Openings That Live in the Dark: IM Valeri Lilov and the War Against the Nameless White

A rainy Saturday night at a chess club in Da Nang. I sit beside a sixteen-year-old boy playing Black. He has memorised the entire Slav Defence down to move twenty-five, ready for battle against the most fundamental system in modern chess. His opponent — a man thirty years his senior — pushes the knight to f3, then the pawn to e3, then the bishop to d3. The boy sits still. His hand trembles slightly on the wooden board. Not because he is a weak player. But because no one has ever taught him how to fight someone who does not play theory.

That image returns to me as I read about IM Valeri Lilov's new product — "The Power of Initiative", Episode 21. Six videos. Seven systems. One promise: teach Black how to counter the openings White chooses in order to dodge mainstream theory after 1.d4 d5. Colle, Trompowsky, Torre, London, Catalan, Blackmar-Diemer, Richter-Veresov. Forty years near chess boards taught me one thing: people always remember the names of great victories but forget the small openings that made them possible. Those seven names are seven names rarely spoken. And that is precisely why they have become a battlefield of their own.

I thought I was exiled from football; it turned out football took me deeper into myself. At this age I realise chess does the same — it exiles you and brings you home, only the board is quieter than the stadium.

Modern opening theory is a forest with clearly marked borders. After 1.d4, if Black replies 1...d5, the classical path takes White to 2.c4, opening the whole Queen's Gambit family: Slav, Semi-Slav, QGA, Orthodox Queen's Gambit. These branches have been analysed to move thirty, where top grandmasters and engines have left their footprints. Every move has a name, every variation a number, every idea a book.

But many White players — especially at club level, where memory is the main weapon and time is a scarce resource — have refused to enter that forest. They do not play 2.c4. They choose what the trade calls "avoidance openings" — fleeing the theory, not the opponent.

That is where the Colle System was born. Technically, Colle builds a centre with pieces rather than pawns: knight to f3, pawn to e3, bishop to d3, then castling. A player does not need to memorise thirty moves; he needs to understand one idea — push e4 at the right moment to open the centre, or open the file with c4. The London System is similar but places the bishop on f4 early, creating a structure so solid it can be applied against nearly any Black response. London's strength is universality: the same set of moves, whatever Black does.

The Trompowsky Attack uses the bishop on g5 on move two, disrupting Black's pawn structure before Black can settle. The Torre Attack is a quiet variation with knight f3, bishop g5, pawn e3, bishop d3, knight bd2 — often transposing into other structures. The Catalan is a closed system with the bishop on g2, generating long-term positional pressure on the queenside and forcing Black to choose among asymmetrical structures. The Blackmar-Diemer Gambit is a genuine gambit — White sacrifices a pawn for the centre and open files, betting on development speed. The Richter-Veresov Opening is rarer, with knight f3, knight c3, pawn d4, bishop g5.

What all seven share: they live outside mainstream theory. And that is exactly why they bother Black.

According to what the product introduction provides, the author is identified as IM Valeri Lilov, a Bulgarian trainer. That is all. No rating, no student results, no tournament cited. This is a notable gap, because the instructor's authority is part of the product's value. At IM level, the chess content market is extremely crowded. From free YouTube to paid Chessable, thousands of videos on the London System and the Colle System have existed for years.

This course sits inside a series — Episode 21 means twenty previous episodes. That suggests the "Power of Initiative" brand already has returning customers. But for a first-time reader there is no way to know whether Episode 21 is more credible than Episode 1. And if each episode has six videos for seven systems, each system gets roughly seventy minutes — enough for a practical plan, not enough for a theoretical treasury. That is not necessarily bad. Most club players do not need a treasury. They need a compass.

The central claim of the introduction — that Colle, Trompowsky, Torre and London are "extremely dangerous" — needs careful reading. In professional circles these are solid systems but not considered the most ambitious. The London System gives White a secure position but lacks the long-term pressure of a genuine Queen's Gambit. The Colle System is sometimes dismissed as passive because White occupies space slowly. The Trompowsky can lead to strategic positions if Black handles the bishop pair and pawn structure well. So is "extremely dangerous" the truth or marketing language?

