What I Learned From My First OTB Classical

That was the advice I got from International Master Mike Ivanov (@theScot) before the 2025 Maritime Chess Festival Open Championship. This blog post is my reflection on the tournament, in an attempt to ensure that I take something meaningful from it and use it to further my chess growth.

Setting the Stage

Like many chess players nowadays, I started to get serious about the game during the pandemic. At that point, I was hovering around 1300 rapid (all ratings are Lichess ratings unless otherwise indicated). Fast forward to the end of 2024, when I was comfortably at the 1800-1900 level in rapid and blitz.

The problem? I had stagnated. Elo anxiety, failure to devote time to serious study (playing blitz on the toilet doesn't count), and lack of community were all having a negative impact on my chess. So, sitting alone in my Airbnb on a sunny but cold December morning in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I signed up for a CFC (Chess Federation of Canada) membership, and in early 2025 discovered my new chess community, the Maritime Chess Club (or MCC for short), which plays regular arena, Swiss, and team battle tournaments right here on Lichess.

Playing with the Maritime Chess Club

The MCC gave me a chance to play regularly and with the same group of people. I finally started to feel like part of the chess ecosystem. In the spring, I played in my first OTB tournament ever, a five-round rapid Swiss in Halifax. There, I even got to meet one of my buddies from the MCC! A few weeks after that, I secured two wins against titled players online, including International Master Sergey Klimenko of Ukraine, and won my first ever online tournaments, securing four wins in quick succession (after 178 failed attempts spanning three and a half years).

By June, I was playing and streaming MCC tournaments around four nights a week, all online. The occasional CFC-rated tournament would come around, giving me an opportunity to further establish my CFC rating.

Pressing Pause

Then, it all stopped. From the middle of June to the end of September, I hardly even looked at chess. I got caught up in other hobbies that I had neglected, and with a busy summer season at work, chess simply fell out of my routine.

And now, here we are, in October 2025. Even though I hadn't played consistently in months, I registered for the 2025 Maritime Chess Festival, playing in two tournaments: first, a five-round OTB rapid, and then my first ever OTB classical. And yes, this is the same tournament that featured GM Hikaru Nakamura as he continues his quest to qualify for the 2026 Candidates!

Surrounded by Geniuses

While humble titled players might tell you that they're nothing special, an inexperienced 1700 (CFC) like myself certainly can't help but put them on a pedestal. In the hours leading up to Round 1 of the classical, I had the honour and privilege of getting to speak with International Masters Mike Ivanov (@theScot) and Mark Plotkin (@littleplotkin), who offered me some precious words of advice, and CM Dzmitry Kalinin, who praised my performance after I showed great resilience against him in the rapid portion.

It was easy to feel intimidated going into the tournament surrounded by stronger and more experienced players, but I repeated to myself IM Ivanov's reminder that it's important to love the process. Combining that with IM Plotkin's advice to remain relaxed, CM Kalinin's praise, and the emotional high of getting a selfie with GM Nakamura, I finally felt ready to take on this new challenge. I've played around 11 000 games in my life, but none felt as important as the ones that were to come.

"It's important to love the process." (IM Mike Ivanov)

The Tournament

Finally, the moment had arrived. My first ever official, rated classical game with the longest time control I had ever played (90'+30").

Round 1: A Strong Start

My first game of the tournament was against a youngster. This was a new experience for me, since playing online you don't tend to think about your opponent in terms of age or any real physical capacity. I was suddenly aware of my body language and how both my opponent and I could make educated guesses of what the other player was considering based on which part of the board we stared at for prolonged periods.

It was in this round that I also felt a persistent awkwardness that I've never really felt before, and that was a result of the extremely long time control. I'm not accustomed to taking several minutes to evaluate a position and formulate a plan. I'm also not used to taking even 10 or 20 seconds to play an obvious move, like one of the numerous but simple moves involved in delivering a ladder checkmate.

Ultimately, all's well that ends well, and I came out of Round 1 with a win in my first ever classical game.

Round 2: An Unnecessary Risk

This is where things got interesting. After picking up a win in the morning, the afternoon game had me squaring off against the top seed in my section. I played an Alapin Sicilian with the White pieces, and several moves in, I thought I smelled blood, i.e., an opportunity to deliver a devastating blow via a sacrifice. You know, the type of move that GM Yasser Seirawan defined as a combination in his book, Winning Chess Tactics. Unfortunately for me, the sacrifice was unsound, and I blundered a knight.

I continued to play out the game, but found myself down four points of material (a bishop and a pawn) in the endgame. As my opponent got closer to promoting his extra pawn, I decided I'd had enough, and resigned.

While the sacrifice was unsound and definitely cost me the game quite early on, I know I would have been more upset had I backed out of the opportunity to deliver a blow, only to later have Stockfish tell me the sacrifice was indeed sound. I have still yet to analyze the game with an engine, but I don't feel bad for taking a risk and learning a lesson; it will be a useful experience to have in my back pocket next time.

