Chess Olympiad 2026 in Samarkand: India, Gukesh and the Lines That Never Reach the Scoreboard

I sat in my usual café on Nguyen Chi Thanh Street in Da Nang, staring at a notification on my phone screen. The organizers of the 2026 Chess Olympiad had just confirmed Samarkand, Uzbekistan as the venue for the largest national-team chess event on the planet, starting September 16, 2026 and closing September 27 of the same year. Eleven rounds under the Swiss system, four main boards plus one reserve, a rest day on September 22. Those numbers scrolled across the screen, but what made me pause longer was a small line at the bottom of the release: streaming information to be announced later.

Drawing back the veil on speed, I encountered a whole generation on the run.

That sentence has followed me for nine years, since the evening in 2026 when I cut the "Drawing Back the Veil on Speed" video series analyzing every lap of Nguyen Thi Oanh's 1,500-meter race at the 29th SEA Games. Back then, I counted every stride between the hurdles using slow-motion replay software, and the series hit 214,000 views in under a week. Now, sitting in the heart of Da Nang, I count again — but this time I count every move I cannot yet see, every board where I do not yet know who will sit, every broadcast channel the organizers have not yet disclosed.

The Chess Olympiad is not a money-making tournament. It is where nations stake their reputations, where the youngest players in the world stand beside former champions who have changed the color of their medals three times, where board four sometimes decides a match that board one has already lost. And in 2026, for the first time in history, a South Asian nation will arrive in Samarkand as defending champion in both sections: men's team and women's team.

India. A team carrying a world champion born in 2026, a prodigy who once made the entire chess world stand up in 2026, and a collection of players whose average age has not yet reached twenty-four.

I have written about chess for many years, but I must admit this is the first time I have felt so clearly the distance between a scoreboard and a story. Because between the official release with all the playing dates and a line reading "streaming information to be announced later" tucked at the bottom of the page, a whole world is being told half-way.

Samarkand Is Not Merely a Location

Samarkand was once the crossroads of the Silk Road, where Persian, Central Asian and Chinese merchants met to trade silk for horses, spices for gold. By 2026, this ancient city is again the meeting point of a different kind of commerce: the commerce of intellect.

FIDE — the International Chess Federation — choosing Samarkand to host this Olympiad is a signal rarely noticed by Western media, but enormously important to an entire region. For more than a decade, FIDE has steadily expanded its presence in Central Asia. The World Rapid and Blitz Championship was held in Kazakhstan. The 2026 Chess World Cup took place in Sochi, Russia, and various qualification events and Grand Swiss tournaments have been distributed across the Eurasian continent. Uzbekistan, with a national team rising strongly under the leadership of Nodirbek Abdusattorov — the player who won the World Rapid Championship in 2026 at just seventeen — has naturally become a new chess center.

But Samarkand was not chosen only because of Abdusattorov. It was chosen because the Uzbek government has poured a substantial infrastructure investment into chess during 2026-2026. Chess academies have sprung up in Tashkent, in Samarkand, in Bukhara. The number of young Uzbek players rated above 2400 has nearly tripled in five years. And when a country invests in a mind-sport at that pace, winning the right to host the sport's biggest event is only a matter of time.

I remember an interview with an Uzbek coach at an international tournament in Hanoi in 2026. He told me in English mixed with Russian: "Westerners think chess is their game. But in Central Asia, we played chess before Westerners knew modern chess." That sentence has haunted me ever since. Because behind every Olympiad scoreboard there is a geopolitical map of knowledge, and that map is shifting.

In 2026, the Olympiad was held in Budapest, Hungary — the heart of Europe. In 2026, the Olympiad will be held in Samarkand — the heart of Central Asia. Four years, two continents, two entirely different political systems, and a sport still expanding without pause. That is a signal anyone interested in sport should read carefully.

Tournament Structure: Eleven Rounds and One Rest Day

The Chess Olympiad has no qualifiers. FIDE member nations register teams, and the organizers arrange pairings by average Elo rating. The format is the Swiss system, meaning that after each round, teams on equal scores are paired together. After eleven rounds, the team with the most points wins the gold medal.

Each match between two teams consists of four parallel boards. Each team registers five players: four main boards, one reserve. The head coach has the right to change board order before each match, and may insert a reserve into any of the four main boards, provided the Elo-order rules are respected.

