The greatest boast ever (semi-finalist)
Why do something if you can’t brag about it? Isn’t that why we do almost everything? In other cultures they have convinced the populace that it is worth pursuing excellence for its own sake, that a job well done is its own reward. Being great - and especially talking about being great, is frowned upon. According to Harvard Business Review,
In India, it’s crabs in a bucket — the one who tries to escape is pulled down by his compatriots. In Australia, it’s tall poppies — and the tallest one gets its head whacked off. In Japan, the nail that sticks out gets hammered down. Almost every culture has its own metaphor about what happens to people who are judged by their peers to be overreaching.
But not in America. Sure, during World War II the strong silent types had a good run, the Gary Coopers and Alan Ladds.
Speak softly and carry a Colt .45 Single Action Army Artillery
Maybe we could name Clint Eastwood as a modern torchbearer, and there’s no doubt that with John Wick and its sequels Keanu Reeves has claimed a place on that list as well.
But this is a country that likes hype, and as the Greatest Generation stepped back we saw a wave of loudmouths and braggarts step up and take center stage. Reggie Jackson said “if I played in New York they’d name a candy bar after me,” and they did. Thurman Munson said “I unwrapped it and it told me how great it was.” Dave Anderson of The New York Times said it was the only candy bar that tasted like a hot dog. But they were throwing sand against the wind, and the wind blew it back again. Patton said Americans can’t stand a loser, and he was right. And they like their winners loud.
“I am the greatest!”
Nowadays the great ones have it down to a science. Michael Jordan waited for exactly the right moment to authorize broadcast of a documentary supportive of his claim to be the Greatest of All Time. LeBron is subtler, but no less determined: In a year where Giannis Antetokounmpo had as strong an MVP cases as anyone has ever had, articles started popping up asking: why not Lebron? Bragging is easiest, of course, when others do it for you.
The brags I like the best are the ones that are huge, but hit you in stages. Here is one of my favorites, taken from The Forgotten Chessmaster, John Hilbert’s 1997 biography of William Ewart Napier :
Of his twentieth round encounter with Chigorin at Monte Carlo, Napier wrote in "Amenities" that "at Monte Carlo in 1902 my opponent on the last day was Chigorin. I decided to celebrate with a gambit, and so gave him to understand the night before. In the morning I steered into the Evans, confident that he would not expect an opening that had scarcely been out of the stable since its crippling in the St. Petersburg event of 1896. He used the old defense. After the game he asked what new play I had in mind for Lasker's Defense, and when I replied 'None,' he said good-naturedly that I had a talent--for poker! After that agreeable little memento it was a bit comforting to receive the brilliancy prize for the game."
This works on so many levels. As every schoolchild knows, Napier was an American businessman who had the good fortune to take a few lessons from the champion Steinitz as a boy. He’s scoring points so many ways it’s crazy:
He’s an American at Monte Carlo.
He’s in a chess tournament, and he’ll be facing one of the strongest players of the era. Chigorin, styled as the last romantic by some and as the spiritual founder of Soviet chess by others, lost two championship matches to Steinitz, won the strong 1895 tournament at Hastings ahead of Lasker etc.
Napier is going to give this guy a pawn on move four, and tells him the night before.
He controls the game from start to finish, and wins decisively in the classical style.
After the game Chigorin asks him what he had planned against the best continuation and Napier claims he had nothing. Nothing! He’s playing a gambit against one of the best players in the world and he doesn’t have a plan for meeting the best defense?!
Won the tournament brilliancy prize, and….
He’s an amateur. “Hey, thanks for the game, gotta get back to my job in the States now. See you again sometime.”
The very best part for me is the secret identity angle. Back at the Scranton Insurance Company where Napier worked, no one knew from the Evans Gambit. His wife probably didn’t know. But when the grandmasters met, they knew - they knew he’d wiped out Marshall when he was 16, they knew he’d gone toe-to-toe with Lasker and lost (a la Thomas Hearns) in a wild melee, and most of all: walked into Monte Carlo, told Chigorin what was coming, and blew him off the board.
I’m known
“Self-Promotion for Professionals from Countries Where Bragging is Bad” - Harvard Business Review (link)
“The Day it Rained Candy Bars” - New York Times (link)
“The Last Dance Spikes Again on Netflix After Serving as a Live Sports Replacement” - Adweek (link)
High Noon (1952) - The Internet Movie Firearms Database (link)
Napier: the forgotten chessmaster (link)
Napier vs. Chigorin, Monte Carlo 1902 - Chessgames.com (link)