Othello news
Othello: Game of the Century
30 July 2022Written by Murakami Takeshi
April-June 2000 Japan Quarterly
Othello: Game of the Century
By Murakami Takeshi
Millions on this globe devote much of their lives to playing chess, shogi or go, fascinated by the
seemingly small but actually infinite universe of these age-old games. But how many of these people know
Othello? It is relatively new, yet it has the power and glamour to grip people in the same way its predecessors
have.
I was captivated by the game of Othello as a high school student in 1981, and often enjoyed a quick
game of Othello between classes with my friends. All those around me regarded Othello as a children's game,
very simple and nothing at all like shogi or go, the popular Japanese games that attract hundreds of thousands
of players for their profound complexity. But Othello had a peculiar charm unlike that of any other board game.
The concept was so easy that even young children could easily learn to play. Yet no one, not even
grownups, could be quite sure of the correct strategy. The objective is to see who can get the most discs, but
since so many discs are flipped with each move, you never know which side is really winning until the very end.
Playing it casually with my classmates, I felt as if I were standing before a cave, which, disguised by the
simplicity of its rules, held a hidden inner dimension beyond the ken of human intelligence. I was pushed into
the labyrinth by my first, devastating encounter with a dan-holder. Dans are ranks based on skill, as in martial
arts, shogi and other Japanese sports and games. The ninth dan is the highest, and holding even the first dan
suggests a considerable degree of skill. Having played many games with my friends, I had gained some skill at
Othello―at least enough to beat everyone around me.
But not this man, Shimonosono Kozo, a second-dan holder who was a member of the Japan Othello
Game Association, playing simultaneous exhibition games at a department store in my hometown. He
demolished me; I had fewer than 10 discs on the board when the game ended. This defeat was the real start of
my career as an Othello player. As I read strategy books, played in local tournaments and finally beat
Shimonosono, my objective was becoming clear: Yes, someday, I would be the World Champion of Othello!
The game of Othello was invented in 1973 by a Japanese, Hasegawa Goro. More than 20 years earlier,
he had first come up with the idea for the game as a junior high school student, when he had a go board but, not
knowing go rules, wanted a simpler game. He then revived it for his wife and friends, who also had difficulty
learning go. His father, Hasegawa Shiro, a professor of English literature at Ibaraki University, saw certain
similarities between the game his son had made up and The Tragedy of Othello, the Moor of Venice, the play by
William Shakespeare.
In the game, the black discs (General Othello) and the white discs (Desdemona) fight dramatically until
the battle culminates in the endgame in the most suspenseful manner. Hence the name of the new game.
Othello caused a sensation in Japan. An estimated 1 million sets were sold in its first month of commercial
release. No other board game had ever spread so widely and so rapidly in Japan. Tsukuda Original Co., which
started making and marketing Othello in 1973, has since sold about 21.5 million sets. And sales have been so
consistently strong that it is now hard to find a Japanese who has not heard of the game. There are an
estimated 90 million players worldwide. An estimated 15 million Othello sets have been sold outside Japan,
under license from Anjar Co., since the game was introduced in the United States in 1976. This includes
videogame cartridges, standard and travel sets, hand-held electronic versions and CD-ROM computer software.
It must be noted that games that have similar rules to Othello existed in the 19th century, such as reversi
in England and genpei-go in Japan. But it was Hasegawa who established the name, design and rules of
Othello, which, unlike its ancestors, was to prevail.
Why has Othello become so popular? The secret lies in the tag line printed on every Othello set: “A
minute to learn, a lifetime to master."
The Rules of the Game
It is surprisingly easy to learn. An Othello set consists of a green square board, marked in eight sections
each, horizontally and vertically, to total 64 squares, on which 64 discs―black on one side, white on the
other―are placed one by one. Black plays first in the starting position shown below.
a b c d e f g h
1
2
3
4 〇 ●
5 ● 〇
6
7
8
Starting position of Othello. Black to play.
Black plays to a square that puts at least one white disc between the black disc just placed and any other black
disc already on the board.
a b c d e f g h
1
2
3
4 〇 ●
5 ● 〇 ●
6
7
8
Black chose f5.
Here, black player has placed a black disc on the square f5. Black then flips over the white disc, which has been
trapped between the black discs, to make it also a black disc.
a b c d e f g h
1
2
3
4 〇 ●
5 ● ● ●
6
7
8
Black flips e6 and makes it his color.
Then it is white's turn. White player plays to a square according to the same rule. As shown below, a
disc can be trapped diagonally. In this play, white plays to the square f6, and flips over the trapped black disc on
e5.
a b c d e f g h
1
2
3
4 〇 ●
5 ● ◇ ●
6 〇
7
8
White has played to f6.
A player must play to a square that traps and flips at least one of the opponent's discs. As shown dotted
below, black can now play to c4, d3, e6 or f7.
a b c d e f g h
1
2
3 ・
4 ・ 〇 ●
5 ● 〇 ●
6 ・ 〇
7 ・
8
Black has four options.
He cannot play to other squares, because such moves would not trap and flip any white discs. A player can
capture more than two discs in more than two directions. For example, if white plays to d8 in the diagram below,
white flips six discs in two directions.
a b c d e f g h a b c d e f g h
1 ● 〇 1 ● 〇
2 ● 〇 ● 2 ● 〇 ●
3 〇 ● ● 〇 ● ● ● 〇 3 〇 ● ● 〇 ● ● ● 〇
4 〇 ● 〇 〇 ● 〇 ● 〇 4 〇 ● 〇 〇 ● 〇 ● 〇
5 〇 〇 〇 ● ● 〇 ● 5 〇 〇 〇 ◇ ● 〇 ◇
6 〇 〇 ● ● ● ● ● ● 6 〇 〇 ● ◇ ● ◇ ● ●
7 〇 〇 ● ● ● 7 〇 〇 ◇ ◇ ●
8 〇 ● ● ● 8 〇 ① ● ● ●
White to play. White has played to d8.
It is not allowed to leave any of the trapped discs unflipped: a player must flip all the discs that are trapped. And
a player is not allowed to pass a turn while there are playable squares. A player must pass when there are no
squares to which he can play. In the position below, black has no squares that would trap and flip any white
discs. So black must pass until given some squares where he can play.
a b c d e f g h
1 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇
2 〇 ● 〇 〇 〇 ● ●
3 〇 〇 〇 ● 〇 〇 ● ●
4 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 ● ●
5 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 ● ● ●
6 〇 〇 ● ● 〇 〇 ● ●
7 〇 ● 〇 〇 ●
8 ● ● ● ● ● ●
Black to play.
Black and white play in turns until all the squares are filled. The player with the most discs wins. The position
below shows a game which has ended with 18 black discs and 46 white discs. White has won.
a b c d e f g h
1 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇
2 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 ● 〇
3 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 ● 〇
4 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 ● 〇
5 〇 〇 〇 ● 〇 ● ● 〇
6 〇 〇 ● ● 〇 〇 ● 〇
7 〇 ● 〇 〇 〇 ● 〇 〇
8 ● ● ● ● ● ● ● 〇
White has won 46-18.
“A minute to learn" is not an exaggeration if you have someone who shows you how to play with a board
and discs in front of you. Even the elderly, to whom the rules of chess, shogi and go are a bit too complicated,
can learn how to play Othello quite easily. “A lifetime to master" is an understatement; it would certainly take
many lifetimes to master OtheIlo.
In Othello, a player has on the average 10 options at each move. Since a game ends in 60 moves, there
are roughly possible combinations. Although this is a very small number when compared to the for chess, for
shogi and for go, it is still well beyond the range of human experience. One characteristic of Othello makes it
exceptionally difficult for humans to play well, but I will come to that later.
This seemingly impossible coexistence of simplicity and complexity, only rarely leading to a draw, with
little deviation of wins for either color―black and white have almost the same probability of winning―the fixed
number (60) of moves and the beautiful design of the set with its thick black and white discs on a green board,
have all made Othello uniquely qualified not only as a friendly home game, but as a game for highly competitive
tournament play.
Which recalls the events of November 10, 1996. I was consumed by fever. My body was numb; my
vision was clear but my mind was not functioning properly. I had to struggle mightily to think. As I faced the
green board, about half of the 64 squares were already occupied by black and white discs.
a b c d e f g h
1 ● ● ● ●
2 〇 ● ● ●
3 〇 〇 ● ● 〇 〇 〇
4 〇 ● 〇 ● ● 〇
5 〇 ● ● 〇 〇 〇 〇
6 〇 〇 ● 〇 〇 〇
7 〇 ● ● ● 〇
8 ● ● 〇
Black (Murakami) to move.