The Elo-order rules are the most complex part, and also the part mainstream media usually skips. Basically, players on a team must be arranged in descending Elo order, but there are exceptions that allow a coach to "push" a strong player down to a lower board within a permitted margin. This is precisely where tactics begin.

Suppose you are the coach of India. You have Gukesh, Praggnanandhaa, Arjun Erigaisi, Nihal Sarin and Vidit Gujrathi at your disposal. You know the next opponent has a very strong board one but weak boards three and four. You have two options: put your strongest lineup on board one to try to crush the opponent's star, or put a solid player (like Vidit) on board one to hold a draw, then push Gukesh and Arjun down to boards two and three to create two certain wins.

There is no right answer for every match. That is why team chess at the Olympiad differs entirely from individual chess. In individual chess, you just need to win. In team chess, you need to win against the right opponent, at the right time, and sometimes to lose in the right way.

One story I always remember: the 2026 Olympiad in Baku, the US team with Fabiano Caruana, Hikaru Nakamura, Wesley So, Sam Shankland and Ray Robson. Before the match against Russia, the US coach decided to place Wesley So — the most solid player — on board one, pushing Caruana down to board two. The result: So drew Sergey Karjakin, Caruana beat Ian Nepomniachtchi, and the US won the match overall. One board-ordering decision turned the entire match.

At the 2026 Olympiad in Samarkand, such decisions will repeat hundreds of times. And most of them will not be captured by cameras.

India and the Most Fearsome Lineup in the World

If you ask an amateur chess fan who the strongest team in the world currently is, they might answer: "The United States" — because the US has the most players above 2700 Elo. But if you ask a professional coach, they will answer differently.

India.

India's Open lineup for the 2026 Olympiad includes five names any nation would envy: Gukesh D, Rameshbabu Praggnanandhaa, Arjun Erigaisi, Nihal Sarin and Vidit Gujrathi.

Gukesh D — full name Dommaraju Gukesh — was born in 2026 in Chennai. In 2026, at eighteen, he became the youngest world chess champion in history after defeating Ding Liren in the final in Singapore. His classical Elo currently fluctuates around 2780-2795 and trends slightly upward. In the Indian team, Gukesh is expected to take board one — the heaviest role, where he will face the top players from the US, China, Uzbekistan and other chess powers.

Rameshbabu Praggnanandhaa — commonly known as Pragg — was born in 2026, also in Chennai. In 2026, at twelve, he became the second-youngest Grandmaster in history. In 2026, he reached the final of the Chess World Cup, becoming the youngest player ever to reach that final. His classical Elo is currently around 2740-2750 and rising. Pragg is expected to take board two or three, depending on the coach's tactics.

Arjun Erigaisi — born in 2026 in Warangal — is the second-youngest Indian in history to cross 2800 Elo. His classical Elo currently fluctuates around 2780-2800, with fairly high volatility. At one point, he was considered the player with the highest world-championship potential in his generation. Arjun has an extremely aggressive style — he is willing to sacrifice material to gain the initiative, and that makes him a double-edged sword at the Olympiad.

Nihal Sarin — born in 2026 in Kerala — has a classical Elo around 2680-2700 but is one of the strongest players in the world at bullet and ultra-bullet. On online chess platforms such as Chess.com and Lichess, Nihal has repeatedly beaten Magnus Carlsen himself. But at the Olympiad, the time control is classical chess — each player has nearly two hours for the first forty moves, and thirty minutes added after move forty. This is an entirely different arena. Nihal will have to prove he is not merely an online phenomenon.

Vidit Gujrathi — born in 2026 — is the oldest member of the Open lineup, with classical Elo around 2710-2730. He won the 2026 Olympiad with India and plays the role of an older brother, an emotional anchor for his younger teammates. Vidit will likely be placed on board three or four, depending on the opponent.

Scanning this list, you can see one thing clearly: India does not merely have a star. They have an entire galaxy.

But there is something the media usually overlooks. The strength of the Indian team lies not in the roster. It lies in the flexibility of board ordering. With five players in their twenties and one at thirty, the Indian coach can create countless lineup combinations: place Gukesh on board one for a direct confrontation, or hide Gukesh on board two to avoid a player with an awkward style. In chess, stylistic matchup matters more than Elo. A 2700 player with a tight defensive style sometimes forces a 2800 player into a draw, while the same 2700 player loses to a 2650 player with an attacking style.

India's women's lineup is mentioned less by the media — and that troubles me. Three publicly announced names are Koneru Humpy, Divya Deshmukh and Vaishali Rameshbabu.

