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Kings and Queens

With its Grandmasters and Coke Money, UMBC Dominates the Brainiest College Sport in the U.S.

Photos by Frank Klein
Katerina Rohonyan and Pawel Blehm
ALWAYS BET ON BLACK: (from left) Pawel Blehm and Katerina Rohonyan have helped make the UMBC chess team the top team in the hemisphere.
THEY HAVE LIVES, YOU KNOW: Blehm says he doesn't really play chess anymore--not like he used to--despite his grandmaster ranking.
Rohonyan marvels at the generation of players raised on internet chess databases coming up behind her.
CHECK YOURSELF: (from left) UMBC's Brian Chan and Bruci Lopez polish their game.
When players as sharp as Blehm and Rohonyan square off, the final moves can become a literal blur.

By John Barry | Posted 12/20/2006

At 26, Grandmaster Pawel Blehm still thinks he's a little young to start talking about his greatest game. But last year, at the Pan Am Intercollegiate Chess Tournament, college chess' version of the Final Four, he played what he calls a "pretty clean" game. For those less inclined to understatement, that means he kicked ass, demolished his opponent, and got Washington Post chess critic Lubomir Kavalek to compare his tactics to the legendary Mikhail Tal, the Magic Johnson of chess. Blehm won the game in 21 moves. In chess, that's a second-round knockout against an international master. The soft-spoken, ruddy-cheeked Blehm doesn't encourage the Tal comparison, but he admits that it was a victory he was "rather proud" of.

It was April 2, 2005, and the competition between American college chess teams had narrowed to the quarterfinals: Duke University, Miami Dade College, University of Texas at Dallas, and University of Maryland, Baltimore County. UT Dallas and UMBC were in a dead heat for first. Blehm, playing white, was sitting across the table from Magesh Chandran Panchanathan, a soon-to-be grandmaster. Grandmaster Pascal Charbonneau of UMBC was on the second board on the way to defeating GM Alejandro Alvarez of Dallas. UMBC's Bruci Lopez was on his way to a last-move victory over Dallas' Dmitry Schneider. UMBC Katerina Rohonyan,a women's grandmaster, was struggling against Dallas freshman Davorin Kuljasevic. The American college chess championship was on the line.

"In a chess tournament you don't always have to win," Blehm says. "Sometimes a draw is OK." An individual win gets a team one point; a draw gets the team half a point. But as Blehm looked at his teammates, he realized that they could use the point. A win against UT Dallas, by the end of the tournament, would clinch the match. A draw would tie it.

On Blehm's own board, black was playing a passive game, with the knights and bishops jumping out and then running back behind the pawns, waiting for white to chase them. It's called the Petroff Defense, and Blehm had seen it before: It was a favorite tactic of India's highest-ranking woman player and Panchanathan's countryperson, Humpy Koneru. Blehm started to attack on the right, looking for ways to get through to Panchanathan's king. Things were shaping up in his favor, but to clinch the game, he needed to open one more line of attack: the king-side rook. There were two pawns standing in the way: his own and black's. He had to get them out of the picture.

Sacrifices are the jaw-droppers of chess, the gambles that leave an opponent rubbing his or her chin, wondering why the enemy is exposing his most valuable pieces. Back in the 1970s, the legendary American player Bobby Fischer stunned the chess world with queen sacrifices. Mikhail Tal, who was in his prime in the late 1950s, was called a "magician" because of his sacrifices. Now, in one of the deciding matches of the tournament, Blehm put his knight on the line.

"I wasn't really sure if it was the right move," he says. "But those are the times when you have to go with what you feel. You've calculated, and you've studied the strategies, but then you have to go with it."

Panchanathan took the bait. His pawn captured Blehm's knight, Blehm's pawn captured Panchanathan's pawn, and, suddenly, the coast was clear. Within a few moves, black's king was dead. For the fourth time in four years, UMBC won the President's Cup tournament and was college chess champion of the Americas. And Blehm had taught Panchanathan a lesson: When you're on the board with him, expect the unexpected.