I knew what to do in the above position: play to b7, allowing white to take the a8 corner, and then play
to b8. This would give white the whole west edge and most of the south edge and give in the end the game to
black. But why should I have to give white any edges at all?
a b c d e f g h a b c d e f g h
1 ● ● ● ● 1 ● ● ● ●
2 〇 ● ● ● 2 〇 ● ● ●
3 〇 〇 ● ● 〇 〇 〇 3 〇 〇 ● ● 〇 〇 〇
4 〇 ● 〇 ● ● 〇 4 〇 ● 〇 ● ● 〇
5 〇 ● ● 〇 〇 〇 〇 5 〇 ● ● 〇 〇 〇 〇
6 〇 〇 ● 〇 〇 〇 6 〇 ● 〇 〇 〇 〇
7 〇 ❶ ● ● ● 〇 7 〇 ● ● ● ● 〇
8 ② ❸ ● ● 〇 8 〇 ● ● ● 〇
Black’s correct way of playing. White to move. White has no good moves left and black will win the game.
Greed killed me: Instead of finishing white off with b7, I broke through the white's wall at g6.
a b c d e f g h
1 ● ● ● ●
2 〇 ● ● ●
3 〇 〇 ● ● 〇 〇 〇
4 〇 ● 〇 ● ● 〇
5 〇 ● ● 〇 〇 ◆ 〇
6 〇 〇 ● ◆ ◆ ◆ ❶
7 〇 ● ● ● 〇
8 ● ● 〇
A fatal mistake.
The sharp, fox-like countenance of Garry Edmead, a rising Othello genius from England, seemed to
twitch a little, obviously sensing the wind shift as I failed to play the best move. He played to f8, rendering my b7
no longer effective.
My advantage vanished, and after many minutes of exhaustive and vain search for a win, I lost the game
to Edmead, 31 to 33.
a b c d e f g h
1 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇
2 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 ● 〇
3 〇 ● 〇 ● ● ● ● ●
4 〇 ● 〇 ● ● 〇 ● ●
5 〇 ● ● 〇 〇 ● 〇 ●
6 〇 ● ● 〇 ● 〇 〇 ●
7 〇 ● 〇 ● 〇 〇 〇 ●
8 ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●
Semifinal Game 1
B: Takeshi Murkami (Japan) 31
W: Garry Edmead (UK) 33
I crumpled into a makeshift bed, made of eight chairs, in a room of the Palace Hotel, Tokyo, which
overlooks the magnificent grounds of the Imperial Palace, and which was the venue for the 20 th World Othello
Championship. It was my second World Championship. In WOC Paris 1988, I had lost to Graham Brightwell of
England in the semifinal.
It had taken me a long eight years to win the All Japan Championship and to again qualify for the world
competition. I then spent a long two days, fighting the cold I had caught before the tournament while challenging
the top 22 players from around the globe in the 13 rounds of preliminary games.
I won 11 games and advanced to the last day of the tournament, where I fell to Edmead, losing the first
game of semifinals just as I had done in Paris eight years before. As close to the top of Mount Olympus as I had
ever been, I was failing again. To reach the pinnacle and reside as World Champion, I had to win the next two
games straight to Edmead, and then win another two games out of three against whoever would advance to the
final. The way ahead seemed impossibly long.
When the next game began, however, the fever had ceased to torture me. Perhaps the medicine I took
before the first semifinal was finally beginning to work. So was my brain. I was able to see many moves ahead
accurately, and was able to outplay Edmead to even the score. I was in a favorable position at the start of the
third and decisive game. The game would have ended right in the middle game had it not been for Edmead's
renowned tenacity. Edmead played his most brilliant defenses and never allowed me to strike a fatal blow.
The position evolved into a complex endgame in which the winning side was no longer clear, and by the
time there were seven squares to fill, both Edmead and I had less than two minutes left on the clock. I was
paralyzed by the extreme pressure. My mind could neither formulate nor calculate any lines of attack.
a b c d e f g h
1 ● 〇 ● ● 〇
2 ● 〇 〇 〇 ● 〇
3 ● ● ● ● ● ● ● 〇
4 ● ● ● 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇
5 ● 〇 ● ● 〇 〇 〇 〇
6 〇 〇 ● 〇 ● 〇 〇 〇
7 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 ● 〇
8 ● ● ● ● ● ● ●
White (Murakami) to move.