Koneru Humpy — born in 2026 — has been India's No. 1 woman player for nearly two decades. Her classical Elo is currently around 2530-2560. Humpy won the Women's World Rapid Championship in 2026 and is one of the most consistent women players in the chess world.

Divya Deshmukh — born in 2026 — is a women's chess prodigy who won the World Youth Championship and is on a strong upward trajectory. Her classical Elo is around 2480-2520.

Vaishali Rameshbabu — born in 2026 — is Praggnanandhaa's sister. She is a Woman Grandmaster steadily establishing herself on the international stage. Her classical Elo is also around 2480-2520.

Here is a detail worth pausing on. India's women's lineup should have at least five players — four main boards and one reserve. The public information shows only three names. This is an information gap any serious analyst must flag. Media tend to report the men's lineup in full detail, while the women's lineup gets truncated, briefly covered, or buried. This is a pattern I have observed throughout my career, and 2026 appears unlikely to be an exception.

The Elo Map Is Becoming the New Astrology

Let us say one thing plainly that many in the industry do not want to hear.

The Elo rating list has become the new divination tool of the chess world. People look at the number, nod, and conclude who is strong and who is weak. But Elo does not tell you how many hours that player slept each night. It does not tell you that player just broke up with a partner. It does not tell you that player has a wrist injury after a marathon training session. It does not tell you what relationship that player has with the national team's head coach.

With the Olympiad, this becomes even more serious. Because the Olympiad is a special tournament, where team pressure transforms entirely how players perform. A player may beat anyone in a single game, but when the whole team depends on him on board one in the decisive round, his hand may shake.

I have seen this at the SEA Games, at national championships, at major games. The Elo number on paper never captures the moment a player faces his teammates after a loss. It does not capture the silence in the team room after a defeat.

That is why I do not believe in ranking India as the strongest team at the 2026 Olympiad solely on Elo. I believe it because India has something else: depth and youth. When Gukesh tires, Pragg remains. When Pragg tires, Arjun remains. When Arjun tires, Nihal remains. When all four tire, Vidit remains. This is what the US — with an older average lineup — does not have.

But India is not invincible. China has a centralized training system, with national coaches, training centers in Beijing and Shanghai, professional opponent-analysis programs. Uzbekistan has home advantage and a golden generation of Nodirbek Abdusattorov, Javokhir Sindarov and Nodirbek Yakubboev — players who will perform before a home crowd. And the US, despite showing signs of aging, still has Caruana and Wesley So — two players capable of beating anyone on a good day.

The Elo Structure: Reading the Number Right, Understanding the Person Right

To understand top-level chess correctly, we need to distinguish three kinds of Elo: classical, rapid and blitz.

Classical Elo is calculated from long games — usually at least ninety minutes per player for the whole game. This is the format used at the Olympiad and World Championships. Rapid Elo applies to games of ten to sixty minutes per side. Blitz Elo applies to games under ten minutes. These three Elo systems are independent, and a player can excel in one and be weak in another.

Nihal Sarin is a clear example. His classical Elo is around 2680-2700, but his blitz Elo may exceed 2800. This means that in a three-minute online game, Nihal can beat Carlsen. But in a six-hour Olympiad game, Nihal faces an entirely different test. Deep calculation, fatigue tolerance, time management — none fully reflected in blitz Elo — become decisive.

That is why I am always cautious in reading Elo-only analyses. If you look at the rating list and see Nihal with a classical Elo of 2680, you might conclude he is the weakest player on the Indian team. But if you watch him play, you will see a player with extremely sharp intuition, capable of seeing moves others do not see.

The same with Arjun Erigaisi. His classical Elo crossed 2800 in 2026, but has since shown signs of correction. Does this mean Arjun is declining? Not necessarily. Elo is a moving average, and its volatility reflects both form and selectivity in tournament choices. A player competing in many small events may have a lower Elo than a player who only plays major events, even if their actual strength is equal.

In the Olympiad context, the most important factor is not the absolute Elo of each player but the degree of compatibility among the team. A team of five 2700 players who do not understand each other's styles may lose to a team of three 2700 and two 2650 players who have played together for years. This is what media rarely discuss, precisely because it cannot be measured by a single number.

Head-to-Head History: Battles Not on the Scoreboard

While the tournament has yet to begin, I want to spend this section recalling a few historic matches I have followed, because they reveal something about the future.

