The Fifth Move and the Misplaced Name: When the "Taimanov Sicilian" Turned Out to Be the Møller Attack

Late at night in Hanoi, I replay a game on my screen with the sound entirely off. An old habit. No commentators, no crowd noise, only pieces sliding across squares. On my keyboard, I type the first five moves into an analysis engine: 1.e4 e5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.Bc4 Nf6 4.d4 exd4 5.e5. The engine names this position "Taimanov Sicilian." I sit still for about three seconds. Then I delete that name and type it again. It still reads "Taimanov Sicilian." That was the starting moment for this article. Not because I want to catch anyone out, but for a simpler reason: when a professional guide misnames an opening in front of a crowd of learners, that error outlives the person who made it. It enters the students' memory, their notes, their over-the-board games, and eventually their mistaken explanations of a position they thought they understood. People say girls know nothing about tactics. So I write for them to read. The specific facts here are quite clear once you set two pieces of information side by side. A product introduction document for an opening course is titled "Svitlana's Smart Moves – The Taimanov Sicilian." The technical content that document presents is the move sequence 1.e4 e5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.Bc4 Nf6 4.d4 exd4 5.e5. And here is what I want readers to look at directly: that move sequence is not the Taimanov Sicilian. Not approximately, not a cousin variation, but a completely different opening family. The Taimanov Sicilian, to be clear, runs 1.e4 c5 2.Nf3 e6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nc6. It is a branch of the Sicilian Defense, named after Grandmaster Mark Taimanov, characterized by Black's early e6 move to control the d5 square with a flexible pawn structure. The sequence in the document instead begins with 1.e4 e5 — meaning Black answers with e5 rather than c5 on the very first move. That is the world of the Italian Game, and more specifically the sharp attacking line commonly known as the Møller Attack, which arises against the Two Knights Defense after 3...Nf6. This confusion is not small. It is like a seller labelling a violin "Stradivarius" while the box contains a cello. Both are string instruments, both are beautiful, both require a skilled player. But they are not the same thing. And if you buy it because of the label, you will be lost from the very first lesson. I want to use this article to dissect that situation seriously, but not in a "debunking" way — I have no interest in tearing anyone down within the chess industry. I care about something else: what is actually operating inside that 5.e5 position, and why a naming discrepancy can affect how a chess learner absorbs and applies it over the board. To do that, I need to start with context. Over roughly the past three years, the chess opening content market has been flooded with a new kind of product: short courses. The "60 minutes" model has appeared everywhere — Chessable, ChessBase, Everyman Chess, and countless independent channels. The marketing idea is very attractive to club players: you don't need to read a 400-page book on an opening; you just need one hour, and you have a "weapon." I understand that appeal. I was once a chess student at an age where time was a luxury. I used to sit beside thick opening books not knowing where to start, like a child standing before a giant chessboard with no one to show them which square to look at first. This generation of short products promises you a starting point. The problem lies here: a starting point does not equal a destination. The "The Taimanov Sicilian" document belongs to exactly that segment. It presents itself as a guide for club players, promising sharpness, relative ease of learning, and a credibility anchor: Grandmaster Evgeny Sveshnikov is said to have used it with "very good results." I pause at "is said to have." In my profession, there are four words I have learned never to skip past: where is the evidence. And in this case, the document offers no specific games, no years, no tournaments, no opponents. Only a name, set beside a claim. It is a credibility anchor, but it anchors to reputation, not to data. So before going into the geometry of the position, I want to separate the two layers of the problem that this document is mixing together. The first layer is technical: what that 5.e5 position actually is, how it operates, how Black counterattacks. The second layer is about trust: what is promised, what is implied, and where the gap between them lies. A serious article must travel through both layers. If I stop only at the technical layer, I am a dry analyst. If I stop only at the trust layer, I am a marketing critic. I want to be neither. I want to be the person sitting beside you, pointing at the board, and telling you clearly: this square is this, this piece goes there, and why the name on the cover does not match what is happening inside. The position we are talking about, let me read it out slowly: 1.e4 e5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.Bc4 Nf6 4.d4 exd4 5.e5. On the fifth move, White's pawn advances to e5, pushing forward, attacking Black's knight on f6. This is not a defensive move. This is a declaration. White says: I am willing to trade my pawn structure for the initiative, for momentum, for a fire in the centre of the board whose ignition timing I control. What is interesting is that this very position can arrive via two different roads. The first road is the Italian Game, when White plays 4.d4 after 3.Bc4 Nf6. The second road is the Scotch Game, when