Then it came. As clearly as if it had been an oracle from the God of Othello: g7!
a b c d e f g h
1 ● 〇 ● ● 〇
2 ● 〇 〇 〇 ● 〇
3 ● ● ● ● ● ● ● 〇
4 ● ● ● 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇
5 ● 〇 ● ● 〇 〇 〇 〇
6 〇 〇 ● 〇 ● 〇 〇 〇
7 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 ◇ ① 〇
8 ● ● ● ● ● ● ●
At first sight g7 is a terrible move. It lets black take the h8 corner, followed by h1, which gives black the entire
east edge. Having already given black the south and the north edges, giving black still another edge seems
suicidal.
As it turned out, however, this was in fact the only winning move I had in the position above. The rest of
the empty squares filled rapidly. The hands of both players scurried across the board, deftly flipping the discs,
sharply punching the timer buttons with each play. When I filled the last empty square, I had taken six more
discs than Edmead as shown below. “Well played," he said graciously, as we shook hands firmly.
a b c d e f g h a b c d e f g h
1 ❹ ③ ❻ 1 ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●
2 ⑤ ⑦ 2 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 ●
3 3 〇 〇 ● ● 〇 〇 〇 ●
4 4 〇 ● 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 ●
5 5 〇 〇 〇 〇 ● 〇 〇 ●
6 6 〇 〇 ● 〇 〇 ● 〇 ●
7 7 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 ● ●
8 ❷ 8 ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ●
White gave up all four corners but gained enough interior discs to win.
Semifinal Game 3
B: Garry Edmead (UK) 29
W: Takeshi Murkami (Japan) 35
The finals turned out to be less challenging than the semifinals. Stephane Nicolet of France, whose
Othello tournament career was much shorter than mine and was exhausted after the long flight from Paris and
the long three days of the tournament, seemed somewhat resigned to defeat, and I was able to win two straight
games.
Final Game 1
B: Takeshi Murakami (Japan) 50
W: Stephan Nicolet (France) 13
Final Game 2
B: Stephan Nicolet (France) 29
W: Takeshi Murakami (Japan) 35
Washed by the flash of cameras, I received the comfortable weight of the 20-year-old supreme silver cup
in my arms. I was overcome by the joy that I finally did realize the dream of a lifetime: I was the World
Champion of Othello!
A proud Murakami Takeshi holds the trophy, symbolizing the
accomplishment of his dreams: winning the1996 World Othello Championship in Tokyo.
The first All Japan Championship for Othello was held in 1973, the year the game was invented, and has
been held every year since then, drawing several thousand players annually. The All Japan Championship is
played in five divisions: open, women's, boys' & girls' (15 and under), masters (40 and over), and blind.
The winners of open and women's divisions plus Meijin, the winner of another prestigious tournament,
Meijin-sen (literally Master Tournament), go on to the World Championship.
The first World Championship was held in Tokyo in 1977, and the 23ed World Championship, held in
Milan in October 1999, drew 34 top players from 15 countries (up to three players are allowed to enter the
tournament from each country).
Since Japan has by far the largest number of serious tournament players, the qualities of play displayed
by Japanese champions are accordingly high, and 18 World Championships out of 23 have been grabbed by the
Japanese; the Americans have won three and the French won the other two.
As I was struggling to distinguish myself from the flock of top players around the world, a whole new
challenge was taking shape in my path. “Human (Othello) players, sensing the potential for defeat, are refusing
all computer challenges." These were the words of Dr. Hans Berliner, a leading specialist in artificial intelligence
at Carnegie Melon University. in an article titled “Losing the Human Edge" for the May 1993 issue of the
computer magazine Byte.
After reading the article, sent by a French Othello player, I felt pure anger. True, computers had already
become formidable adversaries for human Othello players. But as far as I knew, no Japanese top players had
been invited by Dr. Berliner to play against his computer program, nor would we decline such a challenge out of
fear of defeat.
As a player who believes in sportsmanship, I took Dr. Berliner's comments as an insult. I wrote to him,
saying, I would accept any challenge from any player, living or otherwise. Dr. Berliner tried to organize a match
between the program and I, but because of his wife's illness and a lack of sponsors, the match never
materialized.
In I995, Dr. Michael Buro of NEC Research Institute in Princeton, New Jersey, inquired whether I was
still interested in a match against top software. His program, Logistello, had been developed in 1993, and,
having won many computer tournaments, was now renowned as one of the very best Othello programs. We
agreed on a match as soon as possible. In 1996, I won the World Championship. Buro called me a few days
later. “Congratulations! How are you feeling?" “Great! It's a dream come true." He must have felt great, too,
as the match was now catapulted to “must" status, pitting his beloved program against the current world
champion. He promised to invite me and my wife to the United States at the institute's expense for a match in
August 1997.