The real answer is subtler than either. These openings are not dangerous because they are stronger than mainstream theory — they are dangerous because they sit outside the opponent's area of preparation. A Black player who has spent three hundred hours on the Slav will be surprised by a White opponent playing the London — not because the London is stronger than the Slav, but because Black's knowledge does not apply to the position in front of him.

This is the point the product introduction accidentally gets right. The danger lies in the blind spot, not in the strength. And a blind spot — in chess as in any sport — is a sellable commodity.

When I worked at the newsroom, a young editor once cut my piece for "writing literature in a sports report". I left the paper after eighteen years and started a small blog. Back then I thought I had been pushed to the margin. Now I understand: every exile can become a deeper road into yourself. The openings dismissed as the "margin" of theory work the same way. They are not weak. They simply live at the margin — and at the margin, people prepare less.

I thought I was exiled from football; it turned out football took me deeper into myself. I wrote that line for Mbappe in 2026. But it is true of the White player who chooses the Torre Attack because he has no time to study the Queen's Gambit.

In market terms, Lilov's course sits between two poles. On one side is free YouTube, where every system has a tutorial, where a fifteen-year-old can watch all day for nothing. On the other are GM-level Chessable courses with full engine databases and top grandmaster collaboration. In between, IMs like Lilov compete on structure and affordability. This is a market-validated model: club players do not buy a grandmaster's knowledge; they buy the clarity of a teacher who knows when to stop.

But there is a deeper problem the introduction touches without stating: if Black needs courses against the Colle, the London, the Torre, what does that say? It says these supposedly "small" systems have become popular enough to create a defensive market. It says mainstream theory is no longer the only road — and side roads, over time, can become main roads. Once enough people walk a side road, it stops being an avoidance. It becomes a trend.

I remember a match at Hoa Xuan during the pandemic, a stadium empty of twenty thousand people. The score was 0–0 and I cannot recall a single chance. I only remember the sound of a defender's boot touching the ball, and a coach shouting into the empty stands. Chess has such games too — matches with no goals, no clear mistakes, just correct moves and one person who understands the silence better. Small openings often produce such games: quiet, unspectacular, won by whoever prepared better.

The most counter-intuitive thing here is not the course. It is that we are watching the formation of a new layer of theory, created not by grandmasters but by club players. Colle, London, Torre — they are popular because they are convenient. And they are convenient because they bypass what grandmasters spent decades building. Once millions choose convenience over depth, that convenience becomes a standard of its own.

When a commentator or a teacher calls these systems "extremely dangerous", be lucid. The danger does not come from the strength of the system. It comes from the information imbalance between two players. And information imbalance — in chess as in any data-analysed sport — is a commodity. Lilov's course does not sell chess. It sells back the balance.

That is a reasonable product. But it also reveals something uncomfortable: we no longer fight over the value of ideas. We fight over readiness. And readiness, in the era of online courses and memory databases, is something money can buy. That is a part of modern chess we rarely name.

One more detail deserves note: the Benko Gambit appears in the title, but the actual content revolves around anti-White systems after 1.d4 d5. The Benko Gambit is a completely different opening — 1.d4 Nf5 — in which Black sacrifices a queenside pawn for long-term initiative on open files. The name's presence in the title may simply be a marketing decision: attract those searching for Benko Gambit content, then lead them to a broader catalogue. This is a common tactic, and there is nothing commercially wrong with it, but buyers should know what they are buying.

Among all the systems mentioned, one point strikes me most: they are not designed to win by strength, but by the opponent's lack of preparation. The Trompowsky is not stronger than the King's Indian Defence. The London is not stronger than the Queen's Gambit. But they have an advantage no "strong" system has: their players do not need to memorise, and their opponents do. In club chess, that is a very reasonable trade. At elite level, it is a dangerous one — because top grandmasters prepare for everything.

That difference between the two levels is the heart of the story. Lilov's course does not promise to beat a grandmaster. It promises to stop you being surprised by a club player. And in the amateur chess world — where most of us live — that is not a small promise.

Seven systems. Six videos. A teacher whose rating we have never seen. Maybe this course is useful; maybe it is one brick in a very long wall. The one thing I am sure of is that the sixteen-year-old in Da Nang will not buy it. He will sit back, open the board, and ask himself: if my opponent does not follow theory, am I following my own theory?

I thought I was exiled from football; it turned out football took me deeper into myself. Every chess game, in the end, asks exactly the same question.