Sports
Legendary Armenian GM Tigran Nalbandian dies at 50 students recall wisdom humor and a book thrown out the window
The global chess community is reeling after the sudden death of GM Tigran Nalbandian, an iconic Armenian figure who was not only a grandmaster over the board but also a masterful coach off it. He passed away from a heart attack last week in Yerevan, just after celebrating his 50th birthday.
The Armenian Chess Federation confirmed his passing, and his funeral—held in the capital—drew national attention, a testament to the monumental role Nalbandian played in the country’s chess culture.
From winning the Belavenets Memorial in Moscow in 1990 to his coaching triumphs that brought Olympiad gold medals to Armenia in 2006 and 2008, Nalbandian’s impact spans both decades and generations.
But for those who knew him best, his legacy goes far beyond trophies.
I will remember him as a great friend who was always ready to support and give me advice,” said IM Elina Danielian, Armenia’s most successful female player. “Not only in chess, but in life too.
She shared a moment that speaks volumes about his personality. During a rough tournament, with just 1.5/6 points, Nalbandian found her reading a philosophical book on life and death. He asked her how many points she had, and when she answered, he threw the book out the window.
I was shocked,” Danielian recalled. “He brought me Alice in Wonderland instead, saying it would help more. I scored 6/7 in the remaining games.
Born in the former Soviet republic of Armenia, Nalbandian started his rise early, earning International Master norms in the early ’90s and capturing his Grandmaster title in 2003. Known for his fearless and creative playing style, his most memorable victory came in a stunning 22-move takedown of former world champion GM Veselin Topalov.
He founded the Kaissa Chess Academy in 2012 and held the position of head coach for Armenia’s national team from 2004 to 2008—a golden era for Armenian chess. His coaching career also included working with GM Vladimir Kramnik during the Deep Fritz match in Bahrain in 2002.
One of Nalbandian’s notable protégés is GM Zaven Andriasian, the 2006 World Junior Champion, who credited Nalbandian as a lifelong mentor since his childhood.
He wasn’t just a coach. He shaped who we became as players—and as people,” said Andriasian.
Even though his peak FIDE rating of 2527 didn’t break global records, Nalbandian’s reputation was built on developing others, not chasing personal milestones. He became a FIDE Senior Trainer in 2014, formalizing his position as one of the sport’s most respected minds.
His favorite battlegrounds included Dortmund, where he notched four tournament victories across 16 years, the last of which came in 2018, just before he retired from competitive play.
Armenia, where chess is considered a national sport, has lost not just a grandmaster, but a pillar of its chess identity. His teachings live on in the countless IMs and GMs he mentored, and in the warm stories shared by those lucky enough to sit across the board—or beside him.
Sports
Caleb Williams Impresses, but the Bears’ Late-Game Decisions Raise Eyebrows
One impossible touchdown changed everything — but Chicago’s season may have been decided by what happened next
For one breathtaking moment, football stopped making sense.
With seconds left in a divisional-round playoff game, Caleb Williams launched a prayer — a 50-plus-yard, off-balance, back-foot moon shot — and somehow, impossibly, it found Cole Kmet in the end zone. It was the kind of touchdown that instantly joins NFL folklore, the sort of play fans remember for decades.
Suddenly, the Chicago Bears were one extra point away from tying the Los Angeles Rams — a scenario no one could have imagined just moments earlier.
And that’s when the question arrived, loud and unavoidable:
Why not go for two?
The dream-big argument
If Chicago converts the two-point try, the Rams are done. Season over. The Bears move one game away from the Super Bowl, potentially facing either a second-year quarterback or an injury replacement in the AFC. No matchup in the NFL is easy, but this was a window — and those windows don’t stay open long.
Ask Aaron Rodgers or Dan Marino how rare Super Bowl chances truly are. Between them, 38 seasons, one Super Bowl appearance each. Even greatness doesn’t guarantee multiple shots.
Momentum, belief, shock value — everything screamed end it now. One play. One decision. Push all the chips to the middle.
But football decisions aren’t made in the clouds. They’re made in film rooms.

