On the eve of the election, FIDE held its first ever Excellence Awards, and every delegate in Samarkand came. Two hundred people in a pavilion by the lake, a red carpet, a stage, a live band, spotlights, presenters, envelopes. Federation presidents walked in wearing suits that had clearly been packed for this and only this. The fish was decent. For two hours nobody sued anyone, because nobody could hear anyone. It was the most peaceful evening FIDE has had in years.
It was also a feeding ground. Every voter in the election was in one room, in a good mood, with nowhere to be until morning. The vote is tomorrow. Delegates wake up, walk into a hall, mark a ballot, and there will be no more speeches — just the customary 15-minute slot before the elections. Tonight is the only night left to turn anyone, and the way you turn a FIDE delegate is not with a discussion. You get him into your room, you show him a crowd, and you let him work out for himself that the crowd is going to win and he'd rather be inside it than outside. So when the lights came up in the Awards pavilion, the real business began. Somewhere in the resort, two parties were starting.
Wadim Rosenstein's party was built on incentives. An iPhone raffle every hour. Circulating among the delegates, an unusually large staff of pretty hostesses whose role was to remind you that the next ruffle was in forty minutes and that you would like another drink. It was not subtle. It was not meant to be. Subtle doesn't win FIDE.
Timur Turlov's party, on the other side of the grounds, was different. He hired Boney M. So the band, now called the Boney M Experience, performing "Rasputin" to a room of federation presidents whose average age suggests they bought the original single. The food was superb. When a man who owns a bank throws a party, the party looks like a man who owns a bank threw it.
And then the rumour. I stress unsubstantiated, I stress allegedly: dozens of Rolls-Royces, arranged by Rosenstein's team to carry delegates from the pavilion to the raffle, chased off by security before they could load a single vice president.
Turlov's delegates went by bus. But there were a lot of them, and they were full, and a full bus is worth more than an empty Rolls.
So who's winning? Count the bodies and Turlov leads. But bodies aren't ballots. A delegate at Turlov's party might be a supporter, or a Boney M fan, or a man who was hungry, or a spy from the other party checking the buffet. Crowds measure curiosity and catering. Votes are counted tomorrow.