The 2026 Olympiad in Chennai, India. India reached the podium for the first time in history in both sections: bronze in the Open, bronze in the Women's. The decisive match of India's Open team was against Uzbekistan — the tournament's surprise team, with Abdusattorov and Sindarov. The match ended 2-2, and India nearly lost were it not for Gukesh's brilliance on board one.

The 2026 Olympiad in Budapest, Hungary. India won gold in both sections. India's Open team won the overall title with 10 points from 11 rounds. India's Women's team won for the first time in history. What I remember most from that tournament is not the victories but the moment Gukesh left his board after winning the decisive game, sat down beside Praggnanandhaa, and placed a hand on his teammate's shoulder as if to say: "We did it."

That moment was not on the scoreboard. It was not recorded in any Elo ranking. But it is precisely what makes team chess a different sport from individual chess.

I want to add a dimension media rarely touch: team psychology. In individual chess, when you lose a game, you suffer the feeling of defeat alone. In team chess, when you lose, you also suffer the gaze of four teammates. This is a burden no Elo number can measure.

Conversely, in team chess, when you win, the joy is shared. At the 2026 Olympiad, after India won gold, the team's head coach — a man whose name media rarely mention — wept. He was not a player. He did not appear on any ranking list. But he was part of that victory, in a way no statistic records.

The Battle with Oneself: Psychology at the Olympiad

There is a kind of pressure not talked about when analyzing the Olympiad: team pressure.

In individual chess, when you sit at the board, you face only one opponent. You have only one person to beat. At the Olympiad, when you sit on board one, you face three others: the opponent in front of you, the teammates behind you, and the expectations of an entire nation.

Gukesh will face that pressure in Samarkand. He is the world champion. He is the most expected. He will have to play on board one, where his opponents are the top players of other nations — people with special motivation when facing a world champion. Carlsen once said that being world champion is a terrible psychological burden, because every game of yours is the game your opponent most wants to win all year. Gukesh, at twenty, will have to face that burden.

But India has an advantage many teams do not: evenness. When Gukesh plays on board one, he knows that behind him, Pragg and Arjun are also playing. He does not have to win at any cost. He only has to play well and let his teammates do their part.

This evenness is what makes India the most fearsome team at the 2026 Olympiad. But it is also a psychological test: when you know your teammates are also strong, you may tend to play safer, more solidly, and miss winning chances. In chess, excessive safety is sometimes more dangerous than risk.

I once witnessed this at a national team event. A team had three strong players and two weak ones. The strong players, knowing they had to win to compensate for two weak boards, played with extreme intensity and won all three boards. But in the final, they lost because the two weak boards fell too quickly, creating psychological pressure on the three strong boards, causing three strong players to lose composure and lose two of three.

The Olympiad is a more psychological tournament than people think. Elo decides perhaps thirty percent of the outcome. The remaining seventy percent depends on who keeps composure in the decisive moment.

Women's Chess Media: The Truncated Story

In this section, I want to spend time on something I consider important.

India's women's lineup for the 2026 Olympiad — the defending champion — has only three publicly announced names. Three. Meanwhile the Open lineup has five full names, with details, Elo, records, biographies. This is an asymmetry I cannot ignore.

Look at how sports media talk about women's chess. They call it "women's chess," as if it were a different sport. They give less time to women's games. They analyze women's moves less. And when they speak of women players, they often refer to them through a relationship with a man — "Praggnanandhaa's sister," "the wife of...," "the student of...".

Vaishali Rameshbabu is a Woman Grandmaster in the truest sense of the word. She is not merely "Pragg's sister." But in many articles, she is identified through her family relation. This is a media pattern that has existed for too long, and I think it is time to call it by its name.

Koneru Humpy is one of the greatest women players in the history of Indian chess. She has competed at the top level for over two decades. But when India's women's team is mentioned in 2026 Olympiad previews, she is often mentioned only after the men's team has been fully analyzed.

This is true not only of India. It is true of most nations. At the 2026 Olympiad, Georgia's women's team — one of the traditional powers of women's chess — performed brilliantly but received less attention than the men's teams of many nations with worse records.

I do not write this to criticize. I write it because I think we need to look at a fact directly: women's chess is being treated as a second-tier sport within its own sport. And this is not merely an ethical issue. It is an economic issue. Because when women's chess is treated as second-tier, sponsors will treat it as second-tier too. When sponsors treat it as second-tier, prize money is lower. When prize money is lower, fewer young girls will choose to pursue professional chess.