Why Chicago didn’t gamble
Offensive coordinator Ben Johnson didn’t flinch. Replays showed him calm, unmoved, almost indifferent to the miracle unfolding. He knew the touchdown created options — but also responsibility.
Because miracles don’t stack.
Just minutes earlier, Chicago had first-and-goal at the Rams’ 5-yard line. Three ineffective runs by De’Andre Swift and a failed fourth-down pass told Johnson everything he needed to know about his short-yardage confidence.
After the game, Johnson explained it plainly.
“Our goal-to-go situations hadn’t gone very cleanly,” he said. “Our inside-the-5 plan hadn’t worked out like we hoped. I just felt better about taking our chances in overtime.”
There was also time left — 13 seconds and two Rams timeouts. One explosive play, maybe a penalty, and Los Angeles could still have stolen it with a field goal even after a failed conversion.
So Chicago chose survival over glory.
How it unraveled anyway
The Bears lived to fight in overtime — and then watched their season collapse anyway. A brutal interception. A defensive breakdown. Game over.
And just like that, Williams-to-Kmet joined a heartbreaking fraternity: iconic plays that didn’t change the ending. Think Kurt Warner to Larry Fitzgerald in Super Bowl XLIII. Think Julio Jones and that impossible toe-tap in Super Bowl LI.
Legendary moments — frozen in time — attached to losses.
So… was it the wrong call?
Emotionally? Maybe.
Strategically? Probably not.
Coaches don’t get paid to chase vibes. They get paid to trust evidence. And Chicago’s evidence said a single, all-or-nothing snap wasn’t the best bet.
That doesn’t make it satisfying. It just makes it honest.

What this moment really means for Chicago
The Bears don’t leave this game empty-handed. They leave with something rarer than a win: belief.
You can’t build a franchise on miracle throws — but you can build a culture on refusing to quit. This team fought until the very last second, and that matters more than fans often admit.
Williams will be just 24 entering the 2026 season. Think about what he might look like at 27, 28, 29. There are no guarantees — Rodgers and Marino taught us that — but this is as good a foundation as any team could ask for.
Years from now, if Chicago is lucky, Williams-to-Kmet won’t be remembered as a cruel “what if.”
It will be remembered as the beginning.
Sports
A Strong Night for Caleb Williams Ends With Doubts About the Bears’ Late Decisions
One impossible touchdown changed everything — but Chicago’s season may have been decided by what happened next
For one breathtaking moment, football stopped making sense.
With seconds left in a divisional-round playoff game, Caleb Williams launched a prayer — a 50-plus-yard, off-balance, back-foot moon shot — and somehow, impossibly, it found Cole Kmet in the end zone. It was the kind of touchdown that instantly joins NFL folklore, the sort of play fans remember for decades.
Suddenly, the Chicago Bears were one extra point away from tying the Los Angeles Rams — a scenario no one could have imagined just moments earlier.
And that’s when the question arrived, loud and unavoidable:
Why not go for two?
The dream-big argument
If Chicago converts the two-point try, the Rams are done. Season over. The Bears move one game away from the Super Bowl, potentially facing either a second-year quarterback or an injury replacement in the AFC. No matchup in the NFL is easy, but this was a window — and those windows don’t stay open long.
Ask Aaron Rodgers or Dan Marino how rare Super Bowl chances truly are. Between them, 38 seasons, one Super Bowl appearance each. Even greatness doesn’t guarantee multiple shots.
Momentum, belief, shock value — everything screamed end it now. One play. One decision. Push all the chips to the middle.
But football decisions aren’t made in the clouds. They’re made in film rooms.

Why Chicago didn’t gamble
Offensive coordinator Ben Johnson didn’t flinch. Replays showed him calm, unmoved, almost indifferent to the miracle unfolding. He knew the touchdown created options — but also responsibility.
Because miracles don’t stack.
Just minutes earlier, Chicago had first-and-goal at the Rams’ 5-yard line. Three ineffective runs by De’Andre Swift and a failed fourth-down pass told Johnson everything he needed to know about his short-yardage confidence.
After the game, Johnson explained it plainly.
“Our goal-to-go situations hadn’t gone very cleanly,” he said. “Our inside-the-5 plan hadn’t worked out like we hoped. I just felt better about taking our chances in overtime.”
There was also time left — 13 seconds and two Rams timeouts. One explosive play, maybe a penalty, and Los Angeles could still have stolen it with a field goal even after a failed conversion.
So Chicago chose survival over glory.
How it unraveled anyway
The Bears lived to fight in overtime — and then watched their season collapse anyway. A brutal interception. A defensive breakdown. Game over.
And just like that, Williams-to-Kmet joined a heartbreaking fraternity: iconic plays that didn’t change the ending. Think Kurt Warner to Larry Fitzgerald in Super Bowl XLIII. Think Julio Jones and that impossible toe-tap in Super Bowl LI.
Legendary moments — frozen in time — attached to losses.
So… was it the wrong call?
Emotionally? Maybe.
Strategically? Probably not.
Coaches don’t get paid to chase vibes. They get paid to trust evidence. And Chicago’s evidence said a single, all-or-nothing snap wasn’t the best bet.
That doesn’t make it satisfying. It just makes it honest.

