and the drought breaks

We managed a respectable .47 second in B yesterday. Actually, partner husband had scored with over a point the day before with his occasional partner, Barney. I wasn't too happy with my game yesterday, misplaying not one but two no trump hands. I was making negative comments about my play for which club owner, Marilyn, fines me a dollar per remark. I have been broke this year from paying her off. Marilyn calls us her "baby seals" since we continue to show up at her club to get clubbed (hence the name I assume).

My friend, Phil, arrived at our table as I was grumbling about something. He offered to get an elastic band for me to wear on my wrist. He also volunteered to snap it every time I made a negative remark for some negative reinforcement to go along with Marilyn's fining technique. These A/B players would do anything to help a little C, particularly if it involves pain.

Janise doesn't want me to mention her in my blog. She keeps pointing out how nice she is to me. She doubled my 4 bid and I went down 4 doubled and vulnerable. Great double, bad bid on my part, but she gets a mention anyway because it didn't feel so "nice". Let it be clear that she herself is very nice though.

So, off to bridge class this morning, then play, then another playing class tonight. Great! My fave kind of day - all bridge with food breaks in between. I really need to start exercising again - maybe tomorrow.

"It's Just a Game"

Really? Those of us who are seriously "into" bridge spend hours and dollars each week at the tables, presumably trying to improve. We spend additional time in bridge classes, reading bridge books, going on bridge cruises (by far the coolest setting for bridge games) and pestering A players into telling us how we could have made the contract. Just a game?

Maybe, compared to ending famine and war, bridge is "just a game" with the "just" being justified in those cases. Is it frustrating? You bet! Is it exalting? Not often enough. As with all intermittant rewards, that is the hook. If it were exalting all of the time, the reward would be constant and the game would lose it's interest and allure. I must remember this the next time I'm beating myself up about misplaying yet another no trump hand.

I have noticed that there is a difference in people's philosophy toward bridge playing which roughly breaks into two groups. One group loves the game but plays once or twice a week; they are typically not into classes or using new techniques, love playing out the hand but use few conventions, and really enjoy the social aspect of hanging with everyone at the club.

The second group show up four or five times a week (or more). They are nuts about the game; religiously reading the "Bridge Bulletin", adding new conventions, taking any class that comes along, going over hand records after the match, and traveling to sectionals, regionals and nationals in pursuit of colored points as well as challenging play. Many of this group's close friends are "bridge friends".

The people who say that bridge is "just a game" usually fall into category number one and seem to have little understanding for those of us who fall into the fanatic category. When I get upset with myself at the table, hearing the phrase "it's just a game why are you so upset?", makes my jaw clench. I know they are trying to help and attempting to put one hand's misplay into perspective for me but let me grumble and fume. Bridge is much more than "just a game" to me. I don't know that I can adequately explain why that is so but I have to own up to the fact that the game is a very important part of my life and it matters to me how I play. Does it matter more than family and crushing world problems? Of course not; but it still does matter and that should be respected. Saying "it's just a game" tells me worlds about the speaker's philosophy but has no relevence to mine.

Sunday Morning

The point drought continues. I'm investigating a sun spot theory. We decided to take a break from playing for a few days after yesterday's embarrassing debacle. I know this will end; I just can't figure out when or how to help end it and get back to our usual playing style. We are both discouraged but the only thing I know for sure is that I am NOT giving up the game. I think I'll go read the comics.

The Drought

Partner/husband and I both exceeded 100 masterpoints last month. At 99 points, I called my dementor, Robert, and asked him to play to have the great honor of seeing his favorite (only) mentee go over 100. To my amazement, we actually did it.

It is now the 21st of the following month; a month with virtually no masterpoints for either of us. Since the Spurs season hasn’t started, I decided to blame the drought. 52 days over 100 this year and no meaningful rain for about 18 months. Area lakes are mud holes. Streams have dried up along with most of our landscape due to watering restrictions. As the drought continues, so does our point drought. We have each played with other players with similar results; low to mid 40th percentile. I even played with Biig Al the other day who is usually good for a point or two. 41 percent. He had a bad day.

Yesterday, two fellow non life masters bid and made 7 NT at our table. We were really and truly happy for them. However, not one of the other players (mostly As and Bs) in the match bid the slam. Everyone stopped at 6. Zero board for us. We have had a series of similar incidents recently and are waking up to the fact that bridge is not all skill; there is a certain amount of luck involved in which opponents arrive at your table for what boards.

I decided to shake things up yesterday and sit north/south instead of our usual east/west. Everyone who sat east/west was in the 50s. North/souths? 40s. Toward the end of the match I finally had a solid 22 point 2 club opener. Left hand opponent gleefully bid 2 spades. Partner passed. Uh oh. I bid 3 clubs, made 5 but shouldn’t have.

Tomorrow is the unit game. It’s free with free food so every bridge player in town will be there. I have some hope that the point drought will break. It is 2:00 A.M. right now and there is thunder and lightening outside along with a big (although short lived) downpour. We are going to a weatherman’s house for dinner tonight. Putting those good omens together, I think we will scratch in the morning.

To be continued.

Obsession

Okay all you novices. Here is how it goes after a year and half of duplicate play:


1. You start to schedule doctor, dentist and haircut appointments around the times of the club game.

2. When you are planning a vacation, you google bridge clubs in the area. The heck with the beach and hikes in the mountains. It’s YOUR vacation!

3. You wake up at 2 A.M. in a cold sweat after dreaming that partner has put you in a game contract in spades when you have zero points and the 2, 3 and 4 of spades.

4. You awake in the morning still kicking yourself about the slam hand you misplayed the day before.

5. You have many more bridge friends than non playing old friends. It becomes difficult to keep up with all of them so you get a Facebook page.

6. When you haven’t played in a couple of days, your hands itch.

7. People give you bridge books to read. They cover your coffee table and are stacked in tall piles next to your bed.

8. You give up the novice games because the field inconsistancy starts to drive you nuts.

9. You count points like a maniac and spend many dollars on gas to obtain silver and red.

10. Non playing friends suggest an intervention.

A Novice Triumph

I was so happy the day after this happened that I wrote the following:

Partner husband and I consider ourselves novices still although we have now been playing for about a year and a half and have reached the exalted heights of 85 masterpoints.

In the weeks before the San Antonio Regional, the source of the highly desirable red MPs, and the remote possibility of gold, we decided to do a lot of playing at our local clubs for practice. We had added Flannery to our list of conventions and tweaked our 2 club responses. The jury was still out on whether we liked Flannery or not, having misbid it twice in addition to giving the opponents the wrong point count for it (I’m very bad with numbers). We slumped with not only 30ish percent games, but one very wretched game in the 20s. Our friends, the A and B players (we call them sharks – lovingly though) asked, “What’s with you guys anyway?” We had no answer. We took two days off from playing trying to let our wounded egos heal a bit and then headed off to the first night’s play at the Regional.

We played well but did not place. The next day – choice pairs – third in C overall – wooeee! Success is ours. We each won a two dollar bill to offset the cost of the game – riiiiight. The next day’s choice pairs were less than stellar for us. That evening, a Swiss was scheduled and we went into the 299er room, dragged out a pair from Austin and talked them into playing with us. We really liked them both when we played in their club and thought that they play extremely well. They were skeptical that they had the ability to play with the big players but we assured them that the directors matched up teams by skill level. We should have checked that out.

The table assignments were up when we bought our entry. I thought that was odd since there seemed to be no match up by MP points since there was no way the directors could know who would be sitting at which table. I decided to keep quiet. Swiss are way more fun than side games and I didn’t want to lose our shaky partners. I got the table assignment and sent our friends off to sit east/west at the opposing team’s table. We had a nice game; nothing great but we didn’t embarrass ourselves.

Back came our teammates, Sharon and Ken, Sharon looked wide eyed stunned. “Do you know who we just played against?” Ken said, “I thought you told us they matched the teams by masterpoints?” He sounded a little angry and I thought to myself, ‘Uh oh; the end of a budding friendship”. Sharon said, “Eddie Wold – you know the Eddie Wold that has a million MPs and writes a bridge column?” Holy cow. I calmed them down and we managed to explain imp scoring to them and get our total. Minus 6. They were crushed. “No, no, no! Minus six against Eddie Wold’s team?”, I shouted bouncing up and down in my chair. “That is AMAZINGLY good!” They looked at me as if I had lost my mind.

