Personal Patterns Persist (aka, "Teach a man to fish...")

 Once you see something, it's very hard to unseen it.  Even if it is small and barely noticeable, if you see it once, you will almost always see it, as a great Seinfeld episode once showed.

There's a red dot, George.

This effect becomes even more powerful if you see it for yourself.  Remember those "Where's Waldo?" books from school?  If a friend found Waldo and showed you, you might remember ... but you might not.  If you find Waldo yourself, though, then your eyes will automatically jump to that spot when you open the page.  The act of discovery sears the knowledge deep into your brain.

As you might imagine, I can apply this same theme to chess.  Essentially, if I tell you something about chess, you know it.  If you discover that thing by yourself, you know it.  Automatic.  Instinctual.  Without effort.  Today, I'm going to share examples of the sort of things I've discovered about chess, and hopefully this will serve as an exemplar on how you can build your own personal bank of permanent patterns.

My First Pattern

I've mentioned before that chess was not popular at school and how no one was very strong.  Here's proof: a large chunk of games started with either 1.a4 or 1.h4, followed by bringing the Rooks into the game.  Why?  Probably because Rooks are the easiest piece to move.

Very early on, I discovered that moving one of the central pawns stops this plan, because the Rook would be taken!  I won a surprising number of games by move 2 precisely because of this.

No, this is not the most complicated example ... but I know it.  Without any effort, if I see a potential Rook lift, I know that a Bishop on its base square protects against it.  Sure, it might not apply very often, but it still does:

White has a strong attack and threatens Rh3 with mate follow.  Fortunately, Black has 1...Bc8! and forever stops the fatal Rook lift.  It might look odd to undevelop the Bishop back to its starting square, but for me, this move jumps out.  It's obvious, because when I was 6 or so I discovered this idea for myself.

The Improved Scholar's Mate

At some point we got better and someone learned about scholar's mate.  Soon we were all playing Qf3, Bc4 and aiming for mate on f7 as early as possible.  I discovered that 2.Qh5! was the better way to play it, because it introduces a very tempting blunder.

You won't believe how many school children fell for this line.  Almost all of them.  I was up a Rook so often it was funny.  I soon discovered, though, the following annoying line: 1.e4 e5 2.Qh5! g6? 3.Qxe5 Qe7:

Once I take the Rook in the corner, Black will take my e4-pawn with check and life gets annoying.  I didn't like that, so I started playing 1.e3!  Now the pawn is protected, and as a bonus, it blunts the "Scholar's Mate" attack, so ...Bc5 and ...Qf6 do nothing for Black.  Without a hint of exaggeration, my school friends started copying this, and by Grade 4 or so, most of our games started 1.e3 e6.

Yes, this is somewhat silly, but the idea is more than, "Throw the Queen out early."  It's actually deeper: moving the Knight's pawn early in the game exposes the Rook on the diagonal.  If you can get to the diagonal first, the Rook is toast.  Just a few years ago, I reached this position.  Guess which moved jumped out?

This is not normally a motif taught in books. In my chessable course, I have a whole section dedicated to this weakness on the long diagonal. I don't want to claim I brought this to the chess world, as that's silly.  Because I discovered it for myself, though, it flashes bright, and I was able to show it others.

The Absent Queen and the Fork

Okay, I have to admit, this section sounds like a kid's fairy tale.  Anyway, as mentioned, most kids played some variant of the Scholar's mate.  This meant that the Queen was never on d8 after the first few moves.  At some point, I discovered this leaves c7 undefended, and a Knight in particular wields a mortal fork if it lands there.

This suddenly gave me a plan: whenever my opponent brings his Queen out early, I should look to play Nc3-d5 and jump into c7.  Nd5 is especially good because it also targets f6, the usual spot of the Queen.

And guess what?  This pattern still applies today.  If the Queen moves early, c7 should be my main target, like it was in this game I played in high school:

Yes, Nd5! is a discovered attack on the Queen, so Nxc7+ comes next.  If you notice, I am actually down a piece in this diagram.  I had sacrificed my Bishop to bring about this position, and I could do that because this pattern jumped out to me and I knew I would win that material back.

Teach a Man to Fish...

This is just the beginning.  I have many more patterns I could share, patterns that I discovered and became ingrained inside me.  I think I've proved my point, though: these simplified patterns from patzer games can still be applied in more complex positions, and most importantly, they absolutely jump out.  They are automatic.  It takes no effort.

To riff on the well-known phrase, "Teach a man a move and he'll know it for a game; have the man discover the move himself and he'll know it for a lifetime."  If you discover ideas for yourself, they become yours forever.

How did I discover these?  Basically, playing lots of games and then asking, "What went right? What went wrong?" after every one.  I was a kid, so I didn't do this super seriously, but it doesn't take much thought to go, "Being up a Rook is great! I should try that again." 

Now, this sounds wonderful, but does that mean we should avoid chess books and derive all the rules ourselves?  No, of course not.  There's a world of difference, though, between learning something in a book and applying it in game.  How many times have you solved a tactical puzzle with a Queen sacrifice?  Lots.  How many times have you sacrificed your Queen in game?  If you're like me, close to zero.  Once you do it, though, the concept starts becoming yours.  It's perhaps not as strong as discovery, but it's darn close.

Finally, a quick aside: I'm a chess author, and the happiest feedback I receive is the following: "I'm starting to notice these ideas in my own games."  That's the golden ticket.  That's the spark.  That's the sign a student has internalized the lesson and started to apply it.  Chess is infinite, and I can only show so many examples of f7 being weak or the danger on the open e-file.  As they play games, students start creating their own examples and discover how these ideas apply themselves.  They start owning the concepts, making it theirs.  Their play improves and they enjoy the game more.

And that means I, the author, did my job well, and it makes me very happy indeed.