chessbrah Kick VOD & Videos

The Chessbrahs started as a glorified group chat between Canadian chess buddies who missed each other. Back when Eric Hansen was grinding college chess scholarships and Aman Hambleton was bouncing between Toronto tournaments, they’d Skype for hours just to banter during lonely road trips. "It really did start as a bit of a hobby with friends," Hansen admitted in an early interview, recalling how scattered Canada’s tiny chess scene left them—sometimes 3,000 kilometers apart for months. By 2014, during a gap-year chess pilgrimage through Europe, they set up a shaky webcam in a Dutch basement. No fancy lights, no sponsorships—just two guys cracking jokes between bullet games, treating Twitch like a digital café where fans could pull up a stool. That accidental vibe became their signature: less lecture hall, more hanging out with your brainy best friends.

What makes their streams stick isn’t just the chess—it’s the *human* stuff. You’ll catch Hambleton analyzing a bishop sacrifice one minute, then staging a dramatic "beard inspection" (a callback to his pre-GM vow to never shave until he earned the title), or Hansen roasting viewers who blunder in casual races. Their vlogs—like the Reykjavik Open recap where they got lost in a snowstorm trying to find a tournament hall—feel like flipping through a friend’s travel diary. They’ve mastered the art of making 2,000 Elo accessible: no dry notation, just relatable chaos. One fan even joked they’ve "turned the Sicilian Defense into a meme war."

The crew’s grown from a duo to a full squad, welcoming legends like Robin van Kampen and Yasser Seirawan. But they’ve kept the low-key charm. Hambleton, now Canada’s #8-ranked player, still jokes about his infamous 2017 beard phase ("I scared children at the airport"), while Hansen’s trash-talk during speedruns feels like your loudest chess club buddy. They’ve even branched into surprise ventures—like teaming with indie musicians for original stream bops—but never lose sight of why people tune in: to see real grandmasters who’d rather crack a dad joke than act like ivory-tower pros.

As platforms shifted, they migrated smoothly to Kick, avoiding Twitch’s algorithm wars while keeping their community intact. Unlike many esports streamers, they’ve never chased viral stunts; their "chess rave" events—where EDM drops sync with checkmates—still feel like an inside joke among pals. Stats? They’ve consistently pulled tens of thousands live during major tournaments, but their real metric is longevity: seven years deep, older fans now bring their kids to streams.

Chessbrah’s legacy isn’t just growing online chess—it’s making it feel like home. Before them, grandmaster content was either sterile or elitist. Now? It’s a place where you can debate endgames while Hambleton’s dog photobombs the camera. During the 2020 pandemic boom, they became the "living room" for isolated players worldwide, proving that chess isn’t just 64 squares—it’s the laughter between moves.