Go with the Flow

by Cho Hunhyun

  Though I have less physical and mental strengths today, I still do my best to win. Sometimes I am forced to bet on high odds in a tight game, earning the reputation of being cutthroat. But it also meant that I still had the same sharpness. At this age, my desire to expand territory is still very much alive and at work.

  I do not believe that the world is full of competition and that only the fittest gets to survive. But it is the attitude that counts. Working hard to expand one’s territory in whatever area of expertise one chooses. The meaning of territorial expansion is not limited to being successful or getting ahead of others. In a larger sense, it means to make the most out of one’s potential, living one’s dream and finding the purpose of one’s life.

  We should keep asking what we live for and how we want to live. We must give every option a try in the hope of living a better and happier life tomorrow. If tough competitions are in the way, get in the race. Don’t give up too soon, or come up with excuses to avoid the fight. Everyone deserves to see the full potential unleased and there is still much territory waiting to be conquered.

  Changho’s Half-point Game

  To be perfectly candid, I was not so convinced that Changho would go far and one day become a world champion when he came to study under me. Changho was good at playing Go but showed no sign of a genius. He was nondescript and inarticulate. Changho also had trouble remembering the moves he had made in the game he had just played. And yet for some reason, I had a feeling I should not give up on him. I followed my gut feeling and decided to take Changho in.

  It did not take long for me to realize that there was a striking difference in our styles. I liked to play offense with speed and wit. Changho, on the other hand, was slow, stable, and serious. His style stems from his personality; earnest, calm, and gentle. For the six years that he lived in my house, never once did he make any noise or cause trouble. Changho spent everyday studying Go without any complaints.

  One day, Changho and I were reviewing a game he had played before. Changho chose to play safe as usual when there was a strategically better and cleverer alternative. I asked why.

  “The move is impactful but likely to be overturned, whereas my choice guarantees me to win 100 times out of 100 games by at least half a point,” he said.

  “Your choice is not bad, but don’t you think the other option is easier and simpler?”

  Changho did not say anything but his expression told me that he did not want to give up his slow-but-certain strategy. In a mentoring relationship, it was common for the mentor and the student to mold each other, but that was not the case for us. Changho and I were different all the way to the marrow; I am agile but he is slow. I like to play offense, he likes to play defense. I am a risk-taker but he chooses to play safe.

  One day, such ‘difference’ between us came to pose a huge threat to me. In 1988, at the 28th Choegowi Title Match, Lee Changho sat opposite me after beating all the high-rank players, one by one. It was the first-ever match between a teacher and the student in the history of Go in Korea. I succeeded in defending the title from Changho, but I lost one game in that best-of-five match. I was defeated for the first time in an official competition by Changho. He won by merely half a point.

  Half a point. Half a point is not even visible on the Go board. There are only whole numbers like one, two, and three points on the board, not a fraction like half a point. And yet someone can win by half a point because of the compensation rule. In Go, the black player has the first mover advantage. The white player is compensated with six and a half points for playing second. Those six and a half points are included when adding up the scores at the end of the game, allowing the player to win by half a point.

  Some thought Changho was very lucky to win by a mere half a point. No one would have imagined that a 14-year-old was capable of including that half-a-point in his meticulous planning. But I knew Changho. He did not win by half a point by coincidence. I also knew that I was the problem. Was I ready to play against someone like Changho, who believed he could win 100 times out of 100 games by only half a point? It did not take long for me to find out the answer.

  In 1989, Changho and I met again at the Guksu Title Match. I won again by three to one. But I also lost one round to Changho, again, by half a point. In 1990, the two of us met again as the title defender and contender at the finals of the Choegowi Title Match. But this time, I lost to Changho. I got defeated by Changho for the first time in my life at this match. We played a tight game which ended with a 2-2 tie that continued into the last and final fifth round. But I lost by half a point again.

  Since then we played against each other numerous times for championship titles and at every critical moment I lost by half a point. The curse of the half-a-point seemed to present itself over and over again. Changho holds 188 wins and 119 losses against me. He is ahead of me. I won by half a point 5 times against Changho, while he won by half a point 20 times. Changho knew that I could be vulnerable by half a point. It was my Achilles heel. Changho learned on his own how to outplay his teacher and he did it in his own way.

  Changho had worked very hard to defeat me. He analyzed my game records in detail, my playing pattern to identify my weakness, and put together a winning strategy. There were few players who were able to beat me until Changho came along. Changho aimed for my weak spot by using his supercomputer-like calculation capacity and with his impenetrable maneuvers of stones. He did not miss the half a point that was missing in my calculation.

  This was a clash of two different approaches to Go. There was, and is, more than one way to get closer to the core of this ancient game of Go. The one Changho took was far different from the one I chose to take. Changho’s way was the first of its kind. No one has played like him before. Changho was able to see my weakness that everyone, including myself, missed because he was different.

  Changho had his own weaknesses, too, which would become the target of AlphaGo-fighting Lee Sedol’s ruthless attack in the years to come. Sedol was only 12 years old– the fifth player to debut at such a young age- when he became a professional Go player.

