Since becoming world champion, Spassky had played ninety-two games, eighty-eight of them abroad. Ivonin suspected that Spassky did not want tough competition. He appeared to be suffering from post—world championship loss-of-form syndrome.
In July 1971, in a small tournament in the Swedish city of Göteborg, Spassky had managed eight points out of eleven (five wins, six draws). In the Alekhine Memorial tournament in Moscow in November/December 1971, he was placed only joint sixth, below the new prodigy, Anatoli Karpov, and ex-champions Smyslov and Petrosian. He had agreed a series of unimpressive short draws. But he was not the only champion to have avoided tough competition. In a later article in the chess magazine 64, Vasili Panov commented: “Not one of our world champions, with the exception of Botvinnik, played even once in the Championship of the USSR—the strongest contemporary tournament—while they held the title. That is why they lost their feel for hard-fought battles. Even in the competitions in which the world champions were magnanimous enough to appear, they didn’t throw themselves fully into it, didn’t crave first place, and often—oh, how often!—instead of passionately searching for paths to victory were satisfied with modest ‘grandmaster’ draws and now and then conceded first place to a braver and more ambitious competitor.”
If he were minded to make excuses, Spassky could point to personal preoccupations—private troubles that the Sports Committee tried to help him resolve. He was unsettled by the obligations that fell to him as the leader of Soviet chess. He had to ensure that Bondarevskii and Krogius had permits to live in Moscow and that Bondarevskii gained a much needed pay increase. He wanted to change his Moscow flat in Prospekt Mira; he described the Stalin-era apartment as noisy and claustrophobic, with nowhere to put his books or work. He wanted more money. He had to pay alimony to his first wife and provide for his mother. His second wife, Larisa, had come to Moscow with their child, and they too had to be taken care of—a suitable kindergarten found for the little boy, Vasili. With all these expenses, 300 roubles a month was not enough, he told Ivonin.
As a senior politician, a deputy minister, Ivonin also received 300 roubles a month. He initially told Spassky that the Sports Committee did not have sufficient money for chess as well as for other sports in the Soviet Union. Privately he thought that compared to other people, Spassky had a privileged enough life already; the real problem was that Spassky knew how sports stars lived abroad. However, Spassky’s demands could not be ignored, and when they met again in late November, Ivonin capitulated. Spassky was awarded an increase to 500 roubles a month—the same as a Soviet minister and the first Soviet sportsman to be remunerated at this level. The Council of Ministers—the government—had to approve the increase as an “exceptional personal salary.”
On 16 November, Viktor Baturinskii, director of the Central Chess Club, wrote a report to the Sports Committee on Spassky’s training, expressing the authorities’ disquiet at the champion’s attitude to the defense of his title. Clearly exasperated, he explained Spassky’s unsuitability to carry the Soviet flag and gave a merciless review of the world champion’s general readiness for the mission ahead:
As a result of his difficult childhood and gaps in his upbringing, he allows himself to make immature statements, infringes sporting procedures, and does not display the necessary level of industriousness. Certain individuals in our country and abroad try to aggravate these weaknesses, nurturing his delusions of grandeur, emphasizing his “exclusive role” as world champion in all sorts of ways and encouraging B. Spassky’s already unhealthy mercenary spirit. Two points cause particular anxiety:
a) He spends a great deal of time on improving his living conditions (exchanging his flat, buying a dacha, repairing his automobile), and this may in future influence his training, which demands the full devotion of his energy and time…
b) Thoughtlessness during public appearances; his attention has been drawn to this several times.
The very next day, the Sports Committee lost control of Spassky’s preparation.
Within the structure of government, the Sports Committee was answerable to the Council of Ministers. But the Soviet Union had two (unequal) sources of governing authority. Operating alongside the government, at this time led by Andrei Kosygin, was the real center of power, the Communist Party. At the top of the Party was the Central Committee. It had a cabinet, the Politburo, the pinnacle of the power structure. The Central Committee and its secretaries were at the heart of the political system, and the general secretary, Leonid Brezhnev, was the true leader of the country. (This caused puzzled head scratching in diplomatic circles: how could Brezhnev pay state visits abroad when he had no official governmental position?) Any issue with major ideological implications went to the Central Committee for discussion and decision. If the response was positive, the government ministry would act; if not, not.
Without informing the Sports Committee (in other words, the deputy minister, Viktor Ivonin, and the bureaucrats who would have to make all the practical arrangements and find the money for them), Spassky initiated a meeting with a senior functionary in the Central Committee and handed over his outline “Training Plan.” The unnamed functionary conveyed it to Piotr Demichev, the Central Committee secretary whose beat covered chess. Chess fell under “ideology,” and Demichev had been the secretary responsible for ideology since 1961—he was also a candidate, or nonvoting member, of the Politburo. Spassky himself says that he never met Demichev.
Why did Spassky take this radical step and give his schedule to the Central Committee, the control room of the Party? He says it was because of his growing friction with Baturinskii; he wanted to bypass him—and with him, presumably, the other Sports Committee apparatchiks.
Although this was a world championship, the Central Committee would not normally have intervened; usually such matters would have been left to the Sports Committee. Asked if he resented Spassky’s gambit, Ivonin simply says that such a move by a top sportsman with Party connections was not unknown (“a world champion is a world champion”), but that in this case Spassky had no need to go to Demichev. The Sports Committee, says Ivonin, was already implementing his wishes. Ivonin assumed that Spassky just wanted the Central Committee to put its authority behind his personal demands, including finding a new apartment.
In any case, two days later, the chairman of the Sports Committee, Sergei Pavlov, a man utterly familiar with Soviet ways of power, had his first sight of the world champion’s program to retain the title. As he read the cover letter, with at least surprise, and probably anger, he realized that Spassky now outgunned the chess bureaucrats. The initiative concerning Spassky was out of the ordinary, and the champion had generated it. This in itself would have irritated Pavlov, but perhaps his response would also have been tinged with personal bitterness and envy. He had been a Party boss. He had helped Brezhnev dispose of Khrushchev. Now here was a Central Committee secretary going over his head to meddle in his bailiwick.
To Comrade S. P. Pavlov
I ask you to examine closely the questions posed here and to report back to me.
Attached was Spassky’s plan, now circulated to them via the second most powerful body in the country: