Meribel Backgammon 2010 By Robert Wachtel
 

“This is bad, very bad,” said Clive Kay, shaking his head in dismay. “Why, a week ago, when I left, it was -10 ?C. “Now it’s +10 ?C. This is bad.”
 

Our gang of four -- Clive, the two Japanese backgammon superstars, Michy and Mochy, and I -- had just left that morning from our last backgammon tour stop, Cyprus, on Pegasus Air, one of those budget European carriers that has transformed a motley assortment of tiny, remote, unloved airports into a profit-making network. And so, almost for free, we had hopped from Lefkosa in northern Cyprus to Gokcen in Istanbul to this postage-stamp-sized airstrip in St. Etienne, France (near Lyon). Our destination, Meribel, was now in sight: just a snappy, three-hour drive up into those imposing, ice-covered mountains in the distance: the French Alps.

Meribel, you see, is a picturesque little ski resort located just across the Swiss border from Geneva; and Clive -- an easy-going, hedonistic Brit who has lived and owned a bar in Meribel for years -- is the genius behind a unique backgammon tournament that was held there for the first time last year in mid-December. Keenly aware of how dependent the economy of an alpine village like this one is on cold weather and snowfall, Clive was sweating the Celsius through every mountain pass, all along the long and winding mountain road (can you guess that I am susceptible to car-sickness?) that finally led us, just as night was falling, onto a neat little frosty lane lined with a few cheerily-lit, wood-facaded chalets and a hundred shops selling every kind block and tackle, bait and harpoon, wax, oil, boot and parka that an aficionado might ever desire in his assault upon the slopes.
 

Speaking purely for myself, I was thrilled to discover that our venue, a jolly ski lodge called La Chaudanne, was (as its name implies) as warm and snuggly within as a pair of thermal underwear that have been sitting on a radiator overnight. For Clive’s prayers were being answered: the warm snap was ending, and the temperature was behaving itself, dipping lower every hour. Indeed, when I woke the next morning, I found the environs almost properly frozen. The snow-making machines were busy augmenting the natural stuff, blowing their bounty onto a slope that was used for the women’s downhill when Meribel hosted that event in the 1992 Winter Olympics.

Skiing in Meribel

Clive had done a great job promoting the tournament on Facebook and at other live backgammon events, and he was rewarded with a handsome turnout: 43 players in the main and 20 in the “midflight.” And indeed, not only was the venue picturesque, the investment was an excellent one: 100% of entry fees returned to the prize pool, and a host of extras negotiated with the local merchants: discounts at the local supermarket; reduced rates for lift passes and ski equipment; even a complimentary ski lesson for each tournament participant.

All of us rank beginners, Mochy, Michy and I set out that first morning to take advantage of this last offer; but (perhaps through some misunderstanding) we were turned away by the ski school, which told us we needed a fourth to qualify for the freebie lesson. I was relaxing back in my room an hour later, contemplating the spectacular scenery through my picture window, when Mochy rang. “We’ve decided to go out without the lesson. Would you like to join us?” For some reason I agreed (oh, I remember why now: the backgammon room would not be open till evening) and spent the next couple of hours with the boys choosing a ski shop (the one Clive had discounted for us was closed for the afternoon), being fitted for boots, poles and skis, and awkwardly hauling the paraphernalia to the ski lift a quarter of a mile away.
 

Only after another hour of struggling to don the gear, and then slipping and sliding around the lift area, did we learn that the true baby slopes, where we all belonged, were closed due to the recent spell of bad (i.e warm) weather. We took a lift anyway halfway up the mountain; and Mochy, who had a little experience, went down the green beginner slope a few times; but Michy and I recognized we were overmatched. We did not know even how to turn or stop on our skis; so after a bit more floundering and falling, we took the lift back down -- and, with our last strength, carried the rented equipment back to its rightful owners.

Although this expedition had been, on the face of it, a disaster, I was pleased by one thing: I had remained fairly comfortable under the layers upon layers of thermal wear that I had purchased specially for this part of my trip. Living in Los Angeles, and having just spent the last week in sub-tropical Cyprus, I had not been sure how well I’d cope with the climate change. But at least my wardrobe had not malfunctioned.

Freezing at the Highest Backgammon Tournament

Or so I thought. It was crisp but sunny the next morning, and I blithely discarded a scarf or two as Clive and his staff gathered us all up for the cable car ride to “The Highest Little Tournament in the World.” The conditions of this unique side event: it was an ordinary backgammon tournament, but to be played entirely outdoors, on the terrace of Les Pierres Plates Restaurant, at the top of the nearest peak: an altitude of 2739 meters! I hardly noticed, as Clive regaled me with the history of Meribel on the way up, how much chillier it was getting.
 

The view from the restaurant’s terrace was awesome. The sun was brilliant, the air sparkling clear, the icy mountain peaks that ringed our location majestic. But it was also cold ... very cold. Clumsily sliding the checkers around the board with gloved hands, I battled through two, then three backgammon matches. I was approaching the semifinal, but then everything started going numb -- and not comfortably. I was thankful when the lunch break was called; but despite the assortment of the hearty stews and soups we were served, I could not thaw out. Chilled to the bone, I asked special permission to play my next match indoors. I lost, and straightaway took the cable car back down to the village. It was only after soaking in a hot tub for an hour back in my room, with scenes from Into Thin Air playing in my head, that I began to feel my old self.