  The history of the game of Go has carried on in such a way. I was defeated by Changho, whose approach to Go is different from mine. Changho is then defeated by Sedol, who plays in his own style. Anybody who takes down Sedol would be most likely to have a different playing style. A new generation of young power is right behind Sedol. It can only mean that the advent of another new style of Go is not too far away.

  In order for a particular approach to be well received, it has to win. And a fresh successful approach is never created overnight. It is the manifestation of tirelessly analyzing the opponent, the ability to catch the rival’s weak spot, and the fearless readiness to target that weak spot. The new approach is a creative one, something nobody has had the capacity to imagine before.

  I see how new approaches are created and applied in the real world, too. Political power, for example, shifts to an emerging leader with a new political idea. In business, companies must embrace changes and innovation to meet the demand of the day in order to survive. For this reason, the qualifications a company looks for in its potential employees are redefined with time. In the past, companies valued integrity and loyalty. Not long ago, academic achievement and extra-curricular activities were thought to be important. Today, companies look for someone with a well-rounded character and creativity. But even these qualifications are bound to change again.

  At home, the roles of parents are redefined depending on what is relevant in that era. Husband-and-wife or parents-children relationships are redefined as well. The new way of parenting or taking care of each other, for example, must be embraced by all family members for everyone to be happy. The more conservative father with patriarchal values must learn to be less authoritarian. The more old-school mother who expects complete obedience from her children must learn to accept them as an independent human being.

  To be successful, one needs to know what kind of ‘style’ one
has. Is it something that everyone already has, or is it a refreshingly creative one? The strongest competitive edge is having a style or an approach that sets oneself apart from everyone else. This is something not to be forgotten. At the same time, one needs to be abreast with the next rising approach to doing things. It is very likely that this new approach is already gaining prevalence. Those who have the capacity to catch up with it will be ready for the future, or even lead it.

  The Wheelchair Fight

  At the dawn of 1986, fans of Go could not get their eyes off of a bizarre scene. Cho Chikun 9P showed up in the finals of the Kisei Title Match in Japan, in a wheelchair.

  It turned out that Chikun had a fender-bender with a motorcycle as he was driving off from his Chiba home drive way a few days ago. But Chickun was hit again by a speeding van which came out of nowhere as he was getting out of his car to deal with the motorcycle. The van sped away, leaving Chickun seriously injured. He had a broken right shinbone that ripped through his flesh, torn left ligament patellae, fractured left wrist, and a wound on his head. Fortunately, CT results showed no damage was done to his brain.

  The news of Chikun’s accident threw the Japanese Go community into utter chaos. There was only a week left before the finals of the Kisei Title Match where Chikun was supposed to defend his title. When Chikun came out of the 15-hour surgery, he was bed-tied in a full-body cast. The host of the match was in great panic, considering whether to delay the game. But Chikun told them that he wanted to play as scheduled.

  “I have no injury on my head and my right hand. This is a God-given sign saying that I should play. I am capable of playing right now.”

  Chikun was in his patient gown, wearing casts on his left leg and foot with a blanket covering his lap, when he appeared for the final match. It was obvious that he felt uncomfortable but he was adamant about playing.

  The first round ended with his loss. He was probably stretching backwards to fight in such a condition in the first place. But Chikun dispelled all concerns. He impressed the spectators by winning the second and third rounds in a row. The second round he played on that day, in particular, is still much talked about. It was recorded as one of the best in the history of Go. All observers were in disbelief. Chikun did not just manage the game. It was executed beautifully.

  In the end, Chikun lost by 2-4. The Kisei Title Match was the last of the Big Three titles Chikun had to defend after losing the Japanese Honinbo Title Match and the Meijin Championship. By losing the Kisei Title, the emperor of Go was left crownless. Nevertheless, no one laughed at him. Everybody was deeply inspired by the astonishing fighting spirit that he had exerted. And there was one more hero at the scene. It was Kobayashi, the contender and the man who put me through hell in the quarterfinals of the first Ing Cup.

  In the history of Japanese Go, Chikun and Kobayashi were considered to be old foes. The two studied Go at the Minoru Kitani’s Go school around the same time and spent their childhood together at the Fujisawa study group. It was at the Fujisawa study group that I met with Chikun and Kobayashi.

  Of the two, the first one to stand out was Chikun. At the age of 24, he defeated Hideo Otake and won the Meijin Championship. From there, he took it all the way to the top, taking over one by one the Big Three titles in Japanese Go. Kobayashi was the man Chikun had always feared the most. And he waited for Kobayashi at the top. Chikun mentioned once in an interview that he revered those who never stopped endeavoring every day to reach the top. Chikun, I believe, was referring to Kobayashi.