This is a cycle I have seen in many other sports — from women's football to women's tennis. And chess, though considered a mind-sport that does not distinguish gender, is not immune.

Political Context and a Quiet Absence

There is a topic I need to address, though it may not be what many want to hear.

In any list of "strongest teams at the 2026 Olympiad," you will see the US, India, China, Uzbekistan, and sometimes Azerbaijan or Armenia. You will not see Russia.

This is not because Russia's team is weak. Russia was once one of the greatest chess powers in history — homeland of Mikhail Botvinnik, Garry Kasparov, Vladimir Kramnik, and many other world champions. For most decades from 2026 to 2026, Russia's team was always in the top three at the Olympiad.

But since 2026, after international sanctions, Russian and Belarusian players are permitted to compete internationally but cannot represent their nations. They must compete under FIDE's neutral flag.

What does this mean for the Olympiad? The Olympiad is a national-team tournament. A Russian player competing under a neutral flag cannot join a national team. The consequence is that the best Russian players — those with classical Elo above 2700 like Nepomniachtchi, Grischuk, Karjakin — either do not compete at the Olympiad or compete as individuals in other events.

This is a political reality that has reshaped the world chess map. But in most 2026 Olympiad previews, you will not see mention of it. You will see a list of strong teams, and Russia is not on that list. Not because Russia is weak. Because Russia is absent.

I do not write this to advance a political viewpoint. I write it because the truth is part of the story. And when media skip this truth, they are telling an incomplete story.

The interesting thing is: Russia's absence has created opportunities for other nations. Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan and other Central Asian nations are rising in the international chess ranking, partly because of the gap Russia left. International tournaments once held in Moscow or St. Petersburg are now held in Tashkent, in Almaty, in Samarkand.

Samarkand 2026 is not merely a sports event. It is a symbol of the shift of power in world chess.

The Economics of the Olympiad: Numbers Not Published

There is a question I am often asked by younger colleagues: how much money does a Chess Olympiad make?

The short answer: nobody knows exactly.

FIDE does not regularly publish detailed financials of tournaments. The Olympiad prize fund is usually announced, but that number is only the tip of the iceberg. The real cost of an Olympiad — from venue rental, technical infrastructure, referee payments, to investment in promotion and media — is many times the prize fund.

The 2026 Olympiad prize fund in Budapest was announced at about two million euros, split among the top-finishing teams. This is a modest number compared with other major sports events, but for chess — a sport with limited revenue — it is significant.

But the Olympiad's biggest revenue source is not the prize fund. It is broadcasting rights. And this is exactly where I want to return to the line "streaming information to be announced later" that I read at the beginning.

When organizers have not announced streaming information before the tournament, that usually means they are in the process of negotiating broadcasting rights with streaming platforms. Perhaps with YouTube. Perhaps with a regional OTT platform. Perhaps with national broadcasters in India, China, Uzbekistan.

Olympiad broadcasting rights are a big slice of the pie. In India — currently the world's largest chess market — India's team matches can attract millions of viewers. In India, chess has become part of popular culture since Gukesh's victory in 2026. Chess matches are broadcast on national TV. Chess players appear in fashion magazines. This is a market any broadcaster wants to capture.

In Vietnam, the chess market is much smaller but not without fans. Vietnamese players such as Le Quang Liem, Nguyen Ngoc Truong Son and Nguyen Thi Mai Hung have competed at Olympiads and left their mark. If the 2026 Olympiad organizers announce an official broadcast channel with Vietnamese subtitles or Vietnamese commentary, it would be a great opportunity for Vietnam's chess community.

But as I write this, that information is still unavailable. And this is one of the things that troubles me most.

Gaps in the Panorama

Putting together all available information about the 2026 Chess Olympiad, I realize there are many gaps.

First, India's women's lineup is incomplete. Three names for a five-person lineup is a large gap. No reserve player information, no board-order tactics information for India's women's team.

Second, injury status of top players is not published. In chess, injuries are not as common as in football, but they exist. Players may have back pain from sitting long hours, wrist pain from training, or mental health issues. There is no public information on the status of players from India, the US, China.

Third, teams' board-order tactics are not published before the tournament. This is a military secret in team chess. No nation wants to reveal its lineup before opponents.