What this moment really means for Chicago
The Bears don’t leave this game empty-handed. They leave with something rarer than a win: belief.
You can’t build a franchise on miracle throws — but you can build a culture on refusing to quit. This team fought until the very last second, and that matters more than fans often admit.
Williams will be just 24 entering the 2026 season. Think about what he might look like at 27, 28, 29. There are no guarantees — Rodgers and Marino taught us that — but this is as good a foundation as any team could ask for.
Years from now, if Chicago is lucky, Williams-to-Kmet won’t be remembered as a cruel “what if.”
It will be remembered as the beginning.
Sports
Caleb Williams Did His Part But Did the Bears Overthink the Finish
One impossible touchdown changed everything — but Chicago’s season may have been decided by what happened next
For one breathtaking moment, football stopped making sense.
With seconds left in a divisional-round playoff game, Caleb Williams launched a prayer — a 50-plus-yard, off-balance, back-foot moon shot — and somehow, impossibly, it found Cole Kmet in the end zone. It was the kind of touchdown that instantly joins NFL folklore, the sort of play fans remember for decades.
Suddenly, the Chicago Bears were one extra point away from tying the Los Angeles Rams — a scenario no one could have imagined just moments earlier.
And that’s when the question arrived, loud and unavoidable:
Why not go for two?
The dream-big argument
If Chicago converts the two-point try, the Rams are done. Season over. The Bears move one game away from the Super Bowl, potentially facing either a second-year quarterback or an injury replacement in the AFC. No matchup in the NFL is easy, but this was a window — and those windows don’t stay open long.
Ask Aaron Rodgers or Dan Marino how rare Super Bowl chances truly are. Between them, 38 seasons, one Super Bowl appearance each. Even greatness doesn’t guarantee multiple shots.
Momentum, belief, shock value — everything screamed end it now. One play. One decision. Push all the chips to the middle.
But football decisions aren’t made in the clouds. They’re made in film rooms.

Why Chicago didn’t gamble
Offensive coordinator Ben Johnson didn’t flinch. Replays showed him calm, unmoved, almost indifferent to the miracle unfolding. He knew the touchdown created options — but also responsibility.
Because miracles don’t stack.
Just minutes earlier, Chicago had first-and-goal at the Rams’ 5-yard line. Three ineffective runs by De’Andre Swift and a failed fourth-down pass told Johnson everything he needed to know about his short-yardage confidence.
After the game, Johnson explained it plainly.
“Our goal-to-go situations hadn’t gone very cleanly,” he said. “Our inside-the-5 plan hadn’t worked out like we hoped. I just felt better about taking our chances in overtime.”
There was also time left — 13 seconds and two Rams timeouts. One explosive play, maybe a penalty, and Los Angeles could still have stolen it with a field goal even after a failed conversion.
So Chicago chose survival over glory.
How it unraveled anyway
The Bears lived to fight in overtime — and then watched their season collapse anyway. A brutal interception. A defensive breakdown. Game over.
And just like that, Williams-to-Kmet joined a heartbreaking fraternity: iconic plays that didn’t change the ending. Think Kurt Warner to Larry Fitzgerald in Super Bowl XLIII. Think Julio Jones and that impossible toe-tap in Super Bowl LI.
Legendary moments — frozen in time — attached to losses.
So… was it the wrong call?
Emotionally? Maybe.
Strategically? Probably not.
Coaches don’t get paid to chase vibes. They get paid to trust evidence. And Chicago’s evidence said a single, all-or-nothing snap wasn’t the best bet.
That doesn’t make it satisfying. It just makes it honest.

What this moment really means for Chicago
The Bears don’t leave this game empty-handed. They leave with something rarer than a win: belief.
You can’t build a franchise on miracle throws — but you can build a culture on refusing to quit. This team fought until the very last second, and that matters more than fans often admit.
Williams will be just 24 entering the 2026 season. Think about what he might look like at 27, 28, 29. There are no guarantees — Rodgers and Marino taught us that — but this is as good a foundation as any team could ask for.
Years from now, if Chicago is lucky, Williams-to-Kmet won’t be remembered as a cruel “what if.”
It will be remembered as the beginning.
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