopolitical policies from the game itself.

Even played strictly on a board, however, chess can prove dangerous to the player who becomes addicted. Tales of chess-induced insanity are endless. America's Paul Morphy swept through the game like a firestorm in the mid--19th Century, easily wiping out everyone who stood in his path, then quit at the height of his glory and ended his days wandering the streets of New Orleans, mumbling to himself. Prague's Wilhelm Steinitz, a world champion, tried to get in touch with God and challenge Him to games, offering Him odds of pawn and move (the black king's bishop pawn is removed from the board; white makes the first two moves). When some well-intentioned doctor at the famous Bedlam madhouse thought it would be good therapy for his inmates to play a chess match, he issued a challenge to the Oxford University team. Guess who won? Bobby Fischer, the genius from Brooklyn, perhaps the greatest chess player ever, smashed all his opponents, as Morphy had, with contemptuous ease. But after a short reign as world champion in 1972, he simply went off to California and hid. He hasn't played chess since and hasn't come out of hiding. Fischer is to chess what Howard Hughes was to aeronautics.

Since 1985, the chess champion of the world has been a muscular, darkly handsome Soviet named Garry Kasparov. Among his more dazzling accomplishments may be the fact that he is so resoundingly sane. Half-Armenian and half-Jewish (born Garri Weinshtein, he took his mother's maiden name after his father died when he was seven), Kasparov was born and raised in the Caspian seaport city of Baku, where they take highgrade crude oil from the seabed and black caviar from the bellies of sturgeon. He began playing serious chess at the age of six and today, 20 years later, is seriously challenging Fischer's reputation as the strongest player in history. Some say he's already there. One English critic calls him the Napoleon of chess and another grand master, who had the sobering experience of playing against him, "a monster with a hundred eyes who sees everything."

Kasparov, the swarthy southerner, took the title away from Anatoly Karpov, a squeaky-voiced defensive genius who had inherited the title left vacant when Fischer disappeared into the mists of Pasadena. Karpov was just the kind of champion that Soviet rulers of the Brezhnev era wanted: well behaved, obedient, a party member with pure Russian genes and a holder of the Order of Lenin. And for several years, he seemed unbeatable; then along came young Kasparov, knocking over his opponents like bowling pins in every elimination match until he sat down to face Karpov in 1984. It was fire against ice. Vastly more experienced, Karpov took a huge early lead by playing parry and thrust to Kasparov's fervent attacks; but the boy from Baku clawed his way back into contention in what was to become the longest and most exhausting championship match in history--more than five months. Panicked, the Soviet chess authorities leaned on the president of the International Chess Federation and persuaded him to simply cancel the rest of the match. White with fury, Kasparov swore revenge. He got it the following autumn, when he clobbered Karpov and became, at 22, the youngest champion ever.

Ever since, the Soviet authorities have been trying to figure out how to deal with their new national sensation. On the one hand, he is terrific propaganda material for the superiority of the Soviet chess machine; on the other, he is an outspoken opponent of the Marxist-Leninist system. He is also a permanent headache to the Soviet sports establishment, which had always treated its "amateur" athletes like indentured labor, keeping 99 percent of their winnings. Kasparov appeared and announced that he was keeping all his money. Now other top Soviet athletes--hockey and basketball players and tennis stars--are following his lead.

It was at this turning point in the history of both chess and Soviet athletics that Playboy sent Rudolph Chelminski, a veteran foreign correspondent who has owned three chess computers--and smashed two because they usually beat him--to fly to Baku and meet Kasparov at his training camp. His report:

"Garry Kasparov is the most famous citizen of Baku. His car is equally celebrated. The blue Mercedes that he sends to the airport to meet visiting businessmen (deals with the West), chess analysts (the champion's sparring partners) and journalists (he is one of the U.S.S.R.'s few authentic stars) covers the 25 miles to his seaside training camp at just a hair under the speed of light, driving all the lesser herds of Volgas and Zhigulis and Moskviches into the gutters at the imperious sound of the horn operated nonstop by his driver, Kolya.

"The training camp, or sanatori, as it is officially billed at the entrance, is a sprawling collection of low, motel-style buildings facing the Caspian and reserved for the families of the privileged rich. The Kasparov clan--his wife, Masha, his mother, Klara, his two resident chess analysts and his friend and general factotum Kadjar--occupies a large six-bedroom suite spanning the entire top floor of a concrete structure. The champ's computers are in a room by themselves (he has a data base covering all the important recent games of his rivals). The living room is filled with a collection of Western gear brought back from his travels: TV set, VCR, tape recorders, portable phone, electric kettle, tea machine, the works. And over by the balcony, in front of a big thronelike chair, are his tools: a single chessboard and the 32 Staunton-pattern pieces that go with it.

"In the four days I spent with the Kasparovs, the chess set saw a fair amount of play--cousins and friends dropping by, Kadjar in his spare time (he wields a mean bishop), miscellaneous demonstration positions--but never once did I see Garry sit down and seriously push a pawn. It was only logical; after all--who in hell could give him any competition? It would be like sending Nolan Ryan up against little-leaguers.

"For the champion of a sport that has been marked by so many eccentrics and dingdongs, Garry comes across as a remarkably sane and well-balanced guy. Fast-talking (his English is excellent), overflowing with energy and ideas, built like a middleweight fighter, he is a knot of passionate intensity waiting to explode. Since he doesn't smoke, drink nor indulge in any drugs ('What for';" he asked), he releases his energy in physical activities, swimming often in the Caspian and taking high-speed walks around Baku. At a match, of course, he releases his energy in more concentrated form. Watch Kasparov when he walks out onto the stage, sits down and stares at the board: You can almost see the smoke curling out of his nostrils, bright little flames dancing at the corners of his mouth, laser beams flashing from his eyes. 'The ogre' the other chess players call him, and I could see why after a few hours of conversation. He's really an extremely friendly and bright young man, but in his line of work, he takes no prisoners. Don't ever, ever dare say that chess is a game for sissies. Garry Kasparov might eat you and spit out your bones."