Fourth, and perhaps most important, there is no information on tiebreak rules — how to determine winners when two teams tie on points. In previous Olympiads, tiebreak rules relied on individual board points, calculated by a formula known as Sonneborn-Berger. But these rules can change between tournaments, and the 2026 Olympiad organizers have not published the details.

Finally, there is no information on pre-tournament press conferences, opening ceremonies, or side events. For an event as large as the Olympiad, many activities take place outside the boards: fan engagement sessions, chess development seminars, autograph sessions with famous players. These activities are sometimes more important than the matches, because they create community connection.

Ahmed's smile touched the football that is not on the scoreboard.

I recall the story of Ahmed — the nineteen-year-old Yemeni student I met at Luzhniki Stadium in 2026. Ahmed was not a player. He was a volunteer, a war refugee, an ordinary football fan. But Ahmed's story — of Middle Eastern fans weeping in each other's arms after Saudi Arabia beat Egypt — reached 80,000 readers and was shared by the AFC homepage.

At the 2026 Chess Olympiad, there will be other Ahmeds. There will be Uzbek volunteers, Samarkand schoolchildren, ordinary chess fans. There will be stories not on the scoreboard. And if I am lucky enough to go to Samarkand, I will go looking for those stories.

A Counterview: Is India Truly Invincible?

At this point, I want to offer a counterview. One I believe is necessary to avoid falling into the trap of overexcitement.

India has the strongest lineup on paper. India is defending champion in both sections. India has the youngest world champion in history. All of this is true.

But the Olympiad is an eleven-round tournament. Eleven rounds across twelve days. This is a marathon, not a sprint. And in a marathon, psychological endurance matters no less than technical strength.

Olympiad history shows one thing: the most highly rated teams often do not win. Look at recent Olympiads.

In 2026 in Batumi, the US team — with Caruana, Nakamura, So — was rated highest but took only silver. China won.

In 2026 in Chennai, the US team was again rated highest, but Uzbekistan — the surprise team — won gold for the first time in history.

In 2026 in Budapest, India won both sections, but that was a result many analysts had not predicted.

The Olympiad is a tournament of surprises. Not because chess is hard to predict, but because team chess is hard to predict. A player who excels in individual tournaments may underperform in a team event — because team pressure differs from individual pressure. An attacking player may lose to a defensive player he rarely faces.

And there is a factor no one mentions: luck. In chess, luck is much smaller than in other sports. But luck exists. Luck in the draw. Luck in an opponent making a silly blunder on move thirty. Luck in a strong opponent falling ill on the exact day of the match.

At the 2026 Olympiad, I would not be surprised if India won. But I also would not be surprised if they lost to a team nobody expected.

This is not skepticism. It is respect for the uncertainty of sport.

Generations on the Run

In the final section of this article, I want to speak about something I have pondered for many years.

Chess is undergoing a generational shift I have never seen in over thirty-nine years of observing the industry.

When I began my career as a chess player and tournament organizer in 2026, the chess world was dominated by older players. Garry Kasparov, Vladimir Kramnik, Viswanathan Anand — they were all thirty or older when I started following. The youngest players in the world's top twenty were usually around twenty-five.

Now, that age has dropped. Gukesh won the world title at eighteen. Pragg reached the World Cup final at eighteen. Arjun Erigaisi crossed 2700 at twenty. Nodirbek Abdusattorov won the World Rapid at seventeen.

But what surprises me most is not age. It is the speed of development. When I was young, a player needed fifteen years to go from beginner to Grandmaster. Now, some reach it in ten. Computer analysis tools have completely changed how humans learn chess. A ten-year-old in Chennai can access Stockfish — one of the world's strongest chess engines — and analyze every move.

This is something earlier generations did not have. When Kasparov trained, he relied on human coaches, on books, on post-game analysis sessions. Gukesh grew up with Stockfish in his pocket.

But there is a question I always ask myself when I think about this. Do today's young players still retain the creative capacity of earlier generations?

When you have an engine that can calculate every move, when you can test every idea before deciding, do you still dare to play bold moves? Do you still dare to sacrifice material to pursue an initiative only you can see?

Magnus Carlsen — five-time world champion — once said he no longer feels excited about classical chess because it depends too much on memorizing opening lines. Young players today often play openings the engine has confirmed as best. Creative space has narrowed.

But at the Olympiad, this can change. Because the Olympiad is a team tournament. When you know your teammates are playing, you can dare to play moves you would not dare in an individual event. You can dare to take risks, dare to sacrifice, dare to pursue a crazy idea — because if you lose, your teammates will compensate.

