Endgame

The Michael Jordan of chess retires.

OK, that's not a fair comparison to make, because he's not quitting to, say, try his hand at bridge or the poker circuit. He's quitting to go into politics. Russian politics. That's ballsy and all the more reason to bow down in admiration (Garry, please don't meet an messy and untimely demise. For god's sake, be careful out there). It would be tempting to write his obituary as a chess player, but hell, chess is one of those sports that fat old men can play in hot baths. And women.

But for all the accolades and compliments comparing him to a computer, to me, the untrained (or barely trained) eye, he was more soulful than that. To me, he was human inspiration incarnate, the personification of the unconscious consciousness that we are capable of. He didn't play in an overly technical, robotic way, at least the aura I got from watching him. He was the John Bunyan of our silicon era.

Oh, and who knew that Martin Amis wrote an essay on Kasparov? Must get that.