We lost the next by round one imp, explaining to partners that a one imp swing is not that important. They still looked at us like we were nuts. We are, but usually succeed in disguising it. We lost another one but won the last round by plus 11 and placed third in C netting 1.45 of the coveted red.

Phew. We redeemed ourselves. Sharon and Ken learned about imps and better yet, learned that they can sit at a table with an incredible player and hold their own. We exchanged phone numbers and made plans to play again when we next end up at an event together.

When I went to the desk to check out our score, a friend from our club said, “HEY, I heard you did will against the Wold team”. I gave full credit to Sharon and Ken and then told them that they were the talk of the night. Today, I love this game.

The Riot at the Hyatt

Here is what happened at our first Nationals:


The Nationals in Houston this year were a driveable distance away. Not having to get on a plane to go anywhere is always a good thing so husband/partner and I decided to check out the big leagues. By the time we made this decision, there were no rooms available at the host hotel, the Hilton. We used some points to stay at a nearby Hyatt.

As we checked in, I noticed a HUGE banner over the entrance saying “Welcome NCAA Players”. Being an astute novice bridge player, not much escapes my notice (except a laydown slam possibly), and I immediately became aware of a lobby full of young athletes in all shapes and sizes. The desk clerk explained that they were college volley ball, track and field, wrestling and swimming teams from all over the country in town for a meet. I must have looked concerned so she assured us that the coaches had signed agreements that the students would be in their rooms and quiet by 11 P.M.

We chatted with students in the elevators, wished them luck in the morning, asked how they did in the evening before and after we toddled over to the Hilton to PLAY IN THE NATIONALS! We say this to all our social or non bridge playing friends and they are sutitably impressed. They don’t know that we played in some 299er games there and only placed once. We don’t share that info.

Thursday and Friday night were quiet with all the students, as promised, in their rooms by the time we returned after the evening pairs session. Saturday, the meet finished up and we returned to the Hyatt at about 12:30 A.M. with a Swiss team scheduled for 9 A.M. the next day. The lobby was packed with hundreds of kids, the bar had kids on top of kids (so much for a quiet late nightcap) and there were kids on every floor on the balcony/hallways overlooking the lobby.

At 1 A.M., the noise hadn’t abated. I called the desk and asked if the hotel staff could quiet things down a bit. They apologized and said that security would take care of it and they did.

At 2:30 A.M. weird chanting awakened me. I looked out the door and there were hundreds of athletes in the lobby and more on every balcony/hallway overlooking the lobby and they were chanting something back and forth with the sound reverberating and magnifying through the open construction of the hotel. Students were running around outside our door, beer cans were flying, girls were shreiking and boys were yelling. I started dialing the front desk and got only a busy signal. I pushed every button on the phone and no one answered any line.

At 3 A.M. things were getting worse out there and husband/partner was throwing clothes on saying ‘I’ll go out there and take care of THIS!’ I threw myself in front of the door and reminded him that there were 18 year old, very buff, fit wrestlers out there. He wouldn’t have a chance and I didn’t want to have to look for a new partner after his funeral.

Worried about the hotel staff and the safety of the players, fearing that one of them would go over a balcony and end up splattered on the lobby floor 14 stories below, I called 911.

“911 what’s your emergency.”

“I am a guest at the Hyatt hotel and there is a riot going on.”

“A riot?”

“Spring breakers are out of control destroying the place and no one at the front desk or security will answer. I’m worried the kids have hog tied the staff and taken over.”

“What is the address of the hotel?”

“Louisiana Street.”

“How do you spell that?”

“Like the state.”

“Ma’am you have to spell it.”

More screaming outside the door with someone pounding on our connecting door to the next room shouting “Anna’s naked in there!”

“L O U I S I A N A” I not so patiently spelled.

Then, smelling smoke I stupidly said, “and – I smell smoke”.

Already sounding annoyed with me, the 911 operator said, “I’m connecting you to fire” and clicked off while I was yelling “no no no I need the police!!!”

The fire lady calmly said that she would dispatch police and fire which she did without asking me to spell anything. What a good person.

Within five minutes, large specimens of Houston’s finest showed up with big clubs and guns shouting “Get in your room or we will take you to jail”. Within ten minutes, it was blessedly quiet.

We played our Swiss the next morning on three hours sleep and came in second. We now think we play better sleep deprived. Our A player friends say we couldn’t be much worse.

Table Manners

I envy the duplicate players who, when the dummy comes down, always say “Thank you partner” in a nice even tone no matter what shows up. When I bid one no trump with a lovely, well balanced hand and 17 points, partner/husband passes more than half the time. When the dummy comes down he may have a jack or a ten, if I’m lucky. Sometimes I remember to say “Thank you partner”. When I do, I usually add “for that nice dreck of a hand”. Or, the “thank you partner” comes out sounding like the thank you to husband when I get a vacuum cleaner for an anniversary gift unless, of course, a four carat diamond is attached to the crevice tool. Now, that would get a thank you akin to slam laydown, in our case, unbid of course.

The other night, I dumped partner into an unmakeable five diamond contract instead of rebidding my six card spade suit. I apologized about six times, one for each spade. Our opponents said, “They must be married. She sounds as if she doesn’t mean it.” Actually, I did mean it but I suppose I lacked sincerity. Next up, acting classes to hone skills in sounding if not being authentic at the bridge table.

I’ve been working on the stone face thing. It’s really tough to sit as dummy and watch partner leave a good 13th diamond on the board, transfer to hand, and go down one. I keep reminding myself I have done way worse such as trumping my good ace from the dummy on the first trick of the game and similarly going down one. Early on, we were chastised by a lady who said I had looked at partner and that was how he knew to lead the a club to me which set her contract. I didn’t remember looking at him at all but now, I just don’t. I keep my head down and look only at the cards on the table. Most people at the club know me by the way I part my hair. If I part on the other side, they have to read my nametag.

We decided to try another club sectional recently and an imp game at that. We have read about imps and had them explained to us by various people, but totally understanding imps is still a goal. At one table early in the match, opponents were in a five diamond contract. We had them down two when the declarer summoned the director saying that partner had not followed suit. Two trick penalty. I thanked the ladies after the game, turned and left the table to get a drink of water without looking at or speaking to partner. I wonder if the hat lady would say that was okay in such an egregious situation. His remorse didn’t help a bit. The only bright spot in the situation was that I hadn’t committed the flagrant foul. Flagrant foul punishment from the National Basketball Association can be a fine and/or suspension for a game or two. Hmmm.

Good luck partner.

Bridge on the Boat

In terms of chronology, the following happened first. John, the bridge master in this piece, told us that if we wanted to improve our game, we must join a bridge club and play. When we returned home, we did.

Bridge on the Boat

We two moderately unskilled social bridge players were talked into going on a cruise ship for the first time by close friends who would rather be on a boat than just about anywhere else. For the intro to cruising, the friends found a great deal from Barcelona to Miami. We were fairly certain that neither of us were all that claustrophobic nor motion sick. Being together in a small cabin for ten days? We gave it no thought since we didn’t really know how small the cabins were.

When we finally made it through labrythian hallways of the ship to our cabin, there was on the counter, a little flyer listing daily activities and we noticed that there were two bridge teachers on board giving lessons and supervising play. Oh boy, our favorite game lessons; great!

John was a British master, a large fellow, with unruly white hair and a ruddy complexion with fierce blue eyes which brooked no nonsense from know nothings such as me. He was accompanied by his pal and sometime partner at his home club, Ivor, a quiet, patient guy who contrasted well with John’s strong personality. Whenever I had a question, I waited until after class and asked Ivor.

During the first class, finesses were discussed. I mumbled under my breath “finesses never work”. Although I was sitting in the back trying to look inconspicuous, John, with the acute hearing of a bird of prey, pounced! “AHA”, he said, “You are right – they don’t” and then, peering intently at me from under bushy white eyebrows blue eyes flashing, finished with, “Unless you know how to do them properly”. Oh great.