[Q] Playboy: The May issue of Playboy had a pictorial on Natalya Negoda. Now here you are as the subject of the interview. With Playboy still forbidden inside the U.S.S.R., do you think the average Soviet would have been shocked to see your compatriot Natalya on our pages?

[A] Kasparov: He would be just as shocked as you would be if...if you saw a humanoid from another planet. That sort of thing just doesn't exist here. Anyway, Natalya and I are showing different things [laughs]. But I think it's important for us both to do this. The two things we are showing--her beautiful body and my thoughts--have been absolutely excluded from Soviet life. Intellectual life was frozen, and sexual life was, too.

[Q] Playboy: While the uproar was still going on, the emcee of Kino-Panorama, a popular Soviet television show, held up a copy of the May Playboy and explained that it was a very respectable magazine, didn't he?

[A] Kasparov: No. He didn't say respectable, exactly. What he said was that the fears Soviet people had about Natalya's pictures were mostly ghosts and illusions, and that Playboy was a very good magazine with serious articles.

[Q] Playboy: If there were a Russian-language version of Playboy, would it sell well?

[A] Kasparov: How many millions would you like to sell? Don't forget, though: Many of those copies would be bought in order to burn them, because we have lots of intolerant people, you know. Soviet people don't know about this kind of life, so many of them were shocked when they heard about Natalya in your magazine.... But they are just as shocked by pictures of Western supermarkets on TV. You are shocked when you see something that is completely unfamiliar to you.

[Q] Playboy: Many things that were unfamiliar to Soviet people are becoming familiar. Glasnost is apparent wherever you go in the Soviet Union today. People are no longer afraid to talk openly, and the whole country is involved in a vast campaign of self-criticism. It must be an exciting time to be a Soviet citizen.

[A] Kasparov: I'm not sure. It's exciting, but it's also a very difficult time for the average Soviet citizen. Self-criticism may be exploding, but the food supply is diminishing. We were all very happy when Gorbachev appeared with his new thinking and this openness of ideas called glasnost appeared. But perestroika--the economic restructuring--isn't on the right road, and everything is going too slowly. I'm afraid the government hasn't realized that we can't wait anymore.

This country is in trouble. The economy is on the verge of being destroyed. It is in tragic shape. It's ninety-nine percent catastrophic. We have to take strong measures immediately. Private enterprise must be released, economic activity has to be open to the market and the people must be given political freedom. It's hard for me to know whether Gorbachev is moving so slowly because that's all he can do or because he really doesn't want to change everything. Remember, he is still a Communist. Very often in the West, you tend to forget that. Right now, I am afraid that the changes of perestroika so far are only cosmetic. We need real reforms if we are going to save the state.

[Q] Playboy: Those who know you as the Soviet Union's world chess champion may be surprised by your outspoken views on Soviet politics. We'll return to those views, but let's begin with your chess background. Most people think of chess as a gentlemanly pastime. In American colleges, chess has the image of something wimps do to avoid real sports.

[A] Kasparov: Are you crazy? Let me tell you a secret: Chess is the most violent of all sports. I'm a pretty good soccer player and a long-distance swimmer, and recently, I've taken up tennis, but I can tell you that there's no sport as competitive--yes, I'll say as rough--as chess. The only goal in chess is to prove your superiority over the other guy, and the most important superiority, the most total one, is the superiority of the mind. And there's no luck involved, no picture card coming up at the right time, no roll of the dice that saves you. It all has to come out of your head. You whip him or he whips you. It's as simple as that. Or as complicated as that.

[Q] Playboy: It's a game of domination, then.

[A] Kasparov: Yes. Complete domination. I mean, your opponent must be destroyed. Fully destroyed. He has no way to escape. If you can put a rating on the times in your life when you win something, this is the highest possible kind of victory. When you checkmate your opponent, you have proved that you are stronger and smarter and just better.

Chess is a game for fighters. I have been a fighter since the age of six. I already have twenty years of blood on my hands. Right now, my main rivals are playing elimination matches to see which one of them wins the right to challenge me for my title in 1990. They all want to kill me.

[Q] Playboy: Bobby Fischer used to say he enjoyed seeing his opponents squirm. He enjoyed hurting them. Is that true of you?

[A] Kasparov: I like to win the game. I love it, yes. I need it. But on the other hand, I do not like to hurt people. The game, for me, is a kind of lesson for them. I can teach them something. I don't think I hate the opponent personally, but before the game and during the game and until the end of the game, he represents the alien will. He represents the enemy. It is not my opponent personally but what is on the board there. It is my enemy.

[Q] Playboy: And you want to kill what's on the board.

[A] Kasparov: Absolutely. Yes. I can't explain it, but it is opposing me and I have to destroy it to win this game. It means I have to kill this almost living thing. I am very hungry about strong, sharp feelings. Strong impressions, you know? It's kind of a drug. You must be on the edge. That is the best place. When I am at the edge, that's when I really feel alive.

[Q] Playboy: Chess players have been known to react to losses in the most extraordinary ways: hurling pieces across the room, knocking the board over, screaming insults. There was even one famous master who urinated on the floor.

[A] Kasparov: Yes, that is chess. Usually, that sort of thing happens just among amateurs, but even at the top, at grand-master level, players can be destroyed. For instance, when Bent Larsen, the Danish grand master, lost 6--0 to your Bobby Fischer, he was never the same afterward. You can't say he lost his chess ability, but today, even if he is still a grand master, he is like a shadow of the old Larsen. At the highest level of chess, you have to win the games twice: First you win psychologically, and then you win the game on the board.

