Telling the history of Dots is both simple and difficult. It's simple because the game only emerged on its own relatively recently, and the main stages of its development have occurred within the memory of most modern players. It's difficult because Dots is a folk game, both in origin and status. No one can say for sure who invented Dots or when. And, of course, no one kept a record of it, due to the lack of official chroniclers. The game firmly occupied the niche of school and college fun and rarely expanded beyond that. The most a player could achieve was the honorary title of school champion. The majority, however, contented themselves with the titles of class prizewinner and winner of the last-decker cup. Besides creating difficulties for historical researchers, this also created a very real problem: players were divided into a huge number of isolated groups with little interaction. This led to inconsistent interpretations of the rules, which had to be agreed upon almost before every game. Worse still, it hindered the exchange of experience, limited the scope for player growth, hampered the development of game theory, and precluded the accumulation of any traditions. As a result, the enormous combinational potential of Dots remained unexploited, and promising young players, with no avenues for growth, simply abandoned their passion. No one devoted more than a few school or college years to Dots, no one generalized or codified their experience, no one wrote theoretical works or textbooks, no one popularized the game or created any kind of official atmosphere. Naturally, there were no true champions—role models. And if so, where would history come from?
The only thing that can be said with certainty is that the ancestor of Dots is the ancient Chinese game of Weiqi, which is now more often called by the Japanese name of Go. Beyond that, there's only speculation. When did Dots appear? Where? Why? Let's try to figure this out, relying on available research, players' memories, and basic logic.
Technologically, the Dots are an adaptation of the Go rules, allowing the game to be played not with stones on a goban, but with ink on a sheet of paper. This provides several obvious clues for understanding the timing and circumstances of the game's origins. First, the fashion for Go. It's unlikely that such modernizations could emerge and take root without widespread interest in the original phenomenon. Moreover, this is an external phenomenon—for the Asians themselves, such violence against a centuries-old tradition is unnecessary. Second, the shortage of traditional equipment. Otherwise, what's the point of reinventing the wheel? Third, the availability of paper and convenient writing instruments. These days, this is taken for granted, but it wasn't always so.
The modern geography of Dots isn't particularly extensive. The game is relatively popular and well-known in the countries of the former Soviet Union, primarily in Eastern Europe. Furthermore, a small, distinctive community of players exists in Poland, and until recently, it also existed in the Czech Republic. Given that no one has ever seriously sought to popularize Dots, and information about the game was mostly passed on by word of mouth, this region, fairly clearly localized within the former socialist bloc, is most likely also its ancestral home. Accordingly, by tracing the development of Go here, we can at least roughly identify the fork in the road at which Dots began its autonomous journey.
Although the first printed information about Go appeared in Russia and the surrounding region long ago—at the turn of the 20th century—the game remained a little-known exotica for a long time. The earliest publications aimed at a general readership date back to the post-war period. In 1962, the Molodaya Gvardiya publishing house released Samson Glazer's book "Time for Work, Hour for Fun!"Essentially, it was a collection of articles on various folk games: sports, outdoor games, and board games. Among the latter, Go was included, although the author didn't use that name. He titled his rather modest article "Weiqi,"introducing the game to the reader as Chinese encirclement checkers. The rules are described sparingly and rather superficially—not a word is said about territory or scoring, for example. Much more informative was an article by Moscow mathematician Sergei Ryshkovpublished in the magazine "Young Technician" (February 1962 issue) . Titled "The Game of Go," it focused on the Japanese version of the phenomenon. The rules and game equipment were described clearly, without omissions or simplifications. The author, however, understood that goban and two-color stones were unlikely to be available to the magazine's readers, so he recommended using chessboards, buttons, pieces of cardboard, and even sea pebbles. Here, incidentally, we observe a peculiar competition between two routes of spreading the game—the Chinese and the Japanese. The latter emerged victorious, facilitated by the cooling of relations between the USSR and China and the simultaneous warming of relations with Japan. When the CCP entered into open confrontation with "Soviet revisionism" in the early 1960s, the USSR-Japan Society, responsible for cultural cooperation between the two countries, had already been operating in Moscow for a couple of years. This organization had a direct role in the development of Go in the Soviet Union, fortunately for the rapid emergence of local champions who made the popularization of the game their life's work.