Round 3: Camaraderie

On Day 2, the morning game pitted me against the number two seed in my section. Prior to the round, I spoke with IM Mark Plotkin, who said that 1700 (CFC) is "quite strong" which made me feel quite good about how far I've come just playing online and without any formal coaching. My opponent also expressed his displeasure at the pairing, saying there were "many weaker players" he could have faced in this round. I laughed and said, "It's not like you're playing Hikaru!" (who indeed ended up coming by and watching a portion of our game later on that morning). I didn't want to let the positive comments from my 1800 (CFC) opponent or IM Plotkin get to my head and cause me to let my guard down, but it was nice to hear that I wasn't seen as a minnow.

The game began, and immediately I found myself feeling unprepared. My opponent met 1.e4 with 1...e6, the dreaded French Defence. I'll be honest, I don't really know what to do against the French. Commentary on the defence suggests that White's best plan is to play the Advance Variation, but I very easily succumb to the mounting pressure that Black puts on the d4 pawn in such lines. So, I opted to play the Exchange Variation, with 2.d4 d5 3.exd5 exd5.

We ended up trading off some pieces, and were beginning to move towards a heavy-piece endgame. My opponent had a rook staring down the e-file, and his queen on b4 eyeing the e1 square where one of my own rooks stood. As much as I didn't think I was lost, I definitely thought I was worse. After a stressful few moves where I just hoped and prayed that I didn't make an egregious error in front of Hikaru or the camerawoman, my opponent unexpectedly withdrew his queen to e7 and offered me a draw. I examined the board for a few moments to make sure I wasn't missing anything, and then graciously accepted. I'd picked up half a point, and made a new friend. Not too shabby!

Round 4: Battle of the Noobs

As far as I could tell, only one player besides myself was entering the Open Championship with an "estimated" rating as seen on the registration page; this suggested to me that we were the only two players participating in our first ever CFC-rated classical tournaments, and we were set to square off in Round 4. With the knowledge that my estimated rating was 225 points higher than his, my gameplan was simple: keep it simple, don't blunder, and wait for him to make a mistake.

I was in for a nervy start, just like in the morning game. I opted for a Caro-Kann Defence, the game beginning with the moves 1.e4 c6 2.d4 d5 3.Nc3 dxe4 4.Nxe4 Nf6. In this position, I hoped he would continue with 5.Nxf6+ exf6, but instead he played the "dreaded" 5.Ng5, threatening to sacrifice the knight with 6.Nxf7. Many a time I've crumbled after such a sacrifice, losing a queen or worse. It was quite possibly the first time I really used my clock as I was meant to in a classical game.

My defence was perhaps unconventional, but after putting a pawn on e6, my queen on c7, and kicking out the knight by advancing the h-pawn, my position felt much more stable. Eventually, my strategy of trying to keep things simple and wait for him to make a mistake paid off. We traded off a few pieces, and while I might have been content with a draw and walking away from Day 2 with a full point gained, I had a sneaking suspicion that my opportunity would come.

Eventually, it did. Planting my bishop on e4, attacking both rooks and a queen on c2, my opponent struggled to find a way out, decided to sacrifice his queen and a rook, and eventually got checkmated. It wasn't as easy as I might have hoped going into the round, but I had come out on top in the Battle of the Noobs.

Round 5: Succumbing to Counterplay

Going into Day 3, I was feeling confident as I was 7th place in the standings with just two rounds to go. A win in Round 5 and I'd be right up near the top in my first ever OTB classical!

The game got off to a good start, and I gained a dominant position. I was proud of myself for finding a sequence of moves that allowed me to double my rooks on the c-file, play Rb1 provoking my opponent to defend her weak b7 pawn in the only way possible by playing b6, then returning the rook to c1 threatening to infiltrate on the c6 square, freshly yielded to me by the b6 pawn push. I felt clever and in control.

Then, disaster struck. After winning back a couple of pawns, and with dominant control as both my rooks managed to find stable homes on the 6th rank, my opponent found a way to create some counterplay. Trading off a pair of rooks, giving me a couple of pesky checks, and bringing her rook down to the 1st rank, my position was being tested but I thought I would still have the upper hand. Unfortunately, she then began pushing her pawn majority on the a- and b-files, threatening my lone a-pawn. This was her chance, counterplay on the queenside.

Disturbingly, I completely collapsed. I ended up having to sacrifice a bishop and ended up in an endgame with a king and rook facing a king, rook, bishop, and an a-pawn threatening to promote. I was unable to prevent the pawn from advancing and resigned the game. From a winning position and in touching distance of top 4 in the standings, I scored a big fat zero.

The game had lasted over three and a half hours, and the next round was scheduled to start only 45 minutes later. I was dejected after the loss, but upon leaving the playing hall, saw the legend himself, GM Hikaru Nakamura, taking pictures with a small group of fans. I hurriedly grabbed my chessboard to get it signed. Not a bad way to lift the spirits before the final round!