[Q] Playboy: How do you do that?

[A] Kasparov: The best example I can think of is the last game of my world-championship match against [Soviet grand master] Anatoly Karpov in Seville in 1987. It was game twenty-four, and I had to win it to keep my title--a draw would have given the title to Karpov, my old enemy. My career was riding on that game.

When it was adjourned, I had one extra pawn and some positional advantage, but the victory was by no means guaranteed. I estimated the position at fifty-fifty, but when I went onto the stage the next day, I looked at Karpov's eyes and I understood that he didn't believe that he could save the game. And, you know, he lost his confidence. It was as if his energy flowed from him to me. I won the game and I kept my title.

[Q] Playboy: Tigran Petrosian, the former world champion, used to say that chess players were intellectuals but not necessarily always intelligent. Raymond Keene, the English chess writer, has called you the greatest chess player who has ever lived. Does this mean you are a genius?

[A] Kasparov: Yes, in all immodesty, I suppose there is something to that. You probably have to be some kind of genius to become number one in any human field. Without this great gift from God, you can't become world champion, especially in chess.

[Q] Playboy: What are the qualities that make the difference between a good chess player and a great chess player?

[A] Kasparov: First of all, I repeat, he must be a great fighter. It should be in his blood. And second, he has to have a kind of mystical feeling for the game. Just understanding it or having a lot of book learning isn't enough. But if you have a feeling for the game, you can create something new.

[Q] Playboy: Can you explain why the level of Soviet chess is so high? Why do so many millions of people play serious chess in your country when they don't elsewhere?

[A] Kasparov: Because most of the time, there's nothing else to do in our country! Chess fits the Soviet Union perfectly. It's the simplest of sports. You don't need a special field or court for it. Just a chess set, pieces and a quiet place in the park. It's the easiest way for people to have a little bit of enjoyment. And if you become a strong player, chess is one of the best ways for a Soviet citizen to improve his life, to get a better position and maybe raise his standard of living above the average--which is not so good, by the way. [Spreads some caviar on a toast point and eats it.]

[Q] Playboy: As a Russian--

[A] Kasparov: Don't call me Russian. I'm not Russian. I am half Armenian and half Jewish. And I live in Baku, in the republic of Azerbaidzhan. You can call me a Soviet, if you like.

[Q] Playboy: OK, as a Soviet, do you usually have caviar for breakfast? Is that a normal meal for you?

[A] Kasparov: Yes. Sure.

[Q] Playboy: Do all Soviet chess professionals eat caviar for breakfast? Is it brain food?

[A] Kasparov: Not many of them can afford it. But I was born here on the Caspian Sea, and it's our local product. It's from the sea, so I can get it more easily than other players. It's quite expensive, but I can get deals on it. As for its use in chess, yes, I usually do eat it during competitions, because at the beginning of a match, you need to get a good supply of calories, but you need something light that you can eat in five or ten minutes.

[Q] Playboy: With or without caviar, most top chess players have exceptional memories, sometimes even freakish ones. Were you born with a great memory, or did you develop it through chess training?

[A] Kasparov: No, I was born with it. You have to have special talents to become a first-rate chess player. That's a precondition.

[Q] Playboy: You reportedly have the ability to remember hundreds of phone numbers. Does that kind of memory come in handy in other ways, too?

[A] Kasparov: Sure. I played chess all the time when I was in school, so I would miss several months of classes at a time, especially toward the end of high school. So when I went back, I would have to take tests covering, say, forty chapters of a book. Well, I could read the book and memorize it and then play it back, like a tape.

I can keep a lot of information for a short period. It's a specialty of my memory. But, oddly enough, memory isn't extremely important for chess. It will help you at the beginning, but you can remember just a limited number of openings. At the top level of the game, you have to be able to calculate extremely well and very, very far ahead. There's a big difference between memory and calculation.

[Q] Playboy: How many moves ahead can a great chess player calculate?

[A] Kasparov: It depends on the nature of the position. Chess is a complicated game. But in positions where everything is forced--one move, one answer--I can calculate something between ten and fifteen moves ahead. But that happens very rarely. Usually, the positions are more complicated than that--one move, then five answers, each of them having five answers. You have to use your intuition in cases like that, your positional understanding. It's very good if you can calculate five, six, maybe seven moves ahead.

[Q] Playboy: Do you hate to lose as much as other chess players do?

[A] Kasparov: Probably more, but I don't overreact like some of those you mentioned. I feel very uncomfortable if I lose, because if you lose, it means you have made a mistake somewhere along the line. If you have a good mind and you analyze your moves, you can find this mistake, and it is something I can't forgive myself for: How could I make this mistake? Every fighter hates to lose, but for me, it's worse, because it means I have lost to someone weaker than I am. I understand chess better, I play better, but suddenly, I lose because I make some stupid moves. I can't forgive that. I hate myself at that moment. How could I show my...my weakness to this weaker player?

I even have this feeling during simultaneous matches, when I have twenty-five or thirty players against me, where you're more or less obliged to make mistakes, since you can't really concentrate on every game. When I get into bad positions, I feel furious to be losing against weak amateur players. Once I played a simultaneous match on French TV where I offered queen-odds--that is to say, I gave up my queen--against a pretty girl who wasn't a real chess player. It was part of the show. Well, everyone knows you can't possibly win without your queen, but even then, I got terribly angry when she started pushing me around the board. I had given up my queen, but I still wanted to win. Because in chess, when you lose, you die.

[Q] Playboy: You sound like an American. Americans always want to be winners.

[A] Kasparov: This is a very human quality. It proves that Americans are very close to true human nature.

[Q] Playboy: Do you know many Americans?

[A] Kasparov: No. Not many. I haven't spent enough time in America. I haven't played serious chess competitions there. Most of my time has been spent in Europe, so my relations with Americans are not so deep. I'm a little bit upset about this. They should be better.