Leningrad philologist and art historian Yuri Filatovwas undoubtedly one of them. He is credited with organizing the country's first Go competition, which took place at the Computing Center of the USSR Academy of Sciences in the summer of 1963 (one of the participants, incidentally, was Mikhail Postnikov, a mathematician and colleague of the aforementioned Ryshkov). Filatov's name is also associated with the creation of the first organized community of players. The official website of the Karelian Go Federation describes this process as follows: "The birth date... can be considered 1965. It was then in Leningrad... that the game enthusiast... Filatov... created the first section... at... the Chigorin Chess Club... Within a year, dozens of sections and clubs had been organized at Leningrad institutes and enterprises. Mass tournaments began to be held, with up to several hundred players participating."The initial triumphal march was not achieved—the usual growing pains took their toll: "Due to objective reasons, Filatov... was forced to abandon his work disseminating the game... Having lost its ideological leader, the amateur movement... found itself on the brink of collapse. However, a handful of ardent followers remained, who set a different goal: before striving for mass appeal, they needed to perfect their skills."And how this struggle would have ended without the active participation of their colleagues from the Land of the Rising Sun is unknown.
When in August 1975 the magazine “Science and Life” published the first article of the, without exaggeration, fateful series “School of Go” (authors – Valery Astashkin and Georgy Nilov,followers of Filatov), the situation looked like this: "Go is only just beginning to develop in our country. A section has existed for several years in the Leningrad branch of the USSR-Japan Society... Tournaments... for the Society's prize have become traditional... Six tournaments dedicated to "Osaka Day"—Leningrad's sister city—have been held. The Chigorin City Chess Club provides significant assistance to the section. Leningrad players... regularly meet at the board with Japanese amateurs, and last August, the first meetings with Japanese professionals took place". So, for about ten years, the small community survived on the energy of a few enthusiasts and the support of Japanese missionaries, while accumulating practical experience and developing a methodological foundation (during this time, Filatov himself managed to write a couple of articles and even gather material for a book, which, however, never saw the light of day). The gun was loaded and hung on the wall, and it went off when the country's leading popular science publication took up the cause.
"Go School" was published twelve issues in a row. It was no longer a terse article, but a serious and richly illustrated work with detailed rules, game analyses of top players, problem sets, and reader feedback. We won't delve into this in depth; we'll only highlight those aspects that are directly relevant to the subject of our study. First, the authors acknowledge that at that time, Go was only cultivated in Leningrad in the Soviet Union ( November 1975 issue). Second, they acknowledge the existence of an objective obstacle to the game's spread—the lack of equipment. For example, the August 1975 issue contains a telling remark that certain companies were only considering the possibility of mass-producing it. Apparently, there was little hope for the swift implementation of these plans, so a rather remarkable recommendation immediately follows: "For disposable equipment, you can use a piece of graph paper, delimiting the playing field with thick lines. Moves are then sketched directly on the paper."Thirdly, Astashkin and Nilov, analyzing correspondence with readers, lament that Soviet and, in general, European players, raised on chess logic, do not fully understand the essence of the struggle for territory, as well as the complex and ambiguous rules for ending a game. Furthermore, they find it difficult to abandon the habit of playing for the capture of stones (issues of December 1975 and June 1976). Go enthusiasts acknowledge that the series of articles in "Science and Life" gave a powerful impetus to the development of the game in the USSR. Let's turn once again to the Karelian Federation website: "These articles announced a problem-solving competition, in which more than 2,500 people from various corners of the Soviet Union participated. As a result, about 85 clubs were formed... in more than 30 cities across the country... From 1976 to 1979, the game... developed rapidly. A host of enthusiasts emerged, ready to try their hand at Go. It was during this time that a number of the largest... clubs emerged... Major tournaments were held in Leningrad, Kazan, Sochi, and Moscow."The logical continuation of this process was the creation of the All-Russian Go Section (1984), and then the USSR Go Federation (1989).
Let's conduct a basic analysis of the above information.
It's perfectly clear that the phenomenon of Dots couldn't have emerged before the game that inspired it became widespread. Given the game's initial amateur status, sustained demand for it could only have been generated by widespread interest in Go. Specifically, widespread—single enthusiasts might have experimented with the game on paper as early as the 1950s, but it never went beyond the desk. Moreover, the primary audience for Dots has always been students, who, for objective reasons, were divided into a large number of isolated communities, conventionally united only by children's and youth and popular science publications. The game's spontaneous origins are also evidenced by the numerous rule variations and the fact that no one has ever claimed authorship.
