DIARY
DOMINIC LAWSON L.fe, as is commonly observed, tends to reflect art. But I have never seen this exemplified so clearly as it was in last week's oddest news story: the defeat of the World Chess Champion Garri Kasparov by a £90 computer program called Chess Genius 2.0. But let us start with the art, to wit, a book published in 1979 by Douglas Adams, called The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy. This book postulated the exis- tence of a computer, called Deep Thought, which is charged by its programmers with the task of 'calculating the answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything'. This is welcomed by every- one except the philosophers, and Deep Thought's deep think is almost abandoned following a demonstration by the Amalga- mated Union of Philosophers, Sages, Lumi- naries and Other Thinking Persons. 'Demarcation, that's the problem,' they shout. (This was written before Mrs Thatcher became Prime Minister, remem- ber. Mr Adams couldn't foretell every- thing.) Eventually the AUPSLOTP shop stewards are mollified when Deep Thought itself points out that it will take seven-and- a-half million years for its circuitry to find the Answer, during which time pundits such as themselves would be able to make enormous sums of money by exploiting media interest in the project. A few years after Mr Adams' book was published some postgraduate computer scientists at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh developed an extraordinarily strong com- puter chess program, which in 1989 became the first of its breed to defeat a human Grandmaster in tournament play. The pro- gram's name was Deep Thought. Clearly, the young boffms of Pittsburgh had been inspired by the Hitch-Hiker's Guide. But it took a further five years, until last week's Intel Chess Grand Prix in London, in fact, before a computer chess program proved itself able to make a fool of the most advanced carbon brain, viz, that of Garri Kasparov. The day after Kasparov's defeat I went along to the tournament to see how the human Grandmasters had taken their historic defeat. And it was as if I had walked into an AUPSLOTP rally. Vishy Anand, the Indian Grandmaster who even- tually defeated Chess Genius 2.0 stated that: 'If I followed my human instincts I would smash the thing with a crowbar.' Viktor Korchnoi, the 63-year-old doyen of the tournament, wailed to me that, 'Real chess is part art, part science, part sport and part psychology. What this thing does is quite different. Perhaps we should form a chess players' union which is for humans only.' And the ultimate winner of the event, the Ukranian Grandmaster Vassily Ivanchuk acted, in effect, as convener of the new union. As he collected his Intel
cheque, he announced on stage — to the visible consternation of the sponsors, whose microchips powered Chess Genius 2.0 — that, 'I will never play this machine and I demand that it not be allowed in future events of this sort.' Someone — or something — should have explained to GrandMessrs Anand, Korclmoi and Ivanchuk that, if they play their commercial moves right, they are likely to make more money than they ever dreamed possible, by means of highly publicised matches against the new generation of artificial brains. But in the corner of the stage, its screen glinting with the reflected flashes of press photog- raphers, Chess Genius 2.0 remained silent.
AGarri Kasparov proved so embar- rassingly, there is no such thing as a fore- gone conclusion in sport. All the same, I did not watch to the end of last Sunday's NatWest Trophy final between Warwick- shire and Worcestershire. It was all too evi- dent that the County Champions had no defence against the combined fire-power of Graeme Hick and Tom Moody. I was, how- ever, thoroughly confused by the reports of the game's conclusion in the next day's newspapers. The Guardian's admirable Mike Selvey wrote that at the end of the match, Hick, having smashed the winning boundary, 'walked off as brisk and unruf- fled as he had marched on'. How refresh- ing, I thought: good old English stiff upper lip, even if Mr Hick is really a Zimbab- wean. But then I turned to the Daily Mail. Its man in the press box at Lord's, Peter Johnson, wrote that after striking the con- cluding run 'Hick . . . the man accused of being wooden and unemotional, instantly grabbed all three stumps and raced off wav- ing them above his head.' Were Selvey and Johnson not at the same match? Did one, or both of them, in a desperate effort to write a resounding conclusion in time for the first edition deadline, fail to look up to see what was actually happening on the field? On reflection, I feel that neither of these explanations is the true reason for the discrepancy. It is simply that the Guardian
and the Mail cater for very different sorts of reader, and not only on political issues. The Guardian likes to think that it is for the brisk, unruffled sections of the population, while the Daily Mail is all for the sort who would wave cricket stumps above their head_ Those of us who are so mixed up that we read both the Guardian and the Daily Mail are asking to be further confused.
Nevertheless, such incidents strengthen the claims of those who argue that we jour- nalists are guilty of bending the facts to suit our own preconceptions. Such people, par- ticularly in the business world, are inclined to say, 'Why can't you chaps simply copy out the press releases? That's what they are for.' The trouble is that the readers wouldn't believe those, either. Here, for example, is a straight, uncorrected copy of a press release sent to me this week: The Dept of Genito-Urinary Medicine at The Manchester Royal Infirmary has excepted a donation of six paintings for their reception area. The dept deals with Outpatient care for people who have HIV and AIDS, the dept provides HIV counselling with referaLs to other departments in the hospital.
Royston du Maurier-Lebek makes the dona- tions under his own poject called 'Art for the Community' which was set up two years ago to promote Art in Clinics and Hospitals. The six paintings are from Roystons No 9 series which explores the square, rectangle and four sides of an object, to see how color reacts to color with in that space and against the other Colors
For further information please contact Ms Sally Webb-Jones (Clinical Nurse Specialist) TeL 061-276-5221 or 061-276-5204.
On the whole, I think we're better off making things up.
You don't need to be Mary Killen to know that the retelling of other people's jokes can be very embarrassing. One night last week I foolishly tried to tell the joke which Ian Hislop introduced into these pages in the issue of 6 August ('Knock, knock' Who's there?"0.1"0.J. who?' 'Congratulations. You're on the jury.') My victim was a distinguished old man, but one who has never had much time for childish things. Our encounter went like this:
Self: 'Knock, Knock'.
Distinguished OM: 'I'm sorry?'
Self (embarrassed):`You're supposed to say "Who's there?" ' Distinguished OM: 'Oh, I see. Who's there?'
Self (relieved): Distinguished OM (after long pause): 'Is that it?'
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