[Q] Playboy: Do you intend to play more and do more chess promotion in America?

[A] Kasparov: It's my great dream. It's very important to take chess into the biggest potential market and to take up the work where Bobby Fischer left off after he retired. It was a great tragedy for chess when he left the scene, because American chess disappeared with him.

[Q] Playboy: Fischer was completely inhabited by chess. He thought of nothing else but chess. Is it the same way with you?

[A] Kasparov: No, of course not. But I think that's one of the explanations for his disappearance. Because chess was life for him. This created a big danger, and unfortunately, he couldn't save himself from this...this disease. He beat all the best chess players of the world. Beat them easily. He proved his superiority. He was absolutely the best player, ever, in history. But at the end, he lost his last battle--against chess itself.

You must have something to love beyond your profession, and Fischer had nothing. He was conquered by chess. After he became world champion, he couldn't play further. This was the danger: He had scaled his Everest. He had no reason to continue. He had found perfection. After that, all else would be less than perfection.

[Q] Playboy: So it was logical for him to stop playing?

[A] Kasparov: Psychologically, yes. It wasn't logical for chess, though. Chess lost probably its greatest model.

[Q] Playboy: You don't think he'll come back?

[A] Kasparov: No. Never.

[Q] Playboy: Could he make a comeback if he wanted to?

[A] Kasparov: No. Absolutely not. I have no doubt that he continues with some chess activity. He probably reads books and analyzes some games. But chess is a fight, and I'm sure he has lost his fighting spirit.

[Q] Playboy: If he did come back, though, would you beat him? Would you give him a shot at your title?

[A] Kasparov: Well, he can't come back, so this is hypothetical. We may as well discuss my possible encounter with [Alexander] Alekhine or [Emanuel] Lasker--world champions who are dead. Fischer is history. He left when I was nine. He is one of the most brilliant pages in chess history, but he's just history. If he were ever to play again, he would lose his legend.

[Q] Playboy: You mean it would be like an old prize fighter coming back? Like Muhammad Ali trying to come back?

[A] Kasparov: Even worse, because Muhammad Ali had experienced defeat. That's important. This speculation is fascinating for discussion but not fascinating for chess.

[Q] Playboy: Do you enjoy playing chess? Does the word have any meaning at your level?

[A] Kasparov: Yes, of course. It's the best form of self-expression for my nature. I'm very happy to create new ideas, to transfer my energy into something immortal. When I do that, I'm extremely happy. It's a great enjoyment when I find combinations, when I discover some very unusual, very unexpected move and play a masterpiece.

[Q] Playboy: Have you ever played blindfold chess?

[A] Kasparov: Yes. Once I played a blind simultaneous match against ten opponents in Germany. I won 9--1. Eight wins, two draws. But it was very tough for me. Very unpleasant. You have to use your capabilities one hundred percent, and it feels like even more. You don't exactly see the whole position, but you remember its main contours. I made two mistakes in that "simul" and lost a piece. I managed to get a draw, but I didn't enjoy it. I told you my memory is like a tape? Well, that time, it was as if the tape had been erased. It disappeared. I don't want to do any more blind chess.

[Q] Playboy: Is championship-level chess as tough physically as it is mentally?

[A] Kasparov: Absolutely. In serious competition, if you lose your energy or if you have psychological problems, you can be destroyed. Before a world-championship match, I have to prepare myself physically with just as much care as for the chess itself. Running and swimming are the best for me--two or three hours every day. I also play soccer and some tennis, but mostly, it's the sea and the sun.

[Q] Playboy: You're built more like King Kong than like the garden-variety chess player. Do you lift weights or do strength training? Or do those muscles come from just pushing pawns?

[A] Kasparov: No, I've never lifted weights. My energy comes from the sun and the sea. I develop my arms and shoulders and chest with long-distance swimming. This sort of conditioning is very important for chess marathons. Probably, it's because of that that I didn't lose the marathon match against Karpov, when I was behind 5--0. I was in better shape than he was.

[Q] Playboy: Ever since your first championship match against Anatoly Karpov, you have been in a state of war against the Soviet chess authorities. How did that begin?

[A] Kasparov: It started even before the first match. As soon as I became a grand master, the Soviet chess establishment realized that I would be a danger for their hero, Karpov. And from that point onward, they tried to prevent my appearance on the world-championship stage. There were big scandals, big fights, because when Karpov was world champion, the apparat [system] protected him with as many dirty tricks as it could. I had to be stopped from taking the title away from him. Karpov represented the power of the system. I was a half-Armenian, half-Jewish menace to this good Russian boy.

But that wasn't all. They were suspicious of my character, too. My alien nature. I was someone who didn't accept the rules of the game produced by the system. As early as 1981, they made problems for me and tried to keep me out of strong tournaments. In 1983, they wouldn't allow me to go to Pasadena to play a qualifying match against [Viktor] Korchnoi. Trouble, trouble, trouble. Pressure, pressure, pressure. Still, I won all my matches. And I finally got to play against Karpov for the title, in the fall of 1984.

[Q] Playboy: But the match started as a disaster for you.

[A] Kasparov: Yes. I had expected to become world champion by just killing Karpov, like I had killed all the players before him. But he was stronger than the others, and he had a lot more experience than I did. I attacked him with a game like fire, but he was a mountain of ice. After only nine games, I was losing 4--0. Karpov needed only two more games to win the match. Well, it was obvious that he wanted not only to win but to beat me 6--0--to destroy me. So I stopped attacking and used his own defensive technique. I began wearing him down in draws. It became the longest championship match in history--more than five months. Then I lost game twenty-seven. That made it 5--0, and by that moment, Karpov was absolutely convinced that the score would be 6--0.

