Beyond 2.c4: When Black Relearns the Forgotten Openings

Beyond 2.c4: When Black Relearns the Forgotten Openings

I. A Room Without Windows

Saigon, a late-October Saturday afternoon. In the small room of an old chess club on Nguyen Thi Minh Khai Street, a middle-aged man sits motionless over a board now in its third hour. He is not looking at his opponent. He is looking at his white bishop perched on f4, like an occupier who refuses to leave. His opponent nods slowly, places a knight on d7, pushes a pawn to e6, then slides a bishop to d6. Twelve moves later, the position is locked. The man playing White realizes he has walked into a room with no windows.

I sit at the next table, not playing. I watch. This is the fourth time in a month I have seen the same scene: a mid-level club player handling White, playing the London System like a daily meal, then being crushed in a strategic battle where no single move was truly wrong. The mistake was not in the move. The mistake was in a story they had never heard.

Three weeks later, I found that story — or at least a fragment of it — in a video series called “The Power of Initiative” by IM Valeri Lilov. The latest installment, Episode 21, has a title mentioning the Benko Gambit. But when I read the description carefully, I realized this is not a course about the Benko Gambit (1.d4 Nf5). It is a broader defensive system designed for Black after 1.d4 d5, in the situation where White declines 2.c4.

I understand the feeling of that man at the board. He did not lose because he is bad. He lost because he walked into a room whose every brick someone else already knew by heart.

II. Context: A Classical Fortress and Its Side Doors

For decades, the pair of moves 1.d4 d5 has been built into one of the classical fortresses of chess. Four enormous theoretical systems grew from it: the Slav Defense (2.c4 c6), the Semi-Slav Defense (2.c4 e6 3.Nc3 c6 or 3.Nf3 Nf6), the Queen's Gambit Accepted (2.c4 dxc4), and the Orthodox Queen's Gambit (2.c4 e6). Each system has thousands of variations, hundreds of reference games, dozens of monographs.

But while that vast body of theory was being built, a group of White players at club and intermediate level quietly turned onto a different road. They do not play 2.c4. They do not want to memorize thousands of variations of the Semi-Slav Moscow. They do not want to spend three months of their lives on the main lines of the QGA. They choose other systems — the ones I call the “uninvited guests” of 1.d4 d5.

Michael Adams, one of the strongest English players of the 1990s and 2000s, used the London System in major games. Vladimir Kramnik, during certain phases of his career, experimented with anti-structural systems. But most players of these systems are not super-grandmasters. They are club players, rated from 1400 to 2026 Elo, who want to avoid dense theory without losing creativity.

And that is why, in 2026–2026, a video series like IM Valeri Lilov's has some value. Not because it contains new theoretical discoveries. But because it answers a very specific question: if you are Black, and your White opponent is trying to avoid 2.c4, what story do you tell to their face?

This article is not an advertisement for Lilov's course. Nor is it a review. It is a record — based on eleven years of watching the Vietnamese and international chess scene — of a gap that modern opening theory has left in the dark. And of how a few individuals are trying to fill it.

III. Seven Uninvited Guests

The first thing to clarify: IM Valeri Lilov does not claim this is a course about the Benko Gambit. The title only mentions the Benko Gambit as one of the side traps. The actual content of the course is about seven systems White may use after 1.d4 d5 if they decline 2.c4: the Colle System, the Trompowsky Attack, the Torre Attack, the London System, the Catalan Opening, the Blackmar-Diemer Gambit, and the Richter-Veresov Opening.

That is a wide list. Seven systems in six videos means, on average, less than one video per system. This suggests the content is likely introductory — enough that you are not shocked when you face these systems, but not enough to build a full repertoire. A quarter-century ago, repertoire books like those of Lev Psakhis or John Watson ran 400–500 pages for a small slice of what this course tries to cover in a few hours of video. That compression has accessibility value, but also depth limits.

But let us go into each system, because it is each system that makes the story.

Colle System. This is the most classical system on the list, named after Edgar Colle, a Belgian player of the early 20th century. The basic structure: 1.d4 d5 2.Nf3 Nf6 3.e3 e6 4.Bd3 c5 5.c3, after which White develops Nbd2, castles, and depending on the situation pushes e4 or maintains the structure. Colle's plan is: control the center with pieces rather than pawns, build a solid structure, then attack on the kingside with e4.