Starting Dec. 27, UT Dallas will have a chance to get payback. The Pan-American Chess Championships--open to all college chess clubs throughout the Americas--is being hosted by UMBC at the Renaissance Washington, DC Hotel. The 60-year-old tournament determines the four teams who will play later for the President's Cup on March 24 in Dallas. UT Dallas is looking good; the school has recruited fresh talent, it boasts two grandmasters, and the team is mad as hell. UMBC's star player, Alexander Onischuk, is going to be on the sidelines, since he took the semester off to win the U.S. chess championship. So Blehm, as UMBC's de facto No. 1 player, has a lot on his shoulders.

It should be a squeaker--for UMBC and UT Dallas, at least. Miami Dade should come in a respectable third. The representatives of bastions of American brainpower such as Yale, Harvard, Stanford, and MIT, as well as 30 or 40 other participating schools, will probably place out of the money and have to be content with having had the opportunity to go up against the grandmasters from Baltimore and UT Dallas. In this tournament, Baltimore will boast two grandmasters and UT Dallas two.

It's no mystery to anyone in the chess world how the Pan American Tournament has been turned into a clash of titans, something along the lines of the Yankees vs. the Red Sox. While many colleges are content to develop chess players, UMBC and UT Dallas go out and find them.


What is a grandmaster? Chess players are ranked by Federation Internationale de Echecs (FIDE), aka the World Chess Federation, and United States Chess Federation, which determine scores by complex calculations and the results of games between ranked opponents. If you've got a score of 2,300, you're a master, which means you are very good. If you've a score of over 2,500, that probably means you're going to be a grandmaster.

There are more than 900 grandmasters in the world, out of the hundreds of millions who play chess, and the millions who do it seriously. There are currently 40 grandmasters in the United States. UMBC boasts three of them on its chess team, along with one slightly lower-ranked FIDE master, Bruci Lopez. This concentration of chess talent isn't because UMBC is a breeding ground for chess wizards. The Catonsville school recruits them from Eastern Europe, China, India, Israel, and anywhere else they crop up. In the process, over the last decade UMBC has reshaped, and rattled, the world of college chess.

That's largely thanks to the efforts of Alan Sherman, a computer science professor who took over the UMBC chess team in 1991. At the time, the team had never placed in the Pan-American, and didn't have much chance of doing so in the future. His first year, Sherman says, he had trouble finding four players who were even willing to travel to the Pan-American.

Sherman began to place pressure on UMBC's president to fund the chess team. The logic, he says, was pretty simple: Chess teams attract intelligent people, and getting them to win tournaments is cheaper than fielding a football team. The argument worked. During the early '90s, UMBC began aggressively hunting out highly ranked players and offering them scholarships. In 1996, UMBC won its first national tournament. "Then the tide changed," Sherman says. After years of incremental improvement, UMBC had become a chess powerhouse, and it hasn't stopped picking up momentum since. It has won seven of the last 10 Pan-American tournaments and four of the last six President's Cups.

A lot of the support that has fueled the team's rise, Sherman says, has come from face-to-face meetings with UMBC President Freeman Hrabowski. "I found him much more agreeable at the social level," Sherman says. "I would talk to him for five minutes at a faculty party, and then follow it up with a letter, saying thanks for promising this or that. . . . With his support, all he has to do is give the word."

Not that getting Hrabowski to give the word was always easy. At first, Sherman says, he had to argue for student fellowship funding for his prospective players on a case by case basis, explain to the administration why each student had a future at UMBC, and then wait for approval. "Now, as long as they're admissible, all I have to do is make sure they follow up on the requirements," he says. "In the future, I'd like to have a bigger pot of money."

Not that getting grandmasters to cooperate was always easy. "Part of it was the moving-target thing," Sherman says. As the scholarship awards UMBC was able to offer increased, older players found that newer, younger players were getting better packages. "That was a source of tension," Sherman acknowledges. "In some cases, I would be able to increase the [scholarships], but most of the time I couldn't." Some players threatened to leave, and sometimes others would not play full strength. Some woke up late for tournaments. One player, Sherman says, spent almost the entire night before a tournament out on the town, woke up befuddled, and tried an opening he had never used before.

Some players required individual hotel rooms at tournaments. "If it resulted in better playing, why not?" Sherman says. One player, Ilya Smirin, a grandmaster from Israel who was with the UMBC team in the mid-'90s, demanded a green card. "I wrote a petition on his behalf, and after much effort, it succeeded," Sherman says. After graduating in 1995, Smirin returned to Israel and pursued a professional chess career. He is currently ranked 46th in the world.