In May,1997 World Chess Champion Garry Kasparov lost a highly publicized six-game match against
IBM's Deep Blue. These two unexpected events―my victory in the 1996 World Championship and Kasparov's
historic chess defeat―propelled the Othello match between Logistello and I from a minor event of interest
largely within the Othello community to one seized upon by the media.
Since Othello is especially popular in Japan, all six principal Japanese TV stations sent crew, joining
hordes of newspaper reporters at the NEC Research Institute, site of the match. Many Japanese followed the
progress of the six-game match, wondering whether yet another human champion would fall prey to the silicon
terror, or whether he would hang tough and demonstrate the superiority of human intellect.
Murakami and Dr. Michael Buro.
Before his matches, Kasparov had believed in his own superiority over Deep Blue. He still does and he
is probably right. He would have won the match under better match conditions.
Studying the Combinations in Advance
But what were my odds? Before the match, I got transcripts of the sequence of play in Logistello's
games in various previous computer tournaments. Analysis of these games and information about how
Logistello functions revealed its unerringly superhuman accuracy and strength, which led me to believe that I
would have a very slim chance of prevailing. I had hoped to win at least one of the six games, but it was not to
be.
The result of the match, held in Princeton from August 4 to 7, was a devastating 6-0 whitewash for
Logistello. The best I managed was a 27 to 37 outcome.
Game 6
B: Logistello 37
W: Murakami 27
In the fourth game, I had just nine discs left on the board. I had never lost so completely and defenselessly
against human players.
Game 4
B: Logistello 55
W: Murakami 9
Othello offers more than 5 million possible combinations in the first 10 moves alone. Analyses of
openings by top players run to the 20s, 30s and sometimes beyond, but human players check only a small
fraction of the innumerable possible lines―only those that look promising.
Logistello, on the other hand, has played against itself ever since it was put into function in 1993,
running 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, accumulating a huge database of game results.
The upshot is that Logistello has evolved countless new, effective openings that have either been
overlooked or dismissed by human players as unpromising.
Humans have a very hard time reaching an even position, let alone a favorable one, in the opening
against Logistello. In the middle game, Logistello's superiority becomes obvious. What makes Othello so
difficult for humans is the fact that a move can flip up to18 discs in up to eight directions.
a b c d e f g h a b c d e f g h
1 ● ● 1 ● ●
2 〇 〇 2 ◆ ◆
3 〇 〇 3 ◆ ◆
4 〇 〇 4 ◆ ◆
5 〇 〇 5 ◆ ◆
6 〇 〇 6 ◆ ◆
7 〇 〇 7 ◆ ◆
8 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 ● 8 ❶ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ●
Black’s move to a8 flips 18! discs.
a b c d e f g h a b c d e f g h
1 ● 1 ●
2 ● 〇 2 ● ◆
3 〇 〇 ● 3 ◆ ◆ ●
4 〇 〇 〇 4 ◆ ◆ ◆
5 〇 〇 〇 5 ◆ ◆ ◆
6 ● 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 ● 6 ● ◆ ◆ ◆ ❶ ◆ ◆ ●
7 〇 〇 〇 7 ◆ ◆ ◆
8 ● ● ● 8 ● ● ●
Black’s move to e6 flips in 8! directions.
This means that the configuration of black and white discs changes drastically with each move, making it
extremely difficult for humans to visualize future positions. This is probably what makes Othello unique
compared to chess, shogi, or go, where one move normally causes only one change over the whole
configuration of pieces (although, of course, that one change can generate a huge strategic shift).
This characteristic of Othello, in which discs change from black to white and back again whenever a
move is made, often leads even the seasoned players to make "Oh, I thought I would have an access here!"
“What!? Wasn't this disc supposed to be black?" “Gosh, I didn't realize this move would also flip in that
direction!" kinds of mistakes.
During the match, I was checking several lines 10 to 15 plies ahead. This is about the limit for human
players. But Logistello was checking every existing line into a 14-ply depth, and 22 plies ahead if it deems a line
promising. The software has no difficulty visualizing future positions as, unlike humans, it has memorized its
own board. This is like a human player having another board and set of discs to check future positions during
the game. Of course humans are forbidden from using this approach.
