FRITZ 20 and ChessBase's Trust-Selling Problem in the Chess World

In the summer of 2026, at a software shop on Nguyen Trai Street, I spent half a magazine editor's monthly salary on a floppy disk containing Fritz 3. The young sales engineer swore the program could defeat most Vietnamese masters of the day. I laughed, because back then I did not believe him. Thirty-one years later, sitting in a room overlooking Nha Trang Bay, I open ChessBase's own product introduction for FRITZ 20 and realize I am still holding an invisible box. The only difference is that this time, what lies inside is no longer a chess engine, but the promise of a training revolution.

The story brings me back to a documentary shoot on athletics at Nha Trang Stadium. An old coach told me: 'A stopwatch cannot run in place of your legs. It only tells you how many seconds you have lost.' Chess software, seen from a certain angle, works the same way. It does not play for the player, and it does not judge. It simply stands beside you, counts, analyzes, and waits.

ChessBase has chosen to sell the Vietnamese — and the world — a different story. That story is called FRITZ 20. And that story, as I am about to explain, has holes worth thinking about for anyone learning chess.

To understand why FRITZ 20 has appeared, one must remember that chess has passed through three software revolutions.

The first revolution belonged to databases. In 2026, ChessBase was founded in Hamburg and transformed thick opening books into hard drives searchable in seconds. Before that, a master who wanted to verify an opening line had to flip through hundreds of printed pages, cross-reference by hand, and take notes in pencil. After ChessBase, everything became a single click. That was the first revolution, and ChessBase made it.

The second revolution belonged to engines. From Fritz, Hiarcs, and Junior to Deep Blue, humans lost to machines one by one. The peak was Garry Kasparov's defeat to Deep Blue in New York in May 2026 — a moment I remember well, because I was commentating for VTC that day. But earlier, Fritz itself had beaten Kasparov in an official game in Munich in 2026, opening the era of commercial engines.

The third revolution is happening now, and it is the one that forced FRITZ 20 to appear. Stockfish became open source, the strongest engine in the world, and free. Leela Chess Zero brought neural-network intelligence into chess, playing moves no classical engine would consider. Chess.com folded everything into a single subscription — analysis, lessons, online play, daily tournaments. Lichess did the same, entirely free, running in a web browser.

In that moment, Fritz lost ground. It remains a big brand, but a big brand is no longer enough to sell a product in a market where engine strength has become a commodity. The strongest engine in the world today is no longer a commercial story. It is a community project, free, running on a phone.

So what is ChessBase selling when it sells FRITZ 20?

The introduction makes four main claims: FRITZ 20 is a chess engine; the product is positioned not merely as an engine but as a training revolution; it serves from beginners to professionals; and it delivers 'efficient, intelligent, individual training.'

Not a single technical specification appears. There is no ACPL figure — the average centipawn loss metric that every serious analysis tool publishes. There is no comparison with Stockfish 16 or Leela Chess Zero. There is no release date. No price. No system requirements. Not one grandmaster, coach, or ordinary user is quoted to confirm any of the promises.

What stands out most is the contradiction in target audience. The same product, the same sentence, is advertised for someone just touching a chess piece for the first time and for someone who has already played at international tournament level. In the chess world, no one believes a single tool can seriously serve both groups. Beginners need simple interfaces, linear lessons, and gentle feedback. Masters need deep analysis boards, databases of millions of games, and complex opening research. A product 'in the middle' often fails on both ends.

FRITZ 20's attempt to please both beginners and professionals is not a product strength — it is the signal of a positioning crisis.

I have seen this pattern before in sports documentaries. When an athlete tells me 'I can run the 100m, the 400m, and the marathon,' I usually ask back: 'But at what level can you run the 400m?' Diversity in speech often conceals a lack of confidence in specialization. Chess software is the same. When a company does not dare to say clearly where its product is strongest, the odds are it is not strong anywhere.