  In 1985, the two rivals finally met. Kobayashi defeated all of the star players and sat before Chikun at the Meijin Championship. Kobayashi, who had been waiting for that moment, quickly went after Chikun as soon as the timer started to tick. Chikun managed to shake off the pursuit with difficulty and persevered into the 7th round but did not make it in the final round. Kobayashi started to go all-out to take down Chikun. Chikun lost the titles he held, one by one, whereas Kobayashi won the Triple Crown- the Judan Title match, the Meijin Championship, and the Tengen Title Match. In 1986, Kobayashi fought Chikun for the Kisei Title, which was Chikun’s last remaining title.

  How Kobayashi must have felt when the archrival of his life showed up in the long-awaited match with a full-body cast in a wheelchair, I could not imagine. The average person would have been unwilling to fight against a wounded opponent. Win or lose, playing against a wounded man did not seem to be worth the trouble either way; the assumption being an easy win, or a carless loss. But Kobayashi was not an average man. When he paid a visit to see Chikun in the hospital, Kobayashi accepted his decision to fight as scheduled. On the day of the match, Kobayashi gave his best without pulling a punch.

  Both Chikun and Kobayashi later mentioned about the Kisei Title Match in their memoirs as well as in several interviews. Kobayashi said “Chikun was stronger than ever in a wheelchair. He was asking to fight on an equal footing.” To Kobayashi, Chikun was not a wounded man, but a powerful rival as he has always been. There was no reason for Kobayashi to spare his best out of pity for Chikun. Chikun put up a strong fight and so did Kobayashi.

  “I believe it was Kobayashi who was put in an unfavorable position, not me. It must have been awkward to fight against an injured opponent. But Kobayashi did not go easy on me. He fought hard to win. There were only a few people who could do the same,” said Chikun. He added, “I was strong. Tough enough to win the game but I lost. That was my limit. I have never blamed the accident for my defeat.”

  It is not the powerful who wins, but whoever wins becomes the powerful one. I applaud both Chikun and Kobayashi; Chikun, for not giving up even when he was wheelchair-bound, and Kobayashi, for his professionalism. At one glance, Kobayashi seemed to have the upper hand but it was not true at all. It was a fair and close game, where only one could be the winner. That was all there was to it.

  A truly strong person never makes an excuse. Someone who has worked very hard to win can accept defeat gracefully. If one loses, that is because the opponent is stronger. Accept the fact, move on and work harder. I believe that the most important professional courtesy a master of Go must demonstrate is to do one’s best in a match. Expressing to resign long before the end of the game or playing halfheartedly because the opponent appears to be less experienced are not the attitude expected of a professional player. Never look down on the opponent. No one appreciates an easy win against an opponent who is half-serious about the game. What is appreciated is professionalism, accepting the opponent as equally competitive and doing one’s best to win.

  For this reason, I give my best at every game. Although I have come to make more mistakes with age, I have never been unenthusiastic about games. I believe being enthusiastic and serious are simply professional courtesy.

  In the 2001 Samsung Fire & Marine Insurance World Masters Baduk, I defeated Chang Hao, China’s top Go player, and won the championship. Chinese reporters complained that I, an old man, was standing in the way of young Chinese players. “Haven’t you enjoyed enough wealth and fame? Don’t you think it is time for you to stand aside and let young Chinese player win?” one of the reporters asked.

  After a moment of thought, I replied. “I believe I am doing a favor to the Chinese Go and the Chinese players by doing my best at every game.” The Chinese reporters did not reply back. Perhaps they had an epiphany about the meaning of true sportsmanship.

  Tornados Ride on

  the Ascending Current

  A fierce but invisible battle of two colliding energies takes place on the Go board. Sometimes I feel that my opponent does not confront my provocation but chooses to turn tail because he does not know what to do. Not every challenge has to be accepted, of course. There is, however, a clear distinction between ignoring a provocation and running away. The former is the outcome of confidence, high spirit, and has a triumphant note, whereas the latter is a sign of nervousness, anxiety, and even servility. When these two opposing dynamics are felt in the air, it seems the winner and the loser
is pre-determined before the game is even over. No matter how skilled a player is, no one can play at one’s best when psychologically intimidated.

  To win, a player has to have first and foremost a fighting spirit. One must be full of confidence and show it in every way. One should not be intimidated no matter how great an opponent one meets. As soon as one shows fear, the opponent will jump at the opportunity to display more strength.

  Energy is mysterious in nature. It is invisible and intangible but definitely felt. Whether one is full of confidence or feeling a shadow of anxiety is noticeable. What is more inexplicable is that the more frightened, the weaker one becomes, while the more confident, the stronger one becomes. The mechanism works like a tornado that gets more powerful with more ascending air current.

  Energy between two individuals affects each other. An anxious individual feels more insecure in the presence of an audacious individual. On the contrary, a self-confident individual becomes more self-assured by preying on the anxiety of others. In a nutshell, the more one feels anxious the stronger the opponent becomes. Nothing expedites a KO than stepping into the boxing ring already frightened. One must believe in oneself and have the guts to confront the opponent with the ‘Let’s fight. Bring it on!’ mentality.