The aforementioned publications from the early 1960s may have had some influence on the emergence of a small group of Go enthusiasts in Leningrad, but they failed to generate truly serious interest. This was not helped by the quality of the materials themselves or the print runs (Glyazer's book sold 95,000 copies, the magazine "Young Technician" sold 250,000). A series of articles in "Science and Life" was a different matter. In the Soviet Union, this magazine enjoyed well-deserved authority, with a circulation of 3 million copies. Considering that "School of Go" was published for twelve consecutive months, the colossal reach of its audience becomes apparent: approximately 36 million issues were distributed nationwide.
Consequently, it's unlikely that Dots would have appeared before Soviet Go emerged from its Leningrad cradle and briskly strode across our vast expanses—the prerequisites simply weren't there. Nor, incidentally, were there any technical ones. It's worth remembering that ballpoint pens only became commonplace in the early 1970s. Playing with fountain pens is a dubious pleasure, as are pencils, for that matter. And paper itself only lost its value as its production increased, peaking in the early 1980s.
On the other hand, there is ample evidence that by the mid-1980s, Dots were already a common sight in Soviet schools and other educational institutions. Some eyewitnesses claim to have played them for the first time in the late 1970s. Given the aforementioned fragmentation of the student community, as well as the lack of electronic means of communication, it's safe to assume that it would have taken several years for Dots to gain widespread popularity.
Ultimately, a fairly clear connection can be traced between the series of articles in "Science and Life," the surge of interest in Go, and the emergence of Dots as a popular variant. Therefore, the game's approximate birthdate should be considered the second half of the 1970s.
The reasons for the emergence of Dots are generally clear. Mass interest in Go, fueled by the articles of Astashkin and Nilov, demanded practical implementation. The game's competitive and combinational potential was obvious, and there was also the element of novelty. However, for the vast majority of Soviet schoolchildren and students, the essential attributes of Go—a board and stones—were unavailable. On the other hand, everyone had an obvious analogue of the goban—a gridded notebook sheet (especially since the authors of "School of Go" themselves hinted at such an alternative in their very first article). But playing classic Go on paper is impossible: drawn stones cannot be removed from the sheet, and constantly crossing them out and re-drawing them is simply inconvenient. Apparently, this contradiction marked the fork in the road after which the paths of Dots and Go first diverged. Other factors came into play afterward. First, the complex and sometimes vague rules of Go, as well as the convoluted definitions of numerous game elements, are impossible to summarize briefly. Astashkin and Nilov needed several magazine issues to achieve this. But not every potential player had the opportunity to collect them all, so filling in the gaps through free creativity was inevitable. Secondly, many of Go's rules are truly illogical from a European perspective. A clear goal, an unambiguous criterion for determining the winner, and a simple scoring method were required. Coupled with the inability to remove stones from the board, this led to a straightforward solution—a game of capturing dots without regard for territory (incidentally, not immediately or universally: there is evidence that in the first half of the 1980s, at least in Leningrad, Moscow, and Minsk, some players counted not only dots but also territory). As for the philosophical component of Go, its chances of catching on at that time were slim: Soviet youth were primarily interested in competition, not in an alien worldview.
It's difficult to pinpoint the origins of the Dots. It's likely there was no central center. Millions of issues of "Science and Life" quickly circulated across the country, with readership reaching a wide range of audiences, and the methods of Go adaptation predictable. Later, it seems, "pioneer radio" was in operation. Schoolchildren from across the Soviet Union met at summer camps, and students at various gatherings, Komsomol congresses, and harvest seasons. The simple and engaging game found its ideal environment and quickly became popular.
It seems that Dots penetrated Poland and Czechoslovakia in a similar way. A reverse borrowing is hard to believe. Firstly, Go developed no faster in these countries than in the USSR: the Polish association was founded in 1983, and the Czech and Slovak ones in 1991 (while in the West, for example, a unified European federation had existed since the late 1950s). Secondly, such cultural exchange often flows from a larger audience to a smaller one (in this case, significantly), rather than the other way around. Another issue is that with the collapse of the socialist bloc, the Polish and Czech communities were left to their own devices, so the game developed in their own unique way. For example, the Poles eventually adopted a unique method of ending the game early by counting both the encircled dots and the territory, although, according to some eyewitnesses, this didn't happen until the mid-2000s. The Czech variation, without encirclement boundaries, but with the opponent's encircled dots changing their allegiance, can truly claim to be the most unique in history.
The 1980s and 1990s were the golden age of "paper" Dots. During this time, the basic rule variations known to this day were established. The game was typically played until the entire board was filled, with players attempting to encircle the board by maximizing their trajectory. An extra move after capturing an opponent's dots was common. The concept of a "house" was uncommon, and placing dots in an encircled area, even an empty one, was generally prohibited.