White begins with 3.d4 first, then brings the bishop to c4: 1.e4 e5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.d4 exd4 4.Bc4 Nf6 5.e5. Two roads, one destination. For club players, this multi-order reachability is good news in practical terms. It means if you prepare this single position, you may meet it in many different situations over the board. But it also imposes a higher requirement: you must understand the position, not just memorise the moves. Because if you only memorise moves, you will get lost when your opponent changes the order. And this is where the mislabelling becomes a real problem, not just an editorial error. Someone searching for material under the term "Taimanov Sicilian" will read about the e6 pawn structure, about the battle on d5, about manoeuvring defensive games. When they enter this product and encounter 5.e5, with White's bishop aimed at f7, with Black's knight pushed toward the corner, they will not recognise the theoretical framework they just learned. They will think they learned wrong. They will think the board is deceiving them. The truth is that the label is deceiving them. This is one of the things I have learned after many years of sitting with games: tactics never lie, only the reader misreads them. So how does the 5.e5 position actually operate in geometric terms? I want you to picture the board as a plane with lines of energy. When White pushes the pawn to e5, they are doing three things at once. First, they gain space in the centre, pushing the frontier of their influence one square toward Black. Second, they force Black's knight on f6 to leave its post or face pressure. Third, they open the line for the c4 bishop to look down the a2-g8 diagonal straight at f7 — the classic weak point of any structure where Black's king has not yet castled. That is why the document calls this position "sharp." It is not a decorative phrase. It describes a precise geometric reality: attacking lines are opening simultaneously, and White is deliberately creating difficult choices for Black instead of letting them castle peacefully. But here is the part that a marketing document usually skims over, and the part I want to spend the most time on: White has paid a price. After 4.d4 exd4, White has let Black take the d4 pawn. White has exposed their central structure. White has committed to playing for the initiative, and if that initiative fades without being converted into something tangible, White will sit back with a structurally worse board. In chess, the initiative is a currency with an expiry date. You spend it or you lose it. No bank holds it for you. This matters greatly for club players. Because when a document says a position is "easy to learn," it usually means memorising the moves. It does not mean playing that position under clock pressure, against an opponent who is thinking up small improvements you have never seen. Memorising a position takes a few hours. Mastering it takes years. In this position, Black has three main responses that the document mentions: 5...d5, 5...Ng4, and 5...Ne4. I want to go through each one, not as a list of variations, but as three rooms with different lighting, three different understandings of the same position. 5...d5 is the cold, rational room. Black closes the centre by bringing the pawn to d5, where it will meet White's pawn on e4. The result is a nearly closed structure, where the battle shifts to the mobility of the pieces behind. Black grabs space, accepting that White gets some initiative on the kingside in exchange for a solid centre. This is the move of those who do not want to burn at the opponent's tempo. It says: I will not fight your way, I will fight my way. 5...Ng4 is the hot room. Black brings the knight from f6 to g4, not retreating, but leaping in to attack the f2 pawn — one of White's most sensitive points while the king is uncastled. This is an arms race. White attacks on Black's kingside, Black attacks on White's own kingside. In positions like this, one slow move can be a disaster. Both sides must count precisely. This is where club players often err, because this is the kind of position that demands calculation and geometric intuition rather than memory. 5...Ne4 is the room of dynamic balance. Black brings the knight to the centre, occupying an outpost, preparing counterplay. It does not close and it does not attack; it says: I will build a centre to compensate for my slower tempo. This may be the option that confuses many who prepared only one line, because it demands a different understanding of the position. These three branches, as I have described, carry three completely different personalities. That is why the document's claim to cover all three is a claim with real weight. But it is also precisely why the 60-minute format becomes a problem. I want to say this plainly, even if it may make me look harsh: sixty minutes is not enough to cover three sharp branches that differ in fundamental structure. A 60-minute product can give you a move map, some key ideas, and a feel for the position. It cannot give you the depth that playing sharp positions at club level demands. There is nothing wrong with a product doing the first. The wrong is when it is presented as if it does both. There is another angle I want readers to consider. Sharp positions are often recommended to club players for a sound reason: they reduce the number of dull games where everything is balanced and no one has a plan. A sharp position forces both sides to play. It creates chances, and chances are the food of a player who wants to win. But there is a parallel truth few state. Playing a sharp position is easier than defending it. When you sit on