The Old Guard of Chess YouTube

Chess YouTube once represented a different kind of educational ecosystem. John Bartholomew's "Climbing the Rating Ladder" didn't just show games - it methodically broke down thought processes at each rating level. ChessNetwork's recordings were master classes in calculation and candidate moves. These weren't mere entertainers; they were dedicated instructors who happened to record their lessons.

The contrast with today's landscape is stark. Where Bartholomew would spend an hour explaining pawn structures, we now get "I PLAYED THE FISHING POLE TRAP 100 TIMES!" Complete with a neon thumbnail and manufactured shock face. Where Kingscrusher would dive deep into engine lines and theoretical novelties, we now get "TOP 5 CHECKMATE PATTERNS (INSTANT WINS!)"

The shift isn't just aesthetic - it's fundamental. Today's dominant creators optimize for engagement metrics, with chess serving merely as backdrop. A beginner searching for improvement advice will scroll through pages of "UNSTOPPABLE OPENING TRAP" and "SECRET GM TRICK" before finding anything of substance. The very language of chess instruction has been corrupted by the imperatives of algorithmic engagement.

Consider the modern chess video format. A rushed introduction, peppered with promises of "insane" tactics. Blitz games played at breakneck speed, positions barely explained. Constant appeals to like and subscribe. The content itself often betrays a fundamental disrespect for the game - standard Greek Gift sacrifices labeled as "MOST INSANE TACTIC EVER," basic endgame techniques marketed as "SECRET GM TECHNIQUE REVEALED."

What's lost isn't just quality - it's honesty. The old guard approached chess with reverence and academic interest. Mato Jelic would spend entire videos exploring a single historical game, his enthusiasm genuine and infectious. ChessNetwork would pause at critical positions, sometimes for minutes, working through variations with his viewers. The goal wasn't to game the algorithm but to share understanding.

This transformation reflects broader shifts in online culture, but chess deserves better. It's a game of infinite depth, of subtle beauty, of hard-won understanding. To see it reduced to clickbait fodder and engagement metrics feels like watching a classical concert replaced by a TikTok dance.

The old guard hasn't disappeared entirely - they've just been algorithmically buried. Their videos still exist, their lessons still valid, their approach still pure. But each passing month sees their content pushed further down search results, replaced by increasingly hyperbolic titles and thumbnail faces frozen in manufactured shock.

Perhaps this is simply evolution - the old making way for the new. But when that evolution sacrifices substance for spectacle, depth for demographics, and instruction for entertainment, something valuable is lost. The tragedy isn't just nostalgia for a bygone era - it's the opportunity cost for a new generation of chess players who might never know there was once a different way to learn.