It wasn't until the initiation of the Coca-Cola Fellowship, though, that the applications from grandmasters began pouring in. The fellowship itself is drawn from a large chunk of cash given annually to the school by the Coca Cola Co. in fall 2003 in return for an agreement by the school's administration to make Coke the sole soda vendor on campus. About $100,000 per year from the Coke fund goes to the chess scholarship, Sherman says, and it's the largest scholarship that UMBC offers anybody. Coca-Cola Chess Fellows get full tuition paid--valued at about $65,000 over four years--and a $15,000 yearly stipend for living expenses. In exchange, they play for the team and perform 100 hours of community service, usually in the form of on-campus chess lectures. For a grandmaster who has spent much of his or her life globe-hopping from tournament to tournament, it's not a bad deal. Right now UMBC is fully funding the education of four chess players on its "A" and "B" teams, while offering partial benefits to others.

By 2002, the team boasted four grandmasters. "That was quite a year," Sherman says, nostalgically. "We had Pawel Blehm, Alexander Onischuk, Alexander Wojtkiewicz, and Alex Sherzer." UMBC won the Pan-Am and the President's Cup that year with ease.


In 2003, though, there were problems. Alex Sherzer, a Maryland native with Russian roots, helped UMBC win several tournaments, but Sherman refers to him as the team's "black sheep." Sherzer was 32 when he accepted a scholarship, a little on the old side for an undergrad, and he had already earned a medical degree in Hungary before entering UMBC. (That helps explain his chess nickname, "the Surgeon.") In fact, in May 2003, Sherzer abruptly left UMBC for a medical internship in Louisiana.

"I had no idea he would just leave," Sherman says. "I mean, he had perfect grades."

Sherzer resurfaced in Mobile, Ala., where he was arrested in May 2003 on federal charges of crossing state lines with intent to solicit sex from a minor--or, more precisely, a 15-year-old he had met on the internet. The charge was eventually dropped after the judge decided that Sherzer had been lured by law enforcement. Still, for a grandmaster, it was a fairly stupid move.

The UMBC program was already drawing a few raised eyebrows, since several members of its team were in their mid-30s or early 40s. FIDE master William "the Exterminator" Morrison, for example, was 42 when he left the program in 2003, having attended the school for eight years while earning a degree in education. (Morrison was profiled in City Paper's July 28, 1999 cover story, "He Got Game.") And then there was Alexander "Wojo" Wojtkiewicz, the Polish grandmaster who was 37 when he entered UMBC in 1995 to major in Romance languages.

As Blehm talks about Wojtkiewicz, his friend and, for a year, teammate, he reveals why sometimes a champion chess player is a more difficult proposition than, say, a good lacrosse player. Most scholarship athletes go to college because they hope to become better. Chess grandmasters, by the time they apply for scholarships, have been playing professional chess, traveling the world, and impressing everybody since they were in grade school. By the time Wojtkiewicz wound up in a UMBC classroom, he had circled the globe several times, playing tournaments on, as Wojtkiewicz was known to put it, "every continent except Antarctica."

Wojtkiewicz was a child star at 7. By 15, he was a Soviet master. At 16, he was working as an adviser for chess immortal Mikhail Tal. At 19, Wojtkiewicz was drafted by the Russian army, shortly after its invasion of Afghanistan. Grandmasters don't usually like being told what to do, and he was no exception. He refused to join the army and spent several years on the run from authorities. Finally, he turned himself in and spent one and a half years languishing in a gulag during his 20s, the peak of any chess player's prowess. Then he surfaced again in Poland, where 14-year-old Pawel Blehm was embarking on his own chess career.

"He came to Poland in 1986, and people had forgotten him," Blehm says. "Then he started playing [again] as an unrated player--he didn't have the chance to play in professional tournaments--and within a year he became a grandmaster, and then won the Polish Championship in 1989. That's when I first met him."

When Blehm talks about Wojtkiewicz, he sounds like he's describing a figure who, if he'd been a little more accommodating in his prime, might have climbed even higher. "He was the second-youngest master in the Soviet Union after [Gary] Kasparov," Blehm stresses. "And many say that he was the most talented of those young chess players. He never beat Gary, but I know he came close once." (Wojtkiewicz last played Kasparov in 2000 at a tournament in Iceland, where he lost. In an earlier encounter, the two played to a draw.)