the attacking side, you have momentum. When you sit on the receiving side, you need a precision you may not have. And in this 5.e5 position, depending on the branch, the receiving side may be White on a day an opponent finds an improvement, or Black when they step out of theory. The document acknowledges this when it writes that "problems are being posed which over the board might prove tough to solve." I read that sentence many times, and I think it is the most honest sentence in the whole document. It acknowledges that this position creates pressure on both sides, and that pressure does not disappear just because you bought a course. Here I want to return to the credibility anchor: Sveshnikov. Evgeny Sveshnikov was a Russian grandmaster, a renowned Sicilian specialist, the man after whom the Sveshnikov System in the Sicilian Defense (1.e4 c5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf5 5.Nc3 e5) is named. He was a sharp, concrete player, and at his peak he reached around 2580 classical. That he would also play attacking positions in the Italian Game is entirely plausible in stylistic terms. Someone who builds comprehensive positions and poses concrete problems would feel comfortable with a position like 5.e5. But there is a gap between "plausible" and "proven." The document says Sveshnikov used it with "very good results," yet offers not a single game. And that is the point I want readers to remember: a big name is not evidence. It is a hint to go find evidence. If Sveshnikov's games with this position exist in databases, they could be a wonderful anchor for learners — you could watch a specialist handling the position. If they do not exist, or are only a handful at a lower level, then that claim is borrowing a person's reputation without repaying it in evidence. The way I write these things may make people think I am sceptical of everything. But I am not. I believe the 5.e5 position is a legitimate weapon. It has elite-level pedigree, it creates real problems, it forces opponents to play precisely. What I do not believe is that a sharp position automatically becomes suitable for club players just because it is labelled so. There is a pattern in the chess content industry that I have observed for years, and I want to name it. I call it the "conversion gap." It operates like this: a sharp opening product is advertised, a club player buys it, they are excited for a few weeks, they try it over the board, they win a few games because opponents don't know the theory, and then they meet an opponent who knows how to defend. At that moment, the excitement vanishes and is replaced by the question: what do I do now? The product cannot answer that question, because it was designed for the moment of purchase, not the moment of confrontation. I want to be clear that I do not blame the buyer. Club players buy products because they want to improve. That is a clean motive. The problem lies on the seller's side, in promising one thing and delivering another, and in misnaming their own product. Back to the name. The discrepancy between the title "The Taimanov Sicilian" and the actual technical content is the most important finding in this whole story. I say that not because I enjoy catching errors. I say it because misnaming has practical consequences, and those consequences fall on the learner. The first consequence is discoverability. In an age when every chess learner searches for material by opening name, a wrong name makes the product invisible to the very people who need it. Those searching for the Taimanov Sicilian will find a product that is not about it. Those searching for the Møller Attack will not find this product. This is a double loss, and it mainly harms the seller, but the effect spills into the chess ecosystem: it pollutes the common database of opening names. The second consequence is pedagogical. A chess learner is building their knowledge base. They learn that the Taimanov Sicilian has this structure, these plans. When they meet a product labelled Taimanov but teaching a different position, they have two options: either they accept confusion into their knowledge base, or they lose trust in the material. Both are losses. The third consequence is at the macro-trust level. In an industry where a product can be mislabelled and still released, consumers learn they must verify everything themselves. That sounds positive, but in practice it only means the burden of verification is pushed from seller to buyer. The buyer must now be a technical expert before they can become a student. That is not a healthy market. This is where I want to say something I rarely write, but I think my readers — especially my female readers — have long understood. The pitch is wider when there is no noise. I see it more clearly than ever. Years ago, when I started writing about tactics, I was told that girls know nothing about chess. Those comments were not aimed at my ability; they were aimed at my presence. They said I should not be in the analytical space. And I think of that every time I read a technical document written carelessly, because I recognise the same mechanism operating: a person with the authority to say something, and an audience expected to accept it. When a document calls the Møller Attack the Taimanov Sicilian, it relies on the same assumption: that the reader will not check, will not know the difference, will not ask. And if you are a female reader already told you know nothing about tactics, that assumption only reinforces the silence loop: you dare not question because you fear being told you are trying to look clever. I write this article to break that loop. Not by attacking anyone, but by showing