[Q] Playboy: Chess writer Raymond Keene characterized your performance in that situation as "the most impressive rearguard action of any sportsman in any discipline in the history of recorded sport."

[A] Kasparov: Yeah. There I was. Zero for me, five for him. One point from disaster. I forced four more draws, then I won game thirty-two. I took the initiative. More draws. Then I won games forty-seven and forty-eight. Then, suddenly, the match was stopped. Karpov's big friend Florencio Campomanes, president of the International Chess Federation, came to Moscow and-- They just stopped the competition in the middle! It was so incredible! Karpov had lost two games in a row. He was completely destroyed. He couldn't play any further, and I was getting stronger and stronger. So they stopped it!

The old people who perpetrated this farce were Karpov's friends and supporters. They used the full political power of the Soviet chess authorities, the sports authorities and the party. They were the ones who were in charge of this, the biggest crime in chess history. They just didn't want to give me the chance to win. It was a risk they couldn't take. So they stopped it and set up a new match seven months later, when their boy Karpov wouldn't be so tired. Or so they hoped.

[Q] Playboy: But things didn't work out the way they had hoped.

[A] Kasparov: No. I beat him. And became world champion.

[Q] Playboy: How did you feel then? How did you react?

[A] Kasparov: While I was on the stage where we played, I kept an appearance of calm. But after I got back to the villa that was my headquarters, I finally let all the nervous tension out. I went from room to room and roared like Tarzan! The neighbors must have wondered if there was a murder going on. Karpov and I have played three matches since 1985, and I won them all.

[Q] Playboy: Well, you didn't lose any of them. Your last match, in Seville two years ago, was a real cliff-hanger, wasn't it? It ended 12-12, and as incumbent champion, you kept your title. But you came within a hair of losing. You've developed something of a specialty of coming from behind and winning at the last second, haven't you?

[A] Kasparov: Yes. I think that's a part of my character. I like excitement. I need this desperate kind of fight, like a drug. I need a real problem to mobilize all my resources. As I say: I like living on the edge.

[Q] Playboy: With two games to go, the match was just about over, wasn't it? It was all tied up, 11-11, and all you had to do was draw the last two games and you would keep the title. But you made a dumb move and you lost game twenty-three. So you went to the last game absolutely needing a win. And you were up against the world's greatest defensive player. Fire against ice.

[A] Kasparov: Yeah. The roles had been reversed. Now I was the underdog again. Only chance to save my title, and probably my career, was to go for the win.

[Q] Playboy: Did you really think you'd be able to get it?

[A] Kasparov: Of course. I've always said that if I have one chance out of a million, I will go for it. And this time, I had one chance--not out of a million but maybe out of a hundred. Odds like that are good enough to start the fight. Also, I had a plan. Karpov thought I would launch a wild attack like the ones I'd done in our very first match, and he had been able to turn them back because he is such a good defensive player. But this time, I played very quietly and carefully, working for a good position without big risks.

Little by little, his position got worse. I overlooked one very good combination, but Karpov got into terrible time trouble. There were many complications, and time was running out on his clock. I came to the adjourned position with an extra pawn. I studied the position for several hours with my seconds, went to bed at something like three A.M., woke up around ten and continued to study. When I went back to the hall, I had confidence.

[Q] Playboy: And you saw Karpov's eyes.

[A] Kasparov: Yes. I understood that he was through. Every time he has had to win a last game against me, he has not been able to do it. And every time, I have won.

[Q] Playboy: You say you've been a fighter since the age of six, when you began serious chess. It's a strange way to grow up. In a way, you had to give up your childhood, didn't you?

[A] Kasparov: Yes. I lost the chance for a normal childhood. Also, my father died when I was seven, so I had to do a lot of growing up on my own. I realized quite young that everything has a price in life. You have to pay. If you want to become a strong chess player while you are very young, you must pay something, give something up. And the only treasure you have when you're fourteen or fifteen is your childhood.

[Q] Playboy: You have another kind of treasure today. As a professional, how much do you charge to make an appearance? Rumor has it that the fee is at least ten thousand dollars a shot.

[A] Kasparov: I prefer not to name a particular figure here. Let's just say it's negotiable. It's reasonably high, but it's negotiable.

[Q] Playboy: Well, then, how much can the world's chess champion earn in a year?

[A] Kasparov: Things are complicated in the Soviet Union because the authorities haven't quite come to grips with professionalism. But let's imagine that I live somewhere else and can do anything I want. In a normal year, if I spend all my energy on just earning money and take all the opportunities, I can earn between four hundred thousand dollars and half a million. In a world-championship year, it is a lot higher. In the next match, in 1990, I expect the prize will run around three million dollars, with one point eight million going to the winner. That is to say, to me.

[Q] Playboy: There are also endorsements.

[A] Kasparov: Yes, I have endorsed a chess computer, a soft drink--and there can be other endorsements, too. I am open to offers. I will listen.

[Q] Playboy: You've become quite a businessman. Indeed, you shocked the chess establishment when you took on a business manager.

[A] Kasparov: Not the chess establishment. The Soviet chess establishment. They wanted to have everything under their control, and I escaped from them. My manager is Andrew Page, an Englishman who used to be an actor and a race-car driver. We get on well, and Andrew handles my business matters outside the Soviet Union. The Soviet chess mafia doesn't like this, of course, but I have a revolutionary approach to earnings: I believe that a professional sportsman should be able to keep his earnings and not give them to some federation or sports committee. I was the first one to do this. Now other Soviet athletes are beginning to follow in my steps. Up to now, they have been obliged to turn everything over to the state and get just a little stipend in return.

[Q] Playboy: You travel quite a bit. Has it ever crossed your mind not to go home? To defect from the Soviet Union?

[A] Kasparov: No. It's important to live among your own people. Of course, I could do it. My life would be much easier. I am completely cosmopolitan, so I could live anywhere else. No problem.