Toward the end of this period, the main stereotypes about Dots took root. The game was perceived as frivolous fun, a puzzle for schoolchildren and students, and nothing more. No one even considered any prospects. The rise in popularity of Go in the 1990s and 2000s only reinforced these negative tendencies. Its kinship with the ancient Eastern game that once gave Dots a foothold became a curse. It's no secret that Go players have always treated Dots with disdain, considering them merely inferior copies of the original and, at best, the first step toward it. A typical example of this attitude is, for example, the following passage: "You could try... playing on a notebook sheet of checkered paper, but that would be the popular school game of 'Feudal' or 'Dots.' One Go player recounted how he once met the school champion of these very same 'Dots.' Although he had only a vague understanding of the rules, he nevertheless beat the champion quite easily, which elicited tears and disbelief ("And you even said you didn't know how to play!")."No, this isn't a conversation in the smoking room; it's an excerpt from the article "Elementary Go Technique"published in the January 2005 issue of the magazine "Intellectual Games". It's hard to say whether this is more snobbery or stupidity. Even if we ignore the style, more suited to a sarcastic but not very bright schoolchild than a fan of the game of philosophy, and the authority of such a source as "one Go player," which strongly resembles the common saying "one old woman said," it must be acknowledged that the author of the article does not understand, or does not want to understand, the obvious. How can one compare a complete amateur, who has been stewing in his own juices for several years, facing only a couple of dozen other amateurs like himself, with a player who has the full force of a long-established sport behind him, a wealth of literature, and a well-oiled competitive machine (a "vague" knowledge of the rules is a ridiculous excuse, since the basic technique is practically the same)? It's like pitting a mediocre professional boxer against the best brawler on the school playground. What would the result of such a fight say? Nothing, except the organizer's dishonesty.
The game's rivalry between "Go players" and "Dots players" is a separate topic. For now, let's try to answer one very important question. Are Dots even necessary? Are they really just a parody of Go?
Necessary! They are not!
Dots have been around for decades. During this time, millions of people have fallen in love with the game. It's impossible to dismiss this fact. Especially considering that their popularity is based solely on amateur enthusiasm. They were never artificially distributed, planted, or promoted. Until recently, not a single penny of investment was invested in them (unlike, incidentally, Go). Yet the game lives on.
Child's play? A silly stereotype. We know plenty of middle-aged people who enjoy playing Dots whenever the opportunity arises.
Too simple? But who said the quality of a game depends on the complexity and obscurity of its rules? If we reason like that, then chess and, especially, checkers, would have to be denied the right to be called a full-fledged intellectual combat. Moreover, it's impossible to assess the true sporting potential of Dots without raising them to a more or less serious competitive level.
No traditions? Where would they come from? Go has been accumulating them for millennia. Dots have two orders of magnitude fewer. Blaming them for their lack of traditions is like accusing a baby of not being able to distinguish a glass of cognac from a glass of beer.
There are no official structures, no regular competitions? The road is mastered by the one who walks it. Go also began with a single section in Leningrad, huddled close to older chess players.
Isn't it part of a rich philosophical system? Isn't the value of this phenomenon exaggerated? The penchant of Asian cultures for creating all sorts of abstract concepts on any given occasion, elegantly and vaguely described and lavishly illustrated, has long been known. But is it worth blindly copying? At one point, a craze for martial arts swept across our country, accompanied by legends about the secret knowledge and unprecedented abilities of Chinese monks and Japanese ninjas. And what remains of all this, except a few beautiful hieroglyphs, the gymnastics of Chinese pensioners, and ridiculous Hollywood films that are now impossible to watch without laughing?
Dots are a domestic phenomenon. Like sambo, like Russian hockey. They weren't specifically invented; they emerged spontaneously. They reflect our (in this case, all the republics of the former USSR) ideas about what a strategic game should be, one that combines analysis and spatial thinking. This game is neither better nor worse than Go. It's different. In this regard, I'd like to counter the ingrained cliché, which once even appeared in the Wikipedia article on Dots: "the game... arose... from an incorrect interpretation of the rules... of Go."The concept of correctness is inapplicable in this case. Just as it's inapplicable, say, in the case of American football. We believe no one in their right mind would try to convince an American that their favorite sport arose from an incorrect interpretation of the rules of soccer. They, at the very least, wouldn't understand. And they'd be right.
Alexander Parfenov First published October 24, 2015
Part two | Part three | Part Four | Part five