that technical verification is every reader's right, not a privilege of one group. I want to spend the rest of the article on the trust gap, because I believe that is the more important part for most readers. This document positions the 5.e5 position as "relatively easy to learn" for club players. This is a claim I want to dissect in two directions. The first direction is narrow: the number of moves you need to remember. In this sense, the claim is true. Sharp positions tend to have clear structures, and forced moves are easier to remember than quiet positions with dozens of reasonable choices. If you have a good memory, you can memorise a sharp line in a few evenings. The second direction is broad: the ability to play that position successfully over the board. In this sense, the claim needs a red warning. Because there is a fundamental difference between remembering a position and understanding it deeply enough to handle situations where your opponent steps out of theory. In chess, every position has a point where theory ends, and at that point you are left only with your understanding and instinct. For sharp positions, that point arrives earlier. Much earlier. I want readers to picture this with a simple example. Remembering a position is like knowing a recipe. Understanding a position is like knowing how to cook. If you only have the recipe and your kitchen lacks an ingredient, you stand still. If you know how to cook, you substitute and continue. In the 5.e5 position, your opponent will often take away an ingredient of yours. The question is not whether you have the recipe; the question is whether you know how to cook. That is why I always begin my articles with the question "where is the evidence" rather than "what do I feel." Not because feelings do not matter, but because feelings need a foundation to stand on. And that foundation, in this case, is a simple fact: a sharp position is not automatically easy to play just because it is easy to remember. I want to add something about what the document calls "problems" and "tough to solve." This is an important admission and I think it deserves amplification rather than being buried. If a product teaches you a sharp position, the correct claim is not "you will play it easily," but "you will pose tough problems for opponents, and you must be prepared to solve similar problems yourself when your turn comes." This is a much more honest promise, and it remains attractive. Chess players are not afraid of pressure; they just want to know what they are buying. This honesty, if placed correctly, would not reduce the product's value. It would raise it. I want to speak about one more aspect of the document that I believe matters: the product's association with the name Svitlana. In the chess content industry, where men predominate as technical authors, a female-named brand is notable. I do not know for certain who is behind this brand, and I will not speculate. But I want to say this: more female voices in chess analysis is something I welcome, not because I believe women do it better than men, but because I believe a healthy industry is one with many different ways of seeing. What I want from such a brand is higher technical accuracy, not lower. Because when you are breaking a stereotype, you are watched more closely. Every small error of yours is used as evidence for that stereotype. I know this from personal experience. I know the feeling when a typo of mine is read as evidence about my gender. It is an unfair pressure, but it is real, and I say this as someone who has lived inside it, not as someone judging from outside. So I hope this naming confusion is a single editorial error, not a sign of a broader approach. And I hope it is corrected. Now I want to move to the part readers may be waiting for: my assessment of the real value of this position. The 5.e5 position is a legitimate weapon. I say that without ambiguity. It has been played at a high level, it poses real problems, and it forces opponents to know what they are doing. For an attacking player, it is a reasonable choice for their arsenal, especially since it can be reached via two different move orders. But its value depends entirely on how you learn it. If you learn it as a list of moves to remember, you will have a fragile tool. It will work in some games and collapse in others, and you will not understand why. If you learn it as a way of understanding space and control, you will have a more durable tool. It will extend beyond the lines you memorised. You will be able to improvise when theory ends. The point I want to stress, and this is the one I believe is most important to the whole story, is a geometric truth that any player can see if they sit patiently observing the board long enough. In this position, White is playing a game of space. Pushing the pawn to e5 is not to capture a piece, but to shrink Black's space. It says: your area is smaller, your pieces have fewer places to stand, and I will pour my pieces into the gap I just created. This is a game you can see if you know to look at squares rather than pieces. The same applies to Black. 5...d5 says: I will reclaim central space and force you to play within a narrower frame. 