Logistelo's dominance over human opponents is definitely the most secure in the endgame. Since the
number of possibilities diminishes considerably as the game nears its end―in computer terms, of course, since
humans often have trouble finding the best move with a mere five empty squares, and finding the best move with
15 empty squares is nearly impossible―Logistello calculates every possible line in the range of 24 empty
squares within six minutes. Imagine that. When 36 of the 60 squares are filled, Logistelo ponders for five
minutes and determines the winner and the score that would result if the rest of the squares are filled correctly.
If the calculations favor Logistello, I have no chance, as it makes no mistakes. If the prediction favors me, I still
have 12 moves to make, of which at least some are going to miss the mark. I have rarely seen a game between
two humans in which each player played his or her last 12 moves perfectly.
a b c d e f g h
1 ● ● ● ● ●
2 ● ● ● ● ● ●
3 ● 〇 ● ● ● ● ● ●
4 ● 〇 ● ● ● 〇 〇 〇
5 ● ● 〇 ● 〇 ● 〇 〇
6 ● ● ● 〇 〇 ● ● 〇
7 ● ● ● 〇 ● 〇 ● ●
8 ● 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇 〇
White (Shaman) to move.
Look at the position above for example. It was in a preliminary game of the 1996 World Championship
between Karsten Feldborg (Black) of Denmark and David Shaman (White) of the United States. White has four
options: b1, g1, g2 and h2.
Any computer could instantly determine that one of the options would win, two would draw and one
would lose.
What about humans?
Shaman, the World Champion in 1993 and the eventual winner of this tournament, concentrated for
several minutes and still missed the best move. The optimal sequence is white g2 → black h2 → white h1 →
black passes → white b1, leading to a 33-31 victory for white. The sequence actually played was white h2 →
black h1 → white b1 → black g2 → white g1, for a draw at 32-32. Shaman did not blunder; most experienced
players, myself included, would make the same mistake. The Othello endgames are often simply too difficult for
human players. In what other board games would the last mere five moves be so tough that even world-class
players are incapable of finding the correct move?
Below is the position I faced in the fifth game against Logistelo. I had just made the 35 th move to h3, and
waited for Logistelo's reply.
a b c d e f g h
1
2 ● 〇
3 〇 ● ● 〇 〇 ●
4 〇 〇 ● 〇 ● 〇 ●
5 〇 ● 〇 〇 ● ● 〇
6 ● ● ● ● ● ● 〇 〇
7 ● ● ● ●
8 ● ● ● ●
White (Logistello) to move.
It started searching for a win―searching for a winning move takes a lot less time than the search for
the optimal move―and, after about three minutes, played h5. It had calculated that with this move white would
win the game, at least with 34-30. The only thing I knew at that point was that I seemed to be a little behind.
Kasparov must have felt much frustrated knowing that if he had been able to play his best, he would
surely have beaten Deep Blue. But I did not feel any frustration nor regret because I knew I had done my best,
and that I would have lost even if I had been 10 times stronger. What I felt was a profound admiration and
respect for Dr. Buro, who had implanted many new ingenious ideas into Logistelo to make it a state-of-the-art
program.
When I described my game situation, over a phone, to a reporter for The Washington Post, I told him, “I
was like Carl Lewis competing with a motorcycle." In the story, though, I was quoted as having said, “I was like
a car competing with a motorcycle."
Sigh.
Since then, I have often told my students about the misquote, to remind them that they should work on
their English pronunciation.
When I accepted Dr. Buro's challenge, some Othello players in Japan tried to convince me that I should
not play against Logistello. They feared that if I lost, people around the world would think Othello is in fact as
simple as it looks, and not worth serious play. My promotion to the World Champion underscored their concern.
I shared their apprehension but declined their advice. I believed that nothing was going to degrade the authority
of the champion more than declining a challenge for fear of defeat. I also thought that this match would be a
good opportunity to let Americans and other people know about Othello, which, despite its overwhelming
popularity in its home country, is still very little known outside Japan compared to chess, shogi or go. I think I
was right.
No matter how strong computers become, the joy and excitement of playing Othello among humans will
remain. I know I have learned only a fraction of what can be learned about Othello, and that hundreds of
lifetimes are needed to master it. But that's what makes Othello so interesting.
Using computers as a helpful teacher, I will enjoy the game and try to improve my play for the rest of my
life.
Murakami Takeshi is the 20th (1996) and 22nd (1998) World Champion of Othello. He holds the 8th dan
(second-highest rank) in Othello. He teaches English at Azabu High School in Tokyo