Once in Catonsville, Wojtkiewicz had an impact not only on the UMBC team but also on the local chess scene. Fells Point Chess on Aliceanna Street is a haven for local chess enthusiasts, and "Wojo" is a legend there--as the iconic old-school chess player who devoted his life to the game, hopping from one tournament to the next, supporting himself with chess lessons on the side, and taking on all comers at the Aliceanna Street shop. Wilbert Brown, a chess expert who attended UMBC in the early '70s and who will be a tournament director at this year's Pan-American, remembers meeting Wojtkiewicz at tournaments, drinking between moves, or sitting outside on Aliceanna, waiting for his next challenger.

"There was this one time," Brown says with a smile. "He was just sitting there, and this guy walks by with these red skis. He ran across the street after him. Then he comes back, and he's got these skis." If he wanted to do something, in other words, he did it. And if he didn't, he didn't.

"He told people what he thought," Blehm laughs. That may explain the rapidly deteriorating relationship between Wojtkiewicz and the UMBC chess program. The grandmaster left the UMBC program in 2003, after only two years.

Blehm pauses: "Then I was in Ireland last summer, just traveling around. And I heard that he died."

Wojtkiewicz had died in Baltimore on July 14, 2006, heavily mourned by the tightly knit international chess community. His cause of death was listed as internal bleeding.

If Wojtkiewicz shared his former mentor Mikhail Tal's aggressive playing style, he also shared a proclivity for the hard-living, womanizing, peripatetic life of a chess player. At the time of his death, Wojtkiewicz had just won two tournaments, in Philadelphia and Las Vegas. He was piling up tens of thousands of dollars in winnings and headed toward his third national Grand Prix. But, as Blehm notes, there's a point where, for a pro chess player, the income level flattens out and exhaustion creeps in: "You just reach this point where it's very hard to earn any more." Some blame Wojtkiewicz's declining health on heavy drinking, others to a congenital intestinal problem. Regardless, the consensus is that the grueling life of a professional chess player had taken its toll.


By late 2003, UMBC's dream team had broken up and the school's chess program was getting a little more attention than it wanted--including articles in The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times. When the Sherzer's name comes up today, Sherman doesn't have a lot to say--"look him up on the web site"--and obviously wants to change the subject. "We've had difficulties," he acknowledges. "But for the most part, these are students who come to UMBC to get an education."

UMBC's team no longer features four mercurial grandmasters, but that hasn't held it back. Since 2003, Onischuk and Blehm have led the team to four consecutive President's Cup victories. While Onischuk is generally the first board player--he has a U.S. Chess Federation rating of 2,688 compared to Blehm's 2,599 FIDE rating--he has been away often over the last two years, leaving Blehm the primary force behind the team.

When talking about his own chess career, Blehm doesn't dramatize much. No huge wins come up in discussions, and there were no voices from God telling him that chess was his life. He describes it in a simple, offhand fashion, as if it wasn't really a question of whether he would achieve grandmaster, but when.

Like many grandmasters, he got his start early, at age 6, in his hometown of Olkusz, Poland. His father, an electrical engineer and chess player with a "decent" ranking, according to Blehm, first taught him the moves. Very soon, the son started beating his father. Blehm started going to the local chess club and raising eyebrows there.

"I was living in a small town in Poland, and there weren't that many other people who played [chess]," Blehm says. "I was lucky, because there was one guy who became my coach. He wasn't a very strong chess player, but he was a good motivator."

As he grew toward adolescence, he learned strategy and won tournaments. In his opinion, the accolades didn't really matter, and the trophies that began piling up weren't necessary. "You don't need people to tell you you're good," he says. "You see it yourself."

So what's the motivation, then? After a pause, Blehm says, "You know, I really liked what I was doing. When I was 12 or 13, I stopped going to school. I was studying chess for eight hours a day. Sometimes when I liked the subject, I would spend 12 hours just digging to find out what's wrong with the position."

Fortunately, Blehm says, his chess coach was also an athletic instructor at his school. While missing classes, Blehm still showed up for soccer practice. He plays to this day, and he speaks of the sport now as a sort of anchor to his social life, something that prevented his passion for chess from becoming an obsession.