[Q] Playboy: You are cosmopolitan enough to have made a splendid adaptation of your lifestyle to the ways of the decadent West. Garry Kasparov, the most famous of all Soviet athletes, rides around Baku in a Mercedes 300SE, wears a gold Rolex, dresses in Savile Row suits and always has a suite reserved for him at the St. James Club when he goes to London or Paris. Did all these violations of socialist purity require much self-sacrifice on your part?

[A] Kasparov: Oh, come on. It's not a question of compromises or socialist purity or anything like that. The point is that there aren't two different kinds of normal life--one for here and another for the West. A life is a life. There's no difference. Everyone has the same kind of normal human aspirations. There may be two political spheres in the world today, but normal lifestyle exists in only one of them--and that is not here in the Soviet Union. Life here is what I could call a distortion of normal life. It's like living in a house of mirrors. Well, the only way out is to smash those mirrors.

For years, I had the feeling that something was wrong around us here in the Soviet Union; when I traveled in the West, the feeling only got stronger. I am looking for the same thing that everyone else is: a normal life, where a person can live well and express himself well. It's very important for me to try to bring the normal life to my people. The daylight. When they see me in the nice Mercedes that I won after some very hard chess in Germany, I don't want them to think I am an exceptional case. They should understand this as normal for someone who earns it. It's a kind of preparation for their thinking. So, you see, I would lose one important thing if I went to the West: the stimulation to improve things and to fight for something. I am a fighter, and my greatest fight is right here in this country. I am fighting not only for chess and for professionalism but for the future of my people. I hope that doesn't sound pretentious, but that's the way it is.

[Q] Playboy: Sometimes you sound less like a chess master than like a politician or a military leader. Are these the kinds of people you admire?

[A] Kasparov: I admire people who have really changed things, yes. Sometimes for entire populations. The top example is probably Caesar. Everyone knew that Rome couldn't exist without the republic, but he changed his entire period. Just one man. And look at Christ--just the historical Christ, forget about any quest of divinity. It's incredible what he did for the minds of people. He changed the face of the earth. Two thousand years later, we still admire his ideas. Look at Martin Luther, look at Lenin, even, whether or not you agree with what he did. These are all people who changed things single-handedly.

[Q] Playboy: How about Napoleon? Keene also called you the Napoleon of chess.

[A] Kasparov: Oh, I'm very proud about this comparison. Napoleon changed a lot. He did a great job.

[Q] Playboy: What are the qualities you admire in men?

[A] Kasparov: Strength. Any strength. I prefer mental to physical, but the most important is strength of character. Above all, you have to always fight for your interests. If you know your goal, you must be ready to fight for it. You must defend everything you believe in.

[Q] Playboy: And women? What are the qualities you admire in them?

[A] Kasparov: Very dangerous question. Whatever you answer, you're sure to make enemies. I think it's very important for a woman to help her man reach his goal in life, to support him when he faces obstacles. It's like the lock and the key, you know. They are a good combination. But she should maintain her independent person and not disappear inside her man, because if she does, she can't really support him. She should maintain her own character.

[Q] Playboy: How about women chess players?

[A] Kasparov: Well, in the past, I have said that there is real chess and women's chess. Some people don't like to hear this, but chess does not fit women properly. It's a fight, you know? A big fight. It's not for women. Sorry. She's helpless if she has men's opposition. I think this is very simple logic. It's the logic of a fighter, a professional fighter. Women are weaker fighters.

There is also the aspect of creativity in chess. You have to create new ideas. That's quite difficult, too. Chess is the combination of sport, art and science. In all these fields, you can see men's superiority. Just compare the sexes in literature, in music or in art. The result is, you know, obvious. Probably the answer is in the genes.

[Q] Playboy: Do you realize that you're expressing a sexist point of view, and that Western women will be enraged by it?

[A] Kasparov: Yes, but I'm not concerned. I'm sure that women can do many things better than men in many fields. I think it's wrong to want to be compared all the time, to want to be equal in everything. Men and women are different.

[Q] Playboy: Whatever your views, have you encountered a great deal of female admiration during your travels? Women attracted to you because you're the champion?

[A] Kasparov: Forget about champion or not champion. I'm not so bad even without my title. But maybe the title adds a little superiority. A little tactical advantage.

[Q] Playboy: The sexual scene in the U.S.S.R. is still quite prudish, isn't it?

[A] Kasparov: Sexuality has been repressed. This part of life was excluded. They used several weapons. First, there was the economic sanction. When you all live together in a single room, you have no place for intimacy. Second, there was the ideological influence. They told you that the country had very important goals requiring your labor and that you had to think only about the common interest. That's a problem. It destroys your normal mind.

[Q] Playboy: You mean it affected people's sex drive?

[A] KASPAROV: Yes, I think so. Things are starting to improve now, but still, the country is so ignorant about sex that there is a big need for education.

[Q] Playboy: Are decent birth-control methods available in the U.S.S.R.?

[A] Kasparov: No. They're available in Moscow for the highest levels of officials but not for the ordinary citizens. Anyway, the official mind is very puritanical. And the poor quality of our nutrition is a factor, too. It is quite important for women to try to be pretty, but if you eat this food from your childhood on, it doesn't help anything. So there are hardly any ideals, models they would like to try to be like. If there is any example at all to follow, it is that of Western actresses. But it's just an impossible goal to look like that.

[Q] Playboy: Do Soviet women wish to be liberated? Are they tired of being sex objects?

[A] Kasparov: But that's just the problem! They've been liberated for seventy-two years, and all they hope for is to become sex objects. It's almost a hundred percent the opposite of the West. That's why Natalya's appearance in Playboy was such an event.

[Q] Playboy: You seem so passionate about freedoms in the Soviet Union. What about China? Could what happened in Tiananmen Square happen in the Soviet Union?