It was only at 10:30 PM Friday night, after two days of entertainments, and then a generous cocktail party followed by a civilized two-hour dinner break, that the main Meribel backgammon tournament commenced. I was paired with Simon Pankvelashvili, a sympathetic Georgian (of the bordering-Russia, not southern-USA variety) whom I had met and made friends with the day before. The round began, but my opponent was nowhere to be found. The tournament director, Mike Main, tried calling him, but with no success. After half an hour or so, Mr. Main told me that I could begin receiving penalty points.

It is, of course, standard procedure to take advantage of this sort of situation. After all, it is the director, not you, who is imposing the punishment, and there is a good reason for it. The trains must run: if you allow people to be late for matches with no consequences it inconveniences everyone.

Memories from the Deauville Backgammon Championships

But I have some baggage. Back in the early nineties, I had the good fortune to do rather well in a big backgammon tournament which was held in Deauville, France. I made it all the way to the consolation final. The rounds had started at 2PM on each of the previous three days of the tournament; and, being a naive young logician, it seemed quite impossible to me that with only one round to be played on the final day, the action could possibly start earlier. I did some shopping in the nearby town of Trouville (practicing my French) and arrived at the tournament site a few minutes after 2. I was met by an excited group of friends, who sadly informed me that I had just been forfeited. It turned out that there had been a small flaw in my logic, for the last round had been scheduled for 1PM. From that day forward, I abandoned my rationalism for a more empirical approach, meaning that I actually inquired – either read the program, or asked the tournament director -- rather than assumed when a match was going to take place. But I still remember how disappointed and angry I had been that my opponent would have been willing to win in such a cheap way.
 

And so, I told the director that I did not want the penalty points. I waited, and sometime close to midnight, Simon showed up. But he was in a bad way. Grimacing with pain at every breath, he explained that he had slipped on a patch of “black ice” on the sidewalk outside his hotel (he was not staying at La Chaudanne), fallen, and had probably broken a rib or two. Apparently, he did not have a cell phone. Immobilized by pain, he had been unable to get out of bed and make it to the tournament hall.

But here, at last, he was. The tournament staff found some analgesics. Simon swallowed the pills – and little by little gathered his focus. And then destroyed me. I was out of the tournament.

Meribel Backgammon Side Events

But there were lots more side events to keep the losers like me busy: doubles, speedgammon, jackpots, and another unique, riotous Meribel invention: the “gang tournament.” In this event, the original field (there were 24 volunteers for the madness) is divided into two consulting teams (of 12 players each) which play a three point match, with (as in a chouette) a captain having final say for each team over the choice of move. Once a team wins, all of the members of the opposing team are eliminated, and the winning team is split in two (by random draw).

The two new teams face off, and the mitosis of the winning teams proceeds until there is a single, individual winner. Held outside the main playing room, on a table adjoining the bar, the gang action did not start until 11PM on Saturday night, by which time the liquor had been flowing freely for hours. The “advice” given to the respective captains by their eleven teammates -- all talking, pleading, and gesturing at once -- would have been considered confusing within the Tower of Babel itself; but that, to be sure, was the fun of it all. Well into the night, even as the field was narrowed, you could still hear the shrieks, moans and laughter of the remaining participants echoing down the corridors of the hotel.
 

The finalists in the main tournament were two of backgammon’s favorite gentlemen: Chris Ternel, the Brit responsible for organizing the café leagues in Denmark when he lived there years ago; and Michel Serrero of France: a tough, veteran competitor whose lovely daughter Scarlett is equally formidable, both as a player and as an assistant director (as she was here) of many major European backgammon tournaments. After a difficult match in which Michel jumped to an early lead, Chris finally prevailed. Third and fourth places were taken by two of the world’s top players: Raj Jansari of Great Britain, and Mochy. And it was great to see another serious Japanese student of the game, Miki Suzuki, make her mark by winning the consolation tournament.
 

The mid flight event, which attracted twenty entrants, was won by Genesis Naylor of France.

Michy won the super jackpot tourney, making a quite miraculous comeback to beat former Nordic champion Thomas Jespersen of Denmark in the final match.

Exhibiting not only backgammon but advanced social skills as well, Michel Serrero won the gang tournament. Sandra Peskin of Great Britain was second.

Exhibiting not only backgammon but advanced survival skills as well, Jose Rodriguez of Spain won the 48-player mountaintop tournament, besting Mochy in the frigid final.

Speedgammon winners: Franck Stepler (France), Chris Ternel (England), Simon Pankvelashvili (Georgia), Malcolm Robertson (Hong Kong), Henning Frick (Germany).

Rassoul Rasti of Switzerland was the winner of a raffle with a fine Genesis Naylor backgammon board as the prize.

Oh, and there was one more prize awarded. A “good sport” award, consisting of a nice bottle of Cotes du Rhone. I won that one. Yes, I may have deserved it this time, for sparing Simon the misery of a forfeiture; but my results have been so bad in the last few years that I have accumulated quite a collection of these pity prizes.
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