COLOGNE, Germany — How weird is too weird? How freaky too freaky? At what point does charm call out for ridicule? These are the questions that arise when considering the new "sport" of chessboxing.

It is Friday night, and doubtless there are better things to do than to pack into a refurbished theater of blue movies and focus the eyes on a couple of anonymous Europeans crouching over a chessboard. They marshal tiny pieces against one another in a battle of quiet strategy. Sound and movement are of the faintest quality. It is as though you have barged into a stranger's parlor. There may yet be time to sneak away.

But then a bell rings and the hall fills with loud music. There are hoots and yells from the darkened sections of seats, along with other signals of unshackled enthusiasm. When the bell rings once more and the eyes refocus, you notice the chess players have begun to punch each other in the nose and in the ribs. There is blood. This is a fight, and it's not bad at that, the theater having transformed into an arena of genuine athletic pursuit. This is no parlor game after all. It is chess and it is boxing, and doubt has begun to fade into curiosity. This may be strange, but it is strangely worth a look.


"Sport" inspired by a comic book

The rules of chessboxing are such:

Two competitors face each other in 11 alternating rounds, six of chess, five of boxing. A bout begins with chess, which is played on a board placed directly in the middle of the ring. Each round of chess lasts four minutes. After each chess round, the bell sounds, and workmen remove the chessboard for a two-minute round of boxing, the gloves go back on, the punching recommences. Participants win by way of knockout, checkmate, referee's decision, or if his opponent exceeds the allotted total of 12 minutes for an entire match on the chessboard. Those are the basics, but they do little to answer the overriding question: Why?

To begin to answer this, you must confront an unlikely figure, a Dutch artist who often goes by the name of the Joker. Iepe Rubingh stands at this moment in a Cologne boxing gym. It's a few days before fight night, and Rubingh oversees a couple of chessboxers as they sweat out their final frustrations.

Zoran Mijatovic bends through the ring ropes and takes a seat at a nearby chessboard, where he battles Rubingh for a few minutes before stepping back into the ring for further sparring. Mijatovic, 28, a Croatian, spends his days welding ships along the Adriatic Sea. He is dark-haired and burly, and he expounds freely on whatever comes to mind. "No drinking, no women," he gasps, reflecting on the difficulties of his monastic training as he takes a quick gulp of water. "It's very, very difficult. When I finish, I will be very happy. I need some beautiful experience."

Read full article from ESPN.com by Brett Forrest.