5...Ng4 says: I will ignore space and leap into your sensitive zone. 5...Ne4 says: I will build an outpost you cannot easily dislodge. Three rooms. Three understandings. One shared truth: in chess, it is not the pieces that decide the game, but the space they occupy and the lines they can travel. I have spent many years telling my readers that tactics is a geometric language. In this position, that language is speaking very loudly. Sometimes, to understand the game, you must stand in silence longer than others can bear. I want to return to my own experience, because I believe my readers deserve to know where I am looking from. I started following chess games seriously when I was very young, and I learned that the biggest mistakes in chess analysis are not calculation errors. They are identity errors. People analyse a position wrongly because they think it is a different position. They apply a wrong theoretical framework to a right position, and their conclusions become skewed from the root. When I discovered the Taimanov confusion in this document, my first reaction was technical: these are two different openings. But my second reaction was about people: a beginner would not have the first reaction. They would not notice the confusion. They would learn a position and believe it has a name. And when they talk about it with others, they would transmit a confusion. A small error gives birth to a bigger one. That is why I write this article. Not to catch an error, but to stop an error from spreading. I want to talk about something else I have thought about a great deal while writing this. There is a pressure in the chess content industry, and I believe it exists in football and other sports too, which is the pressure to make everything sound new. An old course on an old opening will not sell. So people must tell a new story: a new discovery, a new system, a rediscovered forgotten line. That is a reasonable commercial pressure. But it has a price in technical honesty. When I read the title "The Taimanov Sicilian" and find the content inside is the Møller Attack, I wonder what happened behind the scenes. Was it a simple editorial error? Was it a genuine confusion on the author's part? Or was it an effort — conscious or unconscious — to make the product sound newer, more notable, by attaching a more famous name to it? I do not know the answer, and I will not speculate about the motives of someone I do not know. But I will say this: a product teaching the Møller Attack can sell if it is called the Møller Attack. That position has its own pedigree. It has its own players. It does not need to borrow Taimanov's name. This confusion does not make the product better. It makes the product harder to trust. This is where I want to speak plainly about something I believe many in the industry know but few say. When a sports content product — whether about chess, about football tactics, or anything else — uses ambiguity to create appeal, it is silently betting on the user's ignorance. It assumes the buyer will not check, will not cross-reference, will not have anyone to ask. In such an environment, knowledge becomes a power game: the seller knows more than the buyer, and uses that greater knowledge to shape the transaction. I believe this approach is a strategic mistake in the long run, because it destroys the very thing technical content needs to survive: trust. A learner who is deceived once will not return. But an honest product — stating clearly what it teaches, what it does not teach, and the difficulties the learner will face — will build a returning community. That is a better business model. In my industry, I am known as someone who defends with data. I open spreadsheets before I open opinions. That is a career choice, not a personality. I chose to do it because I learned that in an environment where my voice is more easily doubted than others, data is a form of protection. It does not speak louder than the noise; it speaks more clearly than the noise. And in this case, the simplest data is the move sequence. It sits there, clear, undeniable: 1.e4 e5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.Bc4 Nf6 4.d4 exd4 5.e5 is not the Taimanov Sicilian. No deep analysis needed, no motive needed, no inference needed. Just a careful reader. I want to take a moment to talk about what I call the "spatial structure" of this position, because I believe it is the most beautiful thing in the whole story, and I do not want it buried under market concerns. When White's pawn goes to e5 on the fifth move, something strange happens to the board. The centre, previously split between two sides, suddenly becomes one-sided. White has occupied e5 and now controls d5 and f6 from an advanced position. Black, on f6, is under attack. The black knight cannot stay put without consequences. So it must move. And the moment it moves, a gap forms. That gap is what later products and documents call opportunity. I like to think of this position as a musical moment. In music, there are points where the musician must change key to keep playing. White creates that moment. Black must choose their new key: the closed key of 5...d5, the burning key of 5...Ng4, or the balanced key of 5...Ne4. Each choice leads to a different piece of music. And which piece is best depends on the player, not the product. That is why I say these three branches cannot be covered in 60 minutes. They are not three different moves in the same piece. They are three different pieces. A player who wants confidence in all three needs more than an hour of listening. But here is the part where I want to return to the constructive spirit of the article. This does not mean a 60-minute product is worthless. It means it has a specific function: introduction. A good 60-minute product takes you to the door of the room, shows you three doors, and tells you each leads somewhere different. It does not take you on all three journeys. It just shows you where you want to go first. If this document were presented that way — as a starting point, not a complete weapon — I would have very little to criticise. The problem is not the format. The problem is the expectation