In classical chess textbooks, the Colle System is usually described as “solid but passive.” It creates no immediate pressure, but it is very hard to defeat if White plays accurately. Its weakness is that if Black knows what to do, White may struggle to generate real pressure. Black simply keeps a firm pawn structure, places pieces on good squares, and waits. White will gradually run out of ideas without a breakthrough. This truth has haunted the Colle System for a century: it is the opening of those who want to play but not to fight.

Trompowsky Attack. 1.d4 Nf6 2.Bg5. Just one move, but it embodies a completely different philosophy. Trompowsky does not build. It breaks. The bishop points at Nf6, forcing Black to choose: accept a ruined pawn structure after Bxf6 gxf6, or play Ne4 and accept the knight will be kicked, or play e6 and allow the white bishop to haunt g5.

If you have never played Trompowsky, imagine Black's feeling: you have prepared an entire defensive system against 1.d4, and your opponent just drops a bishop on g5 at move two. It is an anti-structural system, and it works well at club level because it forces Black to think from move two. But Trompowsky has a fatal weakness: after Bxf6, White trades a stronger piece for a weaker one (bishop for knight), and Black's pawn structure becomes more flexible. If Black plays accurately — e6, Be7, castling, then c5 or e5 — White may find they traded too much for too little.

Torre Attack. 1.d4 Nf6 2.Nf3 e6 3.Bg5 or 3.Nf3 d5 4.Bg5. This is a fairly quiet system. White puts the bishop on g5 to pressure Nf6 and Black's pawn structure. Then White usually plays e3, Bd3, Nbd2, c3 — like the Colle but with the bishop on g5 instead of f4. The Torre is known for sometimes transposing into other systems. It can become a form of the Queen's Gambit if White later plays c4, or remain an independent system. Its strength is flexibility. Its weakness is that if Black plays accurately, the Torre does not generate enough pressure to claim a real advantage. It is the opening of correct moves without threats.

London System. This is the most popular system on the list, and also the most controversial. The structure: 1.d4 d5 2.Nf3 Nf6 3.Bf4 e6 4.e3 Bd6 5.Bg3 or 5.Bxd6, then Nbd2, Bd3, c3, castling. The London plan is: keep a solid structure, place pieces on good squares, and wait for Black's mistake.

The London System has a strange history. It was once considered a “lazy” system — you could play it without learning much theory. But in the 2010s–2020s, it was elevated by grandmasters like Gata Kamsky and others. Magnus Carlsen used it in several major games. By 2026, the London System was considered solid but dangerous if Black does not understand it. But at club level, the London System is often played mechanically. And that is where it collapses. If Black knows the London structure, they can play ...c5 at the right moment, place knights on c6 and e4, and before White realizes, the position is balanced or even tilting Black's way.

There is a paradox in the London System I have observed for years: London players believe they are playing safely, but they are usually the first to be attacked. Their structural safety breeds a passive mentality, and in chess, passivity is not a draw — it is delay.

Catalan Opening. 1.d4 Nf6 2.c4 e6 3.g3 — this is the Catalan, one of the most complex closed systems in chess. Its difference from the others on the list is that it does not avoid 2.c4. On the contrary, it uses 2.c4 but with a different development scheme — g3 and Bg2 instead of c4 and Nc3. The Catalan has enormous strategic depth, commonly played by grandmasters at the highest level. It demands deep understanding of pawn structures and long-term plans. If you play the Catalan, you are not seeking a quick win. You are seeking a long positional battle where skill prevails. That is why the Catalan occupies a special place: it is the classical relative lost in a list full of rebels.

Blackmar-Diemer Gambit. 1.d4 Nf6 2.Nc3 d5 3.e4. This is a gambit — White sacrifices a pawn to seize a strong center and attacking pressure. It is named after two German players — Armand Blackmar and Emil Diemer — in the early 20th century. The Blackmar-Diemer Gambit is one of the most controversial systems in modern chess. It is not considered theoretically valuable at grandmaster level — White has no real edge if Black plays accurately. But at club and intermediate level, it is very dangerous because it produces chaotic positions many Black players are not used to handling.

Richter-Veresov Opening. 1.d4 Nf6 2.Nc3 d5 3.Nf3 or 3.Bg5. This is the least popular and least studied system on the list. The Richter-Veresov can transpose into many systems and is often used as a surprise weapon rather than a main repertoire. Its interesting trait is that it targets hanging pawns or Black's center. If Black is careless, White can create sudden pressure. It is the weapon of those who know they cannot win by force, and therefore must win by surprise.

IV. The Bulgarian Man and the Question of Credibility

The source material identifies Valeri Lilov as a “Bulgarian trainer.” There is no official rating, no list of successful students, no evidence of recent tournament results. That is a large gap when evaluating the quality of instructional content.

