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

Luzhniki Night: An Old Bird Learns That Landing Is Also a Way of Flying. When the stadium has no ball, memory begins to score. The day the heart stops, I learn to beat slower but deeper. The transfer market is where people sell the future to buy hope. Esports taught me that youth is not in muscles, but in the reflexes of the heart. I sit before the screen in Saint Petersburg, in the middle of a September night, when news of the fourth season of the Tech Mahindra Global Chess League reaches the newsroom. Outside, the wind from the Neva River blows through old birch trees, and I suddenly remember another night – the Luzhniki night of 2026, when Akinfeev, 32 years old, stood firm like a tree trunk in the Spanish storm. Today, another old bird is about to take flight: Magnus Carlsen, after missing a season, will return to defend his title for Alpine APL Pipers at the tournament running from September 5 to 13, 2026. This year's tournament brings together six franchise teams, with a total prize fund of one million US dollars. The format is a double round-robin, followed by a best-of-two final to determine the champion. Nine days of continuous play, and just two days after the final, the Chess Olympiad begins. The schedule is so dense that I have to stop and think: are these players playing chess, or racing against time? Based on my experience following matches for nearly five decades, I realize one thing: the double round-robin format over nine days is not a test of tactical depth, but a test of mental endurance. In rapid chess, consistency and processing speed matter more than deep preparation. Each player will face ten or more games, and in the final games, when the body is tired, time-trouble mistakes will begin to appear. I have witnessed this many times – not only in chess, but also in football, when extended matches expose the weaknesses of even the strongest teams. This year's lineup is a vivid portrait of the diversity of the world chess scene. Alongside Carlsen, we have Viswanathan Anand – the 56-year-old Indian legend who continues to compete as if time does not exist. Anish Giri, Arjun Erigaisi, Alireza Firouzja, Koneru Humpy, Harika Dronavalli, and Divya Deshmukh – all are present, forming a formidable collection of 2700+ players. But two absent names catch my attention: D Gukesh and R Praggnanandhaa – India's two top young talents. They have chosen not to participate, and I wonder: are they prioritizing preparation for the Olympiad, or are there other strategic reasons? Javokhir Sindarov, the young Uzbek player, will lead Fyers American Gambits on the Icon board – the position considered most important for each team. Placing a young player in this position shows the team's strategy: they not only want to win, but also want to build an image, a symbol for the future. I remember my early days following chess, when young players like Kasparov and Karpov were elevated not only because of talent, but because they represented a generation, a nation, an aspiration. What troubles me most in this article is the gap between expectation and reality. The media is revolving around Carlsen's return and the presence of Indian stars. But are we looking at the right focus? The absence of Gukesh and Praggnanandhaa – two young players expected to lead Indian chess in the next decade – may be a more important signal than the presence of established stars. When young talents choose not to participate in a tournament with a one-million-dollar prize fund, we must ask: what is really happening in the chess ecosystem? There is a detail few notice: the tournament ends on September 13, and the Olympiad begins just two days later. This is an extremely tight schedule, almost impossible for players who must travel between two different locations. I have witnessed similar cases in football – when players must compete continuously between club and national team, and the result is injuries and undeserved declines in form. Chess may not cause physical harm like football, but mental fatigue is inevitable. I remember Christian Eriksen, on June 12, 2026, when his heart stopped on the pitch. The Danish players formed a circle, shielding their teammate, and the match stopped for 109 minutes. I wrote my article in tears, not mentioning the score, only the circle of people embracing life. Today, when I look at the dense schedule of the Global Chess League, I wonder: are we creating a protective circle for these players? Or are we pushing them into the relentless cycle of commercialization and entertainment? The truth is, this tournament is not just a sporting event. It is a commercial product, backed by Tech Mahindra – an Indian technology conglomerate. The emphasis on live streaming shows that the organizers are aiming to maximize viewership, turning chess into a mass entertainment sport. This is not bad – in fact, it could be a lifeline for a discipline often considered dry and inaccessible. But I wonder: are we losing something in this process? When I was a young chess player, before transitioning to media, I learned that chess is not just a game of clever moves. It is a game of patience, of enduring pressure, of understanding that sometimes, the best move is not to move. These qualities are not visible in scores or rankings, but in how a player handles the most difficult moments. In a nine-day tournament with a double round-robin format, these qualities will be tested to the limit. The absence of Gukesh and Praggnanandhaa may be a sign that young players are beginning to understand the value of knowing when to say no. In a world where everything is measured by numbers – ratings, prize money, follower counts – knowing when to stop is a precious skill. I have learned this over the years, through lost matches, through articles that were not well received, through moments when I wondered if I was on the right path. Looking at the participation list, I see an interesting division: older players like Anand and Carlsen continue to compete tirelessly, while young talents like Gukesh and Praggnanandhaa choose to withdraw. This may reflect a change in how the new generation approaches their careers – they no longer consider participating in every tournament mandatory, but know how to choose the most important battles. This could be a positive signal, showing maturity in career management among young players. But there is another perspective: their absence may be due to the dense schedule, making it impossible to attend all events. If so, this is a systemic issue – one I have seen in football, when players must choose between club and national team, often sacrificing one. Chess is entering a similar phase, as franchise tournaments multiply, and players face pressure to participate in all of them. I remember a phrase I often tell myself in difficult days: "Stop a few beats, then beat again. Like this match." My heart has learned to beat slower but deeper through nearly five decades of following sports. And I believe that young players like Gukesh and Praggnanandhaa, by choosing not to participate in this tournament, are learning the same lesson – that sometimes, the best way to move forward is to know when to stop. This tournament will take place from September 5 to 13, and I will follow every game. I will not only look at the scores, but at how players handle pressure, how they face mistakes, how they rise after defeats. Because ultimately, that is what makes a great player – not the number of wins, but how they face defeat. When the stadium has no ball, memory begins to score. And when the tournament ends, when the lights go out, when the spectators leave the stands, what remains will be the stories – stories of perseverance, of courage, of moments when humans surpass their own limits. That is why I still write, still follow, still believe that sports – whether football, chess, or any other discipline – always have the power to tell the most beautiful stories about humanity. Luzhniki Night: An Old Bird Learns That Landing Is Also a Way of Flying. And in the coming days, as players step into the first game of the fourth Global Chess League season, I will remember: every move, win or lose, is part of a larger story – the story of people who dare to dream, dare to fight, and dare to believe that even when the heart stops, it can beat again.