Round 6: Endgame Capitulation

My final game was against a kid. After an opening that raised some eyebrows as he danced the same knight around the board, I made a couple of careful trades, and eventually spotted a queen sacrifice that would, in the long run, win me back his queen, trade off a pair of rooks, trade off a pair of bishops, and win me an extra pawn. The way my opponent decided to play it out, he accepted the doubling of his b-pawns and entered a pawn game where I had the upper hand: six pawns versus five.

I felt a sense of excitement similar to that of the previous round. A winning position! This was my chance to end the tournament on a high. In terrifying fashion, though, I misplayed the endgame so horribly that I not only gave away the win, but lost the game. From a pawn up and my opponent having doubled pawns, to defeat. A very, very bitter pill to swallow.

So, What Did I Learn?

There are a few main takeaways from this tournament. I hesitate to list too many for fear of spreading myself too thin, so here are my four main observations from the tournament.

1. Weakness in the Endgame

The most glaring takeaway from the tournament comes from the bitter defeats on Day 3. My inability to convert an advantage saw me plummet from 7th in the standings (and in touching distance of 4th) all the way to 19th at the end of the tournament. Out of only 28 participants, I didn't feel good about finishing in the bottom 10, even if it was my first OTB classical. My endgames need a good deal of work, but I already have a plan in motion to improve in this regard, supported by the textbook Silman's Complete Endgame Course by the late IM Jeremy Silman.

2. Classical Time Control = Better Play

While I did lose three games in this tournament, the first was due to an unsound sacrifice in the opening, and the other two were due to endgame blunders. Basically, except for my unsound sacrifice in Round 2, I never entered the endgame in a worse position. Some of the moves I found during the opening and middlegame phases of play were the kinds of moves I might not even consider when playing rapid or blitz online. Provoking a pawn push to then infiltrate on the sixth rank, and to orchestrate that by simply moving a rook from c1 to b1 and then back to c1, is the kind of thing I not only would struggle to think of, but it's the kind of move that I would struggle to wrap my head around if I were watching a grandmaster game, unless it were explained to me by a commentator.

It has become apparent to me, then, that I can at least hold my own against players of 1600-1700 CFC strength all the way up to the endgame. I might have even made it into an equal endgame in Round 2 had I not played in such a risky manner against an 1869 (CFC) who was more than happy to punish me for overreaching. And, fortunately for me, I had IM Mike Ivanov close at hand to give me some words of support after my heartbreaking loss in Round 5; he reminded me of the following quote from the great GM Emanuel Lasker:

"The hardest thing in chess is winning a won game."

I am very grateful to IM Ivanov for his support, his time, and his advice as I progressed through this tournament.

3. Body Language

Play the game, not the person. Your opponent might look calm, or they might look stressed. They might confidently pace around the room, or they might have their head in their hands, eyes fixated on some corner of the board. Don't let it throw you off your game. Play the position on the board, don't cloud your judgement based on the mind games your opponent may be trying to inflict upon you.

4. Patience

Playing such a long time control compared to what I'm accustomed to means that I often found myself playing quickly when I felt I was winning. I definitely need to work on managing my time better, because I think the quick play (undoubtedly combined with a lack of deep understanding) caused me to throw away my advantage on multiple occasions. Taking my time to assess and reassess the position might save me from ending up in lost endgames, and to preserve any advantage I may have.

The Future

A couple of years ago, I was listening to a chess podcast that talked about the Soviet School of Chess. The speakers explained that Soviet chess players began by studying the endgame, understanding its concepts and positions well, and getting comfortable with converting winning advantages or holding draws in equal positions. Then, they would study the middlegame, and learn not just how to navigate that phase of the game, but how to convert it into an advantageous endgame. This detail shows the power of the Soviet approach, showing how they thought about the endgame long before it actually arrived. And of course, this concept was extended into the study of openings, which consisted not just of memorizing the best lines, but learning how to convert the position into a favourable middlegame, leading in turn to a favourable endgame. Dramatizing only slightly, it could easily be said that the Soviet players were winning from move 1 with this method, because their entire chess philosophy was built on preparing for the endgame.

I have no idea how much truth there is to that.

I've struggled to find content elsewhere that explains the Soviet school in the same way as that now lost podcast episode. Still, I can't deny that it's a seductive approach. Having played 11 000 games, I clearly know some things about the opening, but after Rounds 5 and 6 of the MCF Open this past weekend, I can clearly see that my endgame skills are lacking. And that burned.

So, now I am at a crossroads; I could continue playing chess as I have, mostly for enjoyment but improving only slowly, or I could be methodical, studying endgames the Soviet way, polishing my weak skills, and playing more long games to give myself the time to put new concepts into practice. And since I haven't been playing chess regularly for the past few months, there isn't really any inertia anymore that would keep me playing the same way I always do. The way I see it, this is the perfect opportunity to pivot, to learn in a new way, and to come back stronger in my next classical tournament, which hopefully would be no later than next year's Maritime Chess Festival.

For the time being, though, we're setting our sights on the Maritime Chess Club's December CFC Rapid. Here we go!