IM (International Master) is a high title — the second highest in FIDE chess, behind only Grandmaster. To earn it, a player must reach a rating above 2400 and achieve norms in international tournaments. So an IM is certainly a very strong player. But in the chess content market, there are many IMs writing books, making videos, and building courses. Quality varies widely.

I have spent many evenings watching different instructional videos during the pandemic, when Saigon chess clubs were closed. I learned that chess instructors can be divided into three groups. The first teaches variations — they hand you pure theory, and you must assemble understanding yourself. The second teaches principles — they tell you why a move works, and you must apply it to concrete situations. The third teaches stories — they tell you the history of a system, why it exists, who played it and why, and you must find your own place in that story. The third group is the most valuable, and the rarest.

A preliminary observation: Lilov's content targets club players (roughly 1400–2026 Elo), where IMs are often effective and valuable coaches. But without concrete evidence, quality assessment must rely on reviews or platform curation — which the source material does not provide.

In eleven years of watching the chess scene, I have learned that an instructor's credibility is never built by their title. It is built by their students. A title only proves you can play chess. It does not prove you can tell a story that makes others play better. Many grandmasters have written excellent books, and many grandmasters have written books no one remembers. The difference is not Elo. It is the ability to transmit.

V. A Contrarian View: From “Extremely Dangerous” to the Truth

Now, the hard part.

The course description calls the Colle, Trompowsky, Torre, and London systems “extremely dangerous.” That is marketing language, not objective assessment.

Let us be honest: in competitive practice, these systems are considered less ambitious than the main lines of 1.d4. The London System, for instance, is considered solid but not dangerous. A White player choosing the London is not seeking an opening advantage. They are seeking a safe game, where they can play solidly and wait. Calling these systems extremely dangerous is a standard FOMO strategy. It tells the buyer: “You need to know how to handle these systems, or you will lose.” This is partly true — you do need to know how to handle them. But it does not mean these systems are theoretical monsters.

I once sat across from a young player using the London System at a tournament in Vung Tau in March 2026. He had prepared carefully, memorizing every move of a main line. But by move fifteen, when I played ...c5 — a basic move of any Black repertoire against the London — he paused. Not because the move was bizarre. Because he had never seen it. No one had told him the story of ...c5 in the London System. He had learned the variations, but not the reason.

And there is a stranger detail: the title of Episode 21 mentions the Benko Gambit. The Benko Gambit is a completely different system — it begins with 1.d4 Nf5. It has nothing to do with the anti-Slav systems in the course. This may be an SEO decision to attract people searching for “Benko Gambit,” or a marketing error. Either way, it reveals carelessness in the way the product is communicated. A serious course should not name in its title a system it does not teach.

But here I want to return to a subtler truth. The fact that these systems are deemed less ambitious does not mean they are ineffective. There is a difference between objective theory and competitive reality. On paper, the London System may not give White an opening advantage. In reality, if Black is unprepared, the London System can crush them. Club chess is not a battle between two engines. It is a battle between two humans, with limited thinking time and infinite error.

What the course description gets right — and I want to acknowledge this — is that many Black players genuinely do not know how to handle these systems. They prepare for 2.c4, and then the opponent plays 3.Bf4. They prepare for the Catalan, and then the opponent plays 2.Bg5. That gap is real. It is just that the gap should not be filled by sensationalist language. It should be filled by understanding.

VI. The Chess Content Market and the Trap of Convenience

To understand Lilov's course, we need to place it in the broader context of the chess content market.

That market has undergone a shift over two decades. It began with books. Enormous repertoire books by Lev Psakhis, John Watson, or Jacob Aagaard shaped how a generation of players learned openings. By the 2000s, CD-ROMs and DVDs arrived, bringing more interactivity. By the 2010s, platforms like Chessable, Udemy, and specialized YouTube channels exploded. And by the 2020s, a video series like Lilov's “The Power of Initiative” became the norm for players who want to learn a system in hours rather than months.

That convenience is a double-edged sword. On one hand, it opens access to millions of players. On the other, it creates a consumer mentality: the learner becomes a buyer, and the course becomes a product. In that mentality, depth is never the primary selling point. Completeness is. And completeness demands comprehensive promises, even when the content cannot be comprehensive.

The IM-level chess instruction market is saturated. Content on the Colle, London, and Torre is freely available on YouTube and Lichess. The differentiating value of this course, if any, lies in structured presentation rather than novel content. That is not a criticism. It is a reality of any mature market: when raw material is free, value shifts to preparation.