After graduating from high school at 19, Blehm moved on to professional chess. What follows is a litany of awards and achievements: World Junior Team Championship member, 1999 and 2000; second place in European under-20 championship, 2000; participant in FIDE World Championships, New Delhi; member, Polish team, 34th Chess Olympiad; six-time Polish junior champion. In 2000, Blehm won his grandmaster title. When asked what that was like, he sounds like he barely noticed: "It was a question of when it was going to happen. I got it earlier than I'd expected."

At age 20, he decided to try something new. He heard through the grapevine that two colleges in the United States were offering full scholarships for chess superstars: UT Dallas and UMBC. Tim Redmond, president of the U.S. Chess Federation, happened to be a professor at Dallas, Blehm recalls, "so I talked to him, and he said that I could study there."

What followed rivals any other college sports recruitment skirmish. At first, it looked like UT Dallas had Blehm on its team; he brushed up on his English and, in 2002, headed to the United States to take the SAT exam. Instead of flying directly to Dallas, however, Blehm decided to stop in Baltimore and visit his friend Alex Wojtkiewicz. The older grandmaster was then at UMBC and arranged a meeting between Blehm and Sherman. UT Dallas' offer, while excellent, didn't hold a candle to the deal offered by UMBC, so Blehm became a Coca-Cola Chess Fellow and has been one since.

As they hit their mid-20s, most top chess players face a career choice: keep playing tournaments and make money on the side teaching, or find a steady job. Blehm sounds like he's decided in favor of a job, preferably in finance. "I don't really play chess anymore," he says. "Not like I used to in Poland."

Of course, his latest FIDE rating puts him in the top 600 or so of all chess players in the world. "Well," he concedes, "I still like to play from time to time."

Blehm will graduate in May from UMBC, but he plans to get an MBA there as well, and will continue playing with the chess team. In 2003, when UMBC's chess team had an average ago of 30, the school joined with UT Dallas and other colleges and universities to push FIDE for age limits for college chess players--no more Exterminators, no more Wojos. At 26, Blehm would be too old to play tournament chess under current rules, but he's been "grandfathered" in.


Thanks to players like Blehm, UMBC has won four of the last six President's Cups. The other two--in 2000 and '01--were won by UT Dallas. While the two teams are locked in a fierce rivalry for championships and recruiting, students elsewhere complain that the two schools' fat scholarships have turned college chess tournaments into a two-way match between teams packed with grandmasters and international masters.

Yale University has been a force to be reckoned with in the world of chess, and even now, its team includes two players with chess federation ratings over 2,000. But up against UMBC and UT Dallas' grandmasters, Yale team President Kathryn Au says, that doesn't count for much. "We're sending nine people to [Washington] this time," Au says, but adds, "We're in it for the fun--we know we're not going to win at the top level. Our main goal is to upset the stronger teams."

The resources UMBC and UT Dallas pour into their teams "puts us out of the running--we just don't have the resources," Au says. "It's ridiculous all the money they get. We don't get that at the Ivy Leagues."

Jim Stallings, director of the chess program at UT Dallas, doesn't sympathize. Speaking by phone from his office he responds testily in a Texas drawl, "Well, why do it at all? Why compete in any tournament if you're not going against the top-ranked players? If you're not intrinsically motivated, and you don't think you can win the trophies, what's the point?"

Stallings has an expert chess rating but sounds a little like a car dealer over the phone. For 25 years, he says, he marketed computers for various companies. And while UMBC's Alan Sherman is a part-time team director and a full-time professor, Stallings does nothing for a living but direct Dallas' chess program. As he sees it, getting a few brainy grandmasters to come to a relatively young institution like 40-year-old UT Dallas is a smart marketing move.

"Fielding a chess team is effective, and it's cheap," he says. "I mean, what does it cost to keep up a football stadium? The players . . . teach chess camp in the summer. That doesn't cost the school any money, and that's 300 or so kids who come to the campus with their parents to play chess. I tell you, 10 years down the line, a lot of them will have the name UTD in their head."

There are undertones of jealously in Stallings' conversation, though, at UMBC's ability to grab some of the very best chess players around--including Pawel Blehm, whom UMBC snatched from UT Dallas at the last moment.


