Luzhniki Night: An Old Bird Learns That Landing Is Also a Way of Flying

When Magnus Carlsen walked into the hotel lobby in Saint Petersburg on a late August evening, I was sitting at the bar with a glass of cold mint tea. He didn't look at me, but I knew he was thinking about something. In nine days, in London, he would defend his title at the 2026 Tech Mahindra Global Chess League – a tournament he had skipped last season. I have followed Carlsen since 2026, when a 14-year-old boy defeated Anatoly Karpov in a rapid game in Reykjavik. Twenty-two years later, I still see in him the eyes of a predator, but something has changed. Perhaps it is the way he sits, the way he holds his teacup, the way he looks out the window as if calculating a move that no one else can see. The tournament this year features six franchise teams, each with a board bearing its own name. Carlsen's Alpine APL Pipers will face Fyers American Gambits, where Javokhir Sindarov – the 21-year-old Uzbek player – is placed on the Icon board. I remember the first time I saw Sindarov play chess, at the 2026 World Youth Championship, a skinny boy sitting before the board like a poet writing a long poem. Now he is the cornerstone of a franchise team, and I wonder if he understands that the Icon board is not just a place to win, but a place to carry the expectations of an entire corporation. Viswanathan Anand, 56, will still take the stage. I have written about Anand since he was a teenager with messy hair and eyes bright as an oil lamp. Now he is a legend, but I will never forget his match against Garry Kasparov at the 2026 World Championship – a match I watched on a black-and-white TV screen at a café in Hanoi. Anand never rushes. He plays chess like a river flowing through a valley, slow but unstoppable. Anish Giri, Arjun Erigaisi, Alireza Firouzja, Koneru Humpy, Harika Dronavalli, Divya Deshmukh – all are present. But D Gukesh and R Praggnanandhaa, India's two youngest stars, have chosen not to participate. I don't know the exact reason, but I can guess. The schedule is too dense, and the Chess Olympiad will begin just two days after the final. The tournament format is a double round-robin, each team meeting twice, followed by a best-of-two final. Nine days of play in total, from September 5 to 13. A prize fund of one million US dollars. Six franchise teams. I have witnessed many tournaments in 49 years, from small events in Moscow to World Cup finals in Brazil, and I can say that this format has a fundamental problem: it prioritizes quantity over quality. A double round-robin in a nine-day rapid event means players will have to play many games in a short period. This favors those who can maintain physical and mental stability, but it also increases the risk of fatigue-induced errors in the later rounds. I remember the match between Russia and Spain at the 2026 World Cup, when Akinfeev, 32, saved two penalties and took the Russian team to the quarterfinals. That night, I wrote about an old bird standing like a birch tree against the Spanish storm. Now, looking at Carlsen, I see a similar image. He is 35, no longer at the peak of his form as in 2026 when he first won the world championship, but he remains one of the strongest players in the world. His return after a missed season is an important signal. It shows he still has motivation, still wants to prove something – perhaps to himself, perhaps to the world. But there is something I want to point out, something most people might overlook. The absence of Gukesh and Praggnanandhaa is not just a media loss. It is a signal of how young players view their careers. Twenty years ago, a young player would never refuse the opportunity to play against Carlsen and Anand. Now, they can calculate that resting before the Chess Olympiad is more important than participating in a franchise tournament, no matter how attractive the prize fund. This says that the chess ecosystem is changing, and franchise tournaments will have to compete not only with each other but also with traditional events. I have spent many nights watching Carlsen's games over the years, and I have noticed something: he never plays chess the way others expect. When people think he will attack, he defends. When people think he will play safe, he takes risks. This makes him an unpredictable opponent, but it also makes him difficult to analyze. In a double round-robin tournament, this unpredictability can be a great advantage, because opponents cannot prepare specifically for each game. But it can also be a weakness, because fatigue can reduce his creativity in the later rounds. Sindarov, on the Icon board of Fyers American Gambits, will face a different kind of pressure. The Icon board is not just a place to play chess; it is a place to showcase a brand. Sponsors will look at this board, media will focus on this board, and every mistake will be magnified. I have seen many young players crumble under this pressure, and I have seen others rise. Sindarov has talent, but talent is not enough. He needs patience, composure, and the ability to accept that he cannot always win. Another thing I want to mention is the role of live streaming. This year's tournament places special emphasis on live streaming the games, and this shows that the organizers are aiming to build a sustainable media platform. I have lived through a time when chess was only broadcast on national television, and now I see it streamed on digital platforms with millions of viewers. This change is inevitable, but it also raises the question: does live streaming change the way players play? I don't have a definitive answer, but I believe it changes the way they prepare. When I was young, I used to think that chess was a sport of solitude. Now, I realize it is a sport of connection. Players don't just play against each other on the board; they play through screens, through online platforms, through franchise tournaments. And this makes chess richer, but also more complex. I don't know if Carlsen will defend his title, and I don't know if Sindarov will showcase his talent. But I know that tonight, in London, when the players sit down at the board, they will not just be playing for a million dollars. They will be playing for passion, for honor, and for the stories they will tell their children. Luzhniki Night: an old bird learns that landing is also a way of flying. Carlsen has landed after a missed season, and now he is preparing to fly again. But can he fly as high as before? I don't know. I only know that I will sit before my screen, with a cup of hot tea, and I will write about what I see. Because that is my job, and that is how I understand the world. When the stadium has no ball, memory begins to score. When the board has no pieces, memory begins to move. I have witnessed many matches in my life, and I have learned that the most memorable moments are not the moments of victory, but the moments when people overcome their own limits. Carlsen has done this many times. Anand has done this. And I believe Sindarov, and other young players, will do this in this tournament. The day the heart stops, I learn to beat slower but deeper. When Christian Eriksen collapsed on the pitch at Euro 2026, I learned that sport is not just about winning. It is about life, about connection, about the circles people create to protect each other. Chess is the same. Each game is a circle, each move is a connection, and each match is a story about life. I will follow this tournament with special attention, not just because of Carlsen, not just because of Anand, but because of what it says about the future of chess. Will franchise tournaments become the future of this sport? Will live streaming make chess more popular? Will young players continue to participate or choose a different path? I don't have answers, but I have questions, and these questions will guide me in the coming days. The transfer market is where people sell the future to buy hope. In chess, there is no transfer market, but there are franchise tournaments, where teams buy hope with money and players sell the future with their time. Is this sustainable? I don't know. But I know that I will be there, with my cup of tea, and I will write about what I see. Esports taught me that youth is not in the muscles, but in the reflexes of the heart. Chess is the same. Carlsen may no longer be young, but his heart still beats fast when facing challenges. Anand may be 56, but his heart still shines like an oil lamp. And Sindarov, at 21, has the heart of a warrior. I will follow them, and I will write about them, because that is how I understand the world. Tonight, in London, when the players sit down at the board, I will sit before my screen, and I will remember everything I have seen in 49 years. I will remember the great matches, the historic moments, the tears and the smiles. And I will write about all of that, because that is my job, and that is how I understand the world. When the stadium has no ball, memory begins to score. When the board has no pieces, memory begins to move. And when the tournament ends, when the players leave the board, the stories will begin. Those are the stories I will tell, and those are the stories I will write. I don't know who will win this tournament. I don't know if Carlsen will defend his title. I don't know if Sindarov will showcase his talent. But I know that I will be there, with my cup of tea, and I will write about what I see. Because that is my job, and that is how I understand the world. Luzhniki Night: an old bird learns that landing is also a way of flying. And I, another old bird, I understand that writing is also a way of flying. I will fly through pages, through screens, through stories, and I will never land.