the format creates. I want to say one more thing related to the chess learning community in Vietnam, because I write mainly for them. In Vietnam, chess has a special place. We have world-class players, we have a strong training tradition, and we have a growing club community, especially among the young. But we also have a shortage of high-quality technical material in Vietnamese. That is why foreign documents translated or introduced to our community carry more weight than they deserve. When such a document has a naming error, that error does not only live in a dispersed English-speaking community; it lives in a community hungry for knowledge and with few resources to verify it. That is why I write this in Vietnamese, for Vietnamese readers. Not because I do not want it to reach international readers, but because I believe caring for the community close to me is the first task. And if someone in my community wants to buy this document, I want them to know exactly what they are buying. That is not criticism. That is respect. I want to add one more thing about how I see the 5.e5 position after all this analysis. To me, that position is still beautiful. Not because it is strong or weak, but because it expresses one of the most basic and fascinating ideas in chess: that you can change the structure of a game with a single move at the right moment. White pushes a pawn forward, and suddenly everything must change: Black's plans, White's plans, the attacking lines, the weaknesses, everything. A pass can be the answer to all doubt. I have written that line many times about football, and it is also true of chess. A correct move does not defeat you; it changes how you must think. Throughout my writing career, I have learned that the value of a position is not only in its win rate. It is in what it teaches you about the board. A position that teaches you about central control is a good position, even if it is no longer played at a high level. A position that teaches you about accepting risk can shape your entire career. The 5.e5 position teaches you about initiative with an expiry date. It teaches you that when you decide to attack, you must attack with full attention. It teaches you that momentum can convert into points, or it can dissolve and leave you in a worse position. That is a hard lesson. But it is a lesson worth learning. I want to return to the opening moment of this article, when I read the opening name wrong on my screen. I sat still for a while, and I thought about all the times I had been read wrong. The times someone looked at my age and assumed I was not mature enough. The times someone looked at my gender and assumed I was not knowledgeable enough. The times someone looked at my prose and assumed it was not professional enough. In those moments, I learned that the only way to face being read wrong is patience. You cannot defeat misreading by shouting. You can only patiently point out what is right, one move at a time, until it becomes clear. I wrote this article that way. Without any anger, I hope. Just someone sitting beside the board, pointing at a square, and saying: here is what is actually happening. That is how I understand the work of a commentator. Not to impose my views on the game, but to make the game clearer for everyone watching. I am not here to win an argument. I am here to help you understand one move you may have overlooked. If I did that, I did my job. Before I close, I want to offer some concrete suggestions for those considering studying the 5.e5 position, whether through this document or any other source. First, verify the opening name before you begin. Knowing what you are actually playing is the first step in learning chess seriously. If a document says one thing and teaches another, that is a signal to slow down and check. Second, learn the position as a spatial framework, not a list of moves. When you understand the space White is trying to occupy and the space Black is trying to protect, you will be able to improvise when theory ends. Third, prepare for all three Black branches, not just your favourite. A weapon that only works against one opponent choice is not a weapon. It is a hope. Fourth, remember that sharp means both sides burn, not just one. When you choose a sharp position, you choose danger for both sides. Be mentally prepared for that. Fifth, and perhaps most importantly, remember that a course, however good, is only the start of understanding, not the end. Real understanding of a position comes from playing it, making mistakes in it, and returning to the board after each game to look again. No product can replace that process. I want to close with a thought about the future of chess content. I believe we are at an interesting moment, when chess is more popular than ever, when more young people come to it as a sport of the mind, and when the market for technical content is booming. That is good. But every boom carries a risk to quality. What I hope for the future is a shift from selling excitement to selling clarity. I hope the best products will not be the ones that promise most, but the ones that are most honest — stating clearly what they teach, what they do not, and for whom. I believe a chess learner deserves to know exactly what they are stepping into. And if a document calls the Møller Attack the Møller Attack, and teaches it as a starting point for players wanting to explore a sharp position, that is not a second-rate product. That is an honest product. Honesty, in my industry, is rarer than any new position. And I believe it is worth demanding. The pitch is wider when there is no noise. And a chessboard, when read with the correct name, is also much wider.