One notable detail: anti-London, anti-Colle courses are popular precisely because these systems are popular. This is not a market created by a pioneer. It is a market created by the choices of millions of players — those who choose safety over adventure in the opening. There is a mild irony in that: the system of those who wanted to avoid theory has created an enormous new body of theory, only to counter it.

In Vietnam, I have followed the growth of the online chess community for years. At club level, the London System is increasingly popular, especially among younger and middle-aged players. This means demand for anti-London courses also rises. But it also means a generation of players is growing up with openings they do not truly understand. They learn the move before the idea. They learn the answer before the question.

VII. On Gaps and Those Who Fill Them

There is a sentence I have carried with me through eleven years of watching chess: the true death of a golden generation is when we stop remembering them. With openings, this is also true in its own way. An opening does not die when no one plays it anymore. It dies when no one remembers why it was ever played.

The Colle System did not die. It simply stopped being retold. Edgar Colle died in 2026, aged 34, after a short but influential life. He ended his career at its peak with a system that later became the butt of grandmaster jokes — and then, nearly a century later, was revived by amateur players worldwide. Not because they wanted to honor him. Because they wanted to avoid the vast theory of the Slav and QGA. There is a certain coldness in that, and also a certain honesty.

The Trompowsky, the Torre, and the Blackmar-Diemer share similar fates. Each system is named after a man. Each man tried to create his own road in a sea of theory. And each road was partly forgotten by history, remembered by a small group, and revived when circumstances changed.

The Richter-Veresov, being the least popular, carries the clearest story of forgetting. It almost never appears in modern grandmaster tournaments. Yet it survives — in clubs, in intermediate tournaments, in games played by those who know they cannot win by theory and must therefore win by difference. And in chess, difference is often a form of memory: a move the opponent has forgotten.

The empty stand still echoes — if only we are quiet enough to hear. At chess tournaments in Vietnam, I have repeatedly seen boards with no spectators. No fans, no cameras, no livestream. Only two men or two women facing each other, and a silent arbiter. But in that silence, every move is a story. And every story, if we are patient enough, can be retold to someone else.

That is what Lilov's course tries to do, imperfectly. It tries to retell forgotten stories — the story of Colle, of Trompowsky, of Torre. It does not tell them fully. It has no time, no space. But it tells them. And in a market that often only sells you famous openings, retelling a forgotten story, even partially, is a valuable act.

VIII. A Personal Note

I remember the autumn of 2026, when I had just begun writing about chess. I was sitting in a small café on Le Loi Street, rereading a Jacob Aagaard book on attacking play. In the café, a group of students played chess on a coffee table with old wooden pieces. One of them played the London System and lost after twenty moves in a game he did not understand losing. He looked at the board three times, then stood up, folded it, and said: “I do not understand. I played correctly.”

That is the sentence I still remember. “I played correctly.” He had played correctly according to the theory he knew. But the theory he knew did not cover the situation he faced. He was not wrong because he was bad. He was wrong because he only knew half the story.

Years later, as I followed the growth of online chess courses, I realized that most instructional content shares the same structure: it teaches you the other half of the story. It tells you what Black should play, but not why. It gives you moves, but not purpose. And that is why so many club players, after years, still do not understand their system, even though they have played it hundreds of times.

Lilov's course, as described, promises to fill that gap with “practical plans.” If it truly does that, it has value. If it only adds more variations, it is another half-story. The truth lies with the viewer, the learner — who must decide which half-story they want to own.

IX. On Progress and the Games Yet to Be Told

The generations will pass, but the poem about them will keep being written. In chess, this is true of openings, of players, and of those who write about chess. Edgar Colle died nearly a century ago. But the system bearing his name is still played in clubs in Saigon, Hanoi, Da Nang, Can Tho. It is still played by people who do not know who he was, yet are inheriting his legacy in their own way.

If I have one suggestion for the reader, it is this: do not buy a course merely because it promises your opponents will play dangerous openings. Buy it — or any material — because it tells you a story you have never heard. For a player's true strength lies not in how many variations they know. It lies in how many stories they understand. And in chess, as in any sport, the story is what ultimately stays with us — when the moves are forgotten, when the games end, and when the stands fall silent.

I write this on a late-October evening in Saigon, after reviewing five Colle games and three Trompowsky games in the database. Those games are more than eighty years old. They were played in European halls I have never set foot in. And they are still alive, in every move, in every pause between moves. That is the miracle of chess: a game may end, but its story never does. The echo of an empty stand, however faint, still travels through time — so long as someone patient enough stays behind and listens.