This is a dimension of team chess that I think needs more emphasis. The Olympiad is not only a place to win medals. It is a place for chess to return to its creative essence.

The Common Language of Sport

An empty stadium, but the podcast taught me to listen to the match from within.

That sentence was written in March 2026, when the whole world turned off the stadium lights because of the pandemic. Back then, I started the podcast "Empty Stadium — the Names That Are Not Called". The first episode recorded a Zoom call with swimmer Nguyen Huy Hoang, from Quang Binh, who when pools closed had to train by swimming in the Gianh River. That episode was downloaded 48,000 times in three days.

Six years later, when I write about the 2026 Chess Olympiad, I realize I am in a similar situation. I have not been to Samarkand. I do not know how the matches will unfold. I do not have broadcast information. I am sitting in Da Nang, thousands of kilometers from Samarkand, writing about a tournament I can only imagine.

But that does not make the story less important. On the contrary, it makes the story more important. Because sport is not what happens on the field. Sport is what happens in our heads when we think about the field.

The 2026 Chess Olympiad in Samarkand will have hundreds of matches. There will be thousands of moves. There will be millions of online views. There will be moments of joy, sorrow, anger, elation. And in all of it, there will be stories not on the scoreboard.

The story of an Uzbek coach who spent ten years training a generation of young players. The story of a Samarkand volunteer seeing a Grandmaster in person for the first time in his life. The story of a reserve player who may not play at all during the tournament but still came to Samarkand to support teammates. The story of a female coach fighting prejudice to be recognized in a world still rife with gender prejudice.

These stories will not appear in Elo rankings. They will not appear in FIDE official releases. They will not appear in Olympiad previews. But they are why chess is a sport without borders.

From the sandpit lane to the virtual arena — the homeland of sport has no borders.

I first wrote this sentence in an article about the SEA Games, when I compared a track-and-field lane to an esports arena. There, I spoke of the contrast between the sandpit where Nguyen Thi Oanh long-jumped and the screens where esports players competed. Six years later, I think of this sentence again when writing about Samarkand.

Because Samarkand, in my memory, is not only a chess city. It is a city of the Silk Road, where travelers from around the world met. Where ideas from East and West blended. Where different languages coexisted.

The 2026 Chess Olympiad will repeat that. Players from India will sit beside players from the US. Players from Uzbekistan will face players from Brazil. Players from Vietnam will meet players from Norway. And between them, there are no language barriers, no cultural differences. Only a sixty-four-square board and two colors of pieces.

That is the power of chess. That is the power of sport. That is the power of anything that can bring people together without words.

Final Thoughts

As I type the last lines of this article, my phone screen still shows no notification about 2026 Chess Olympiad broadcast information. Organizers have not announced an official channel. FIDE has not confirmed broadcasting agreements.

But that is not what worries me. Because in over thirty-nine years of observing the sports industry, I have learned one thing: the event always matters more than the information about the event. What will happen in Samarkand from September 16 to 27, 2026 will not depend on whether you watch it on YouTube or on television. It will depend on the people sitting before the boards.

Gukesh will sit before the board. Praggnanandhaa will sit before the board. Arjun Erigaisi will sit before the board. Nihal Sarin will sit before the board. Vidit Gujrathi will sit before the board. Koneru Humpy will sit before the board. Divya Deshmukh will sit before the board. Vaishali Rameshbabu will sit before the board.

And on the other side of the world, in nations we have never set foot in, there will be other players — with names we do not yet know, with stories we have not heard. They will come to Samarkand with dreams like any other player: to play, to give their best, to win.

If you are a Vietnamese chess fan, I hope you will follow the 2026 Olympiad. Not because you need to know who wins. But because you need to see what happens when human beings confront each other across a sixty-four-square board.

There will be moves that make you hold your breath. There will be moments that make you stand up. There will be stories that make you reconsider what you believe.

And quite possibly, in those moments, you will realize what I have realized after over thirty-nine years of writing about sport: that chess is not merely a game. It is a way for people to understand each other.

People speak of speed, but I find time.

Time for a ten-year-old in Chennai to become world champion. Time for a nation to go from absent on the chess map to a great power. Time for a Silk Road city to become the center of the chess world for twelve days.

Samarkand will be where time is measured in moves. And I will be here, in Da Nang, counting every move with you.