[A] Kasparov: It was terrible, terrible what happened. It's a horror even to think about such a confrontation here in the Soviet Union, because it would be the beginning of civil war. The problem here is that the central government is losing touch with the outlying districts, with the suburbs of the nation. Don't forget: The Soviet Union consists of many nationalities and fifteen national republics. Strong national minds are waking up. We are beginning a very dangerous period. And more serious than anything else is the need for economic reform throughout the entire country. Life in the Soviet Union is, for many people, so poor that there is nothing left to lose.

[Q] Playboy: There was a story published that some forty-three million Soviets were living on seventy-five rubles a month. Officially, that is equal to approximately a hundred and fifteen dollars, but in reality, it's closer to a quarter of that.

[A] Kasparov: It's probably more than forty-three million people, because you can't trust Soviet statistics. They've been accustomed to distorting the figures for so many years that they can't even give accurate ones when they want to. There's big inflation now, a huge debt but--more important--no prospect of improving the financial situation.

[Q] Playboy: What's needed? Foreign investment?

[A] Kasparov: No. Foreign investment doesn't help, because it will just disappear into this chaos, like water into sand. Our only real chance is a true market economy. Unfortunately, the largest sector of our leadership isn't willing to use the human experience that is staring them in the face. They prefer to reinvent the bicycle. They want to improve, but they have only the old methods, the old ideas. The new mentality called for by Gorbachev hasn't come into the minds of our leadership yet. As for the people, the spirit of the system that they have had for more than seventy years has killed their ability to think in a normal way and work to improve their lives.

[Q] Playboy: You, Andrei Sakharov and many other Soviet intellectuals often seem to be skeptical of Gorbachev. Yet he's probably the most popular man in the West today. Why don't you join in the unrestrained Gorbymania?

[A] Kasparov: Many people in our country used to admire him, but they admire him less today, because they're still waiting for some real changes in their lives, some improvement. I think that a lot of his foreign image is created by the excesses of Western propaganda. First you go one way too far, and then you go the other way too far. In practice, though, here, where it counts, the average Soviet person can't see any real improvement and can't understand how the government will improve his life.

[Q] Playboy: The government says it is in the process of redefining socialism.

[A] Kasparov: Yes, but the trouble is, it's time to pay up. The bill has arrived. You know, Soviet people weren't expecting this. They were living with their illusions in this house of mirrors. They didn't feel reality. Now they discover that everything was wrong, and the government is asking them, "OK, please help, get to work, do the job the way it's supposed to be done."

But those are only slogans. And slogans don't work anymore. We must have change, real change. The system we have now is a danger not only for the Soviet Union but for the rest of the world as well. Making perestroika work is important for the whole world. What I am fighting against is the same all over the world, wherever it happens to be: It is called evil. Others criticize elements, like single-party rule, but I go to the root of the problem. What is wrong is the system itself.

[Q] Playboy: For a Soviet citizen in the public eye, you have strong, even radical, views about your political system. Have you ever thought of going into politics?

[A] Kasparov: Who knows? In a way, that's what I'm doing. I feel I have a mission to improve the world, because a change for the better in the Soviet system is terribly important for the rest of the world.

I can act because I was born at the right time and I am free to say these things and give my example. If a lot of exceptional people have been silenced and crushed by the system and one manages to escape, it is his duty to speak out for the others.

I can act by helping build new business relations with the West and by giving my people a sense of democracy by setting an example. I'm trying to give them hope, and pushing them to fight alongside me.

[Q] Playboy: You're saying things that just a few years ago would have guaranteed your arrest--and a seat on the Gulag Express.

[A] Kasparov: Yes. That's why I say I was very lucky to have been born at the right moment. The others who tried what I am doing, and suffered and died or were killed, have prepared the ground for me. I have a responsibility to our common mission.

[Q] Playboy: Until recently, the inevitable world-wide triumph of communism was the official gospel of the Soviet Union and the Eastern Bloc. Is that idea dead now?

[A] Kasparov: Of course. It's disappearing in the foundation of the home that was built for it, right here. The foundation is cracking. And the roof leaks, too.

[Q] Playboy: Is there a chance of a multiparty system's coming to the U.S.S.R.?

[A] Kasparov: That's the biggest and the last step. But it's not easy. Perhaps it's easier for the moment to split the party into two parts, liberal and conservative. A multiparty system won't happen soon, but I don't exclude the possibility.

[Q] Playboy: You have the sound of a politician, but you also seem to be a pretty fair businessman. Do you have ideas for future business projects?

[A] Kasparov: Sure. In our country, it's not so difficult, because all the opportunities are just lying there, ready to be picked up. Everything needs to be done. If you have good connections with businessmen in the West, you can establish the bridge easily. But look out: This is a very special kind of place to do business. I have a friend who has a computer business in Moscow, a cooperative company. When he meets new partners from the West, his first question to them is, "Have you read Alice in Wonderland?" They will answer yes, then he says, "Imagine you are in Wonderland, and we will start our discussions from there."

That's how it is here. But since that is so, we can juggle all sorts of fantastic and unbelievable ideas. I just had a thought the other day: Why don't we sell the Kuril Islands to the Japanese? Frankly speaking, I'm not sure that these islands belong to us, and the Japanese, who claim them, would give us billions and billions of dollars for them! That would keep us going for maybe five or ten years. Then we could sell Mongolia to China and get a few more years that way. But the best deal would be to sell East Germany to West Germany. That would be worth a fortune--and maybe we could get even more money from England and France for not doing the deal!

[Q] Playboy: Do you think that the Soviet Union and America can eventually come to some sort of understanding about coexisting peacefully?

[A] Kasparov: I hope so, but I think it's a long, long road. Our country isn't ready to be a real partner in world cooperation. It's too old fashioned and slow, too sleepy and too jealous of the West. It's been more than seventy years of the wrong direction, you know. You can't just change your identity like jumping off a wall.