At the upcoming Pan-American tournament, Blehm will be joined by two other members of UMBC's A team: 21-year-old FIDE master Bruci Lopez, currently ranked about 61st in the United States, and 22-year-old women's grandmaster Katerina Rohonyan, aka "the Kiev Killer." The fourth player is undetermined as of press time because the player scheduled to fill that slot is currently in India.

Lopez, the A team's newest addition, has a friendly, cool style. In the UMBC commons area, he chats easily while putting a few B team members through the wringer. (No disrespect intended: The B teamers generally rank above 2,000 in U.S. Chess Federation points.) Lopez was born in Cuba, which has a strong chess infrastructure, but he and his family left when he was 16, when his father was kicked out. "Castro didn't like him," he says. After growing up in South Florida, Lopez headed to Miami Dade, a two-year college that, thanks to the waves of Cuban immigrants, is the third national chess powerhouse behind UT Dallas and UMBC. While playing at Pan-American tournaments, he caught the attention of Alan Sherman, and Lopez decided to continue his career as a Coca-Cola Fellow. His rating is currently around 2,400--slowly creeping up to grandmaster level.

The Kiev Killer, it turns out, is not from Kiev. "When I came here, they gave me that name," Rohonyan says. "It was the only city in Ukraine anyone here has heard of." She comes from Nikolaev, a town on the shores of the Black Sea that she says is about the size of Baltimore . She says she found her chess legs a little late for a grandmaster--at age 7. She makes it sound as if, almost against her will, she found herself being sucked into Ukraine's gigantic chess apparatus. "In 1991, it was still like the Soviet Union--they would come to school to recruit chess players," she recalls. After a few rounds at the local chess clubs, her mother pressed her to develop her skills. "She told me that I could either stop playing or become very good," Rohonyan says. "She said she didn't want me to be an average chess player." By age 16, Rohonyan became the Ukranian women's chess champion.

Rohonyan says that the pressures placed on her as a young chess prodigy were certainly tough, but she marvels at the young players now being churned out of the internet chess world. "When Bobby Fischer won the grandmaster at 15," she says, "he was the first person in the world to do that." Fischer got his start by heading down the street to the Brooklyn Chess Club, where he began to play with--and eventually beat--local chess legends. Now, Rohonyan says, there are "dozens" of teenage grandmasters who spend eight to 10 hours a day logged into vast online chess databases.

It's a concern that many highly ranked players share about the emerging generation of chess players who have been brought up in the age of the internet. Players can now go online and plow through almost all of an upcoming opponent's games, looking for flaws and testing out strategies. This high-tech approach threatens to take the suspense out of chess. Even Fischer, who hasn't played a match since 1992, seems to agree: For years, he's been promoting a version of random chess that is meant to eliminate the time spent memorizing huge databases of opening moves, variations on moves, endgames, and individual player quirks. Of course, Fisher's own individual quirks have made him a less-than-reliable spokesman. He is currently living in Iceland, having fled U.S. authorities after trying to leave Japan using an expired passport. At the moment he's known more for his anti-Semitic rants delivered in radio interviews from Iceland than for his chess game.

For the moment, though, the games that matter for the UMBC team have to be won in the real world, face-to-face.

"First, you figure out who your likely opponents are," Blehm says, talking about the prep work he and his teammates do. "You look at their games. You figure out what openings they play. Then you decide to change your openings. Then you think about it a few hours before, what you want to do. Put yourself in the mood.

"Then the game begins" he continues. "You look at the opponent's moves." Sometimes, Blehm says, your opponent falls right into your trap by using a technique that you're prepared to counter. Sometimes the game ends right there. Sometimes complications arise. "You see your opponent playing a few lines, and two of them you don't like," Blehm says. "Then you can try something new, but then you have to prepare it, to have some idea what you're doing."

Chess players study voluminously, and Blehm himself spent years poring through openings and variations, to the point that he says his reactions are almost ingrained. That's not the way he likes playing, though. At a certain point, he says, he starts to move into more dangerous, exciting territory--where chess really becomes a battle of nerves.

"I like improvising," he says. "It was Tal's style. I have a good intuition. Some positions you're not able to calculate. Then you just make sacrifices, just to make things happen.

"And then, when the time is right," he concludes, "you go in for the kill."

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