Over the past two years, I have spent many mornings watching Vietnamese players' online games on Lichess and Chess.com. What I noticed: not a single young player I have spoken with uses Fritz for analysis. They use Stockfish, they use Leela Chess Zero, they use the analysis tools built into the platforms. Sometimes they still use ChessBase for database research — because it is a hard tool to replace — but the engine they take from the free side. Even Le Quang Liem, Vietnam's number-one player for more than a decade, once shared in an interview that he uses Stockfish in most of his analysis sessions.

That is the context FRITZ 20 is trying to step into. ChessBase understands it can no longer compete on engine strength. Stockfish is free, stronger than anything boxed, updated monthly by hundreds of volunteer programmers worldwide. Leela Chess Zero brings neural-network power into chess, playing moves no classical engine would ever consider. Chess.com folds everything into one subscription. Lichess does the same, entirely free.

In that space, ChessBase cannot sell 'the strongest engine.' It must sell something else. 'The training revolution' is that something else. But selling a revolution without evidence is different from making one. As someone who has made sports documentaries for 49 years, I know the difference between a claim and an event. A claim can sell once. An event creates a decade.

What makes me think is the comparison with other sports. When Nike launched the Vaporfly running shoe, they did not stop at the claim 'this is a revolution.' They provided data: a 4% energy saving measured in the lab, a scientific paper, and a string of broken marathon records to prove it. When Whoop introduced a sleep-tracking band for athletes, it published its methodology and invited users to verify with their own data.

In chess software, that standard is almost abandoned. Everything is sold through feeling, brand reputation, and what marketers call 'heritage.' But heritage does not analyze a game for a learner at the national championship. Heritage does not explain why move 23 was a mistake. Heritage does not teach them how to rise after a loss — something Nguyen Ngoc Truong Son once said he had to learn by himself, which no software can teach.

I once shot a film about a chess coach in Hue. He taught by presenting two options, letting the student choose, and analyzing together. He never said 'this is the best tool.' He said: 'This is the tool that fits you right now.' That humility made me trust him. FRITZ 20 is not humble. It declares a revolution. And a revolution, as I once wrote in a script about the 2026 Olympics, is not declared by anyone. It simply happens, and people notice afterward.

Before I turn myself into an unfounded skeptic, a look in the opposite direction is due.

Perhaps ChessBase does not need to supply technical data. Its intended audience is not the technical analyst. The audience is the parents in Nha Trang, Hai Phong, and Can Tho who want to buy their children a chess-learning tool 'with a name.' They do not care about ACPL. They care about a box with a well-known label and simple instructions. For that customer base, 'training revolution' only needs to sound good.

And in a market where Vietnamese parents are buying chess for their children more than ever — following the success of young players such as Nguyen Thi Mai Hung and Pham Le Thao Nguyen — a fully packaged product from opening to endgame, from drills to analysis, can genuinely be useful.

Convenience is not revolution, and this is the point I want to put on the table: the chess software industry is deliberately blending the two concepts. When a company sells convenience but calls it revolution, it is shaping the learner's memory of what matters in chess. A beginner who believes the revolution is the software will spend less time sitting at the board and thinking. And so the real revolution — the revolution of thought — is delayed.

At 65, I realize I have almost completed a circle of the Vietnamese chess world. In 2026, I stood on stage handing out prizes at a youth tournament in Hanoi, when Fritz was still the pride of the analysis community. Now, sitting in a room facing the sea in Nha Trang, I ask myself what truly remains after thirty years.

What remains are the games. What remains are the students. What remains is the feeling when a correct move is found after two hours of thought — a feeling no software can replace, whether it is called FRITZ 20, Stockfish 17, or something not yet born.

A record is never old; it is only waiting for someone who knows how to listen. A game is the same.

If you are considering buying FRITZ 20 for your child, I will not stop you. But buy it the way you buy a stopwatch — a tool to count, not to run in your place. Ask your child after each session: 'What did you learn today from your own game?' If the answer has substance, then any software is worth the money. If the answer is only 'the software is good,' then the real revolution has not yet begun.

Vietnam's chess stadium is not empty. It is only waiting for people who teach children how to hear their own applause, before believing the promises of a brand.