[Q] Playboy: Is it safe for the West to disarm?

[A] Kasparov: I'm not sure. I'm not sure at all. I think the West should be quite careful. They have to remember that many people in the Communist countries have woken up and believe in Western values--but on the other hand, the system has not been destroyed here. The bureaucracy has incredible power. The military is still on the top, and they represent the danger for the rest of the world. Many elements of the system are ready to start any adventure, if they feel it is in their self-interest.

[Q] Playboy: Did anyone in the Soviet Union ever seriously believe that the West wanted to invade their country?

[A] Kasparov: Well, many people still believe it. It's an absolutely crazy idea, but they believe it because of propaganda. Though to prove how crazy this idea is, you have only to compare the standards of living in the U.S.S.R. and America. Why would the country with such a good life want to invade anyone else?

[Q] Playboy: We've already spoken of politics, economics and nationalities. Are there problems with the environment and pollution in the Soviet Union as well?

[A] Kasparov: Pollution is not just a bad problem--it is the worst possible problem. We have already spoiled millions of square kilometers in our country. It is worse than terrible, because it was predicted. People knew about it and many spoke about it. They asked the government to stop and they agreed. But nothing happened. They don't care about our future, about our children or grandchildren. And now, on top of the Chernobyl disaster, we have polluted the Black Sea, the Aral Sea and the Sea of Azov. Even the Caspian is in trouble now. The system doesn't take responsibility for the future. It just lives day to day, and matters get worse.

[Q] Playboy: What about your own future? There are always matches and tournaments and "simuls," of course, but what other projects are you working on?

[A] Kasparov: One of the most important is my chess university. I am setting it up in Palma de Mallorca, in the Balearic Islands, with the cooperation of the Spanish authorities. The aim is to collect talented players, from the ages of ten to sixteen, from all around the world and give them the best coaching and knowledge possible. The first session begins next February. We have the building already, and we are working on multinational sponsorship to keep the costs to the students down.

[Q] Playboy: This is another part of your wider plan--for the promotion and internationalization of chess. Bobby Fischer had a lot of the same ideas that you do about professionalism in chess.

[A] Kasparov: Yes. Fischer pointed the way and I am continuing his idea. Maybe it was too early to improve the image of chess in his time, in the early Seventies. But these are new times, and it's important to popularize the image of chess, to show it to the public for what it is: pure combat. We could have multinational team competitions, for example. We could mix the players up, so that one team wouldn't be all Americans, another all Soviet, and so forth. You could have ten, twelve teams consisting of, say, six players each and then go on tour with them and play for money from sponsors.

[Q] Playboy: So there could be an IBM team, a Budweiser team and a Schweppes team?

[A] Kasparov: Sure. Why not? There's also active chess--twenty-five minutes total per player, using computer technology to teach the game to the public, with good commentators describing the games and making jokes to the public over headphones. It's quite impressive, you know, because the fighting spirit of the games really comes through. Things like this have changed a lot of people's minds about chess. I've even played chess in a London disco with flashing lights all around me. Why not? If that gets people interested in the game, I'll do that and more.

[Q] Playboy: Garry, we have to say it: You're a born capitalist.

[A] Kasparov: Yeah, maybe, but I don't think this sort of thing belongs exclusively to capitalism. It's just human nature. The market place.

[Q] Playboy: Your ideas are spreading to other sports and other Soviet sportsmen and sportswomen, aren't they?

[A] Kasparov: Yes. Soviet athletes were always vassals to the Soviet sports establishment. They played where and when the establishment said they should, and the money they earned was paid directly back into the establishment. I started my fight not for chess players but for Soviet sportsmen in general.

I was the first Soviet sportsman who publicly announced that he was breaking away from this establishment and demanded professional status for Soviet sports. They didn't like that. Some high officials wrote a big complaint about me to the Central Committee, predicting that if things continued as they were going, Kasparov would probably be selling Soviet sportsmen off in the future. Today, I'm very happy that I was able to turn this fear into reality.

[Q] Playboy: You mean you are selling off other Soviet athletes? You mean as some kind of middleman?

[A] Kasparov: No, I don't get involved like that. But when they come to me for advice, I can give them good information, because I know the West well and have lots of contacts. I can help them find managers, for example.

Now, our two best tennis players, Andrei Chesnokov and Natalya Zvereva, have signed up with ProServe, and Slava Fetisov, who was the captain of our national hockey team, has signed to play for the New Jersey Devils. More will come. I remember my discussion with Lou Lamoriello, the general manager of the Devils, when I went to his office and spoke with him about this. He didn't quite understand why I was fighting for Fetisov. I said it was because I had a very special political reason. I wasn't getting any money from the deal, but I was working on the opportunity for Slava and others to leave the country and be free. When somebody famous like him leaves the system and everybody sees it happening, it helps destroy the Soviet mentality of the closed circle.

The most important right of any individual is free choice. And that's what I'm fighting for with our athletes. All sports in the Soviet Union were completely dominated by political life and this is absolutely fundamental to the nature of things in the Soviet Union. And I'm afraid that the conflict between the system and the talented individual is as yet unresolved.

[Q] Playboy: So the game of chess really isn't all there is to Garry Kasparov, is it? Chess is finally just an instrument, a weapon for you to use in your broader fight for democracy and human rights, for what you call a normal life.

[A] Kasparov: Absolutely! Now you have understood me.

"Let me tell you a secret: Chess is the most violent of sports. You whip him or he whips you."

"Before a world-championship match, I have to prepare myself physically. Running and swimming are best--two or three hours every day."

"Why don't we sell East Germany to West Germany? That would be worth a fortune!"

"The most important right of any individual is free choice. And that's what I'm fighting for with our athletes."