“Miss Finesses never work, what do you think of this hand?” John would ask in my general direction.

“I don’t know enough to make an intelligent comment.” I thought that might get me off the hook. Not a chance.

“Good! You are making progress!” John would shoot back.

Most of what John said was like listening to a foreign language and I don’t mean British English. Splinter, ACOL, Flannery, Jacoby 2no, Drury, Bergen; we were definitely at sea and not just literally.

Before this ship experience, partner/husband and I had subbed in exactly two duplicate games in a neighborhood group. We didn’t understand much about duplicate including the scoring. The first afternoon of boat bridge, when I was asking myself what kind of an idiot would take a cruise and spend it in the card room instead of on the sunny deck, we placed first. John was in a state of shock so, feeling responsible for his continued good health, after play we treated he and Ivor to their favorite large Australian beer in the champagne bar.

In subsequent days we slipped to middle, one day finally to last and then made our way back up to the middle of the pack by the last sea day. I announced in class that the more I listened to John, the worse our score was. He denied responsibility and blamed it on our lack of understanding of basic bridge with which we couldn’t argue and the rest of the class already knew having played against us and racked up wins.

My favorite saying of John’s went something like this: “When you have a void, you KNOW that your TWIT of a partner will open that suit”. When husband/partner and I need to defuse a bridge tiff, one of us will say, “If my twit of a partner had only………” and we end up laughing remembering John Beard, British Master and author, our first duplicate teacher, and great cruise friend.

More From the Newbie

This was my second effort at documenting our bridge life:

Club Manager, Biig Al and Director Bob decided that partner/husband and I needed more than a little assistance in breaking out of our thirtieth percentile slump. They decided that we needed to split up, each of us playing with one of them at one of the night games at the Turtle Creek Bridge Club where all the San Antonio bridge nuts hang out. We may be new at this but we are still nuts.

The night games at the club usually fill three or four tables or, on a good night, five or six. The atmosphere in the evening is looser than during the day when the room is filled but the bridge is no less serious. Possessing way more sense than we do, few other C players venture into the late waters. Therefore, we are ranked B at night. We rarely do well in the evening games but keep returning anyway since husband/partner has a part time job which interferes with our bridge time during the day. Besides, we like the night atmosphere and the evening players who, in their vampire like way, rarely see the club in the light of day.

I learned a new bridge rule while playing with Bob. Never rescue a bridge genius unless he requests it. LHO opened 2 diamonds, Bob passed, RHO responded 3 diamonds and I had 17 points. I couldn’t figure out how to open – no 5 card major – don’t want to go 4 clubs with three measleys and not enough points to say 2NT and so I passed, forgetting completely about the fact that most people would know to double to show points. Bob then bid 3 spades. Doubled by RHO. Sensing disaster and seeing that I have all suits stopped, I bid 3 NT. Down 3 doubled. Bob was patient and kindly but this was the first board of our new partnership. He was great in disguising his dread of the long night ahead with gloating from Biig Al at the end.

We plodded along and, when a similar board came along later, I remembered to double to signal points and we did well. I know Bob was inwardly sighing and thinking to himself, “Well, at least she is trainable”.

About 9:45 the owner of the Chinese restaurant next door to the club, pounded on the club front door. Most play halted. Two of her workers were behind the strip center in pursuit of a tagger. The strip center was newly painted and a prime draw for gang symbols and spray paint. Out the back door thundered Biig Al (we didn’t know he could move that fast), my partner, Director Bob, Director Everette, and my husband. About ten minutes or so went by and things started getting gritchy inside the club. A few of us wandered into the darkness behind the strip center to see what happened. The men had the tagger cornered where he was crouched behind a dumpster drinking beer with a backpack full of black spray paint. The police took 40 minutes to show up, handcuff the guy and throw him into the back of the squad car during which the other players in various states of disgruntlement had already packed up their gear and gone home.

Biig Al is giving everyone a free play next Tuesday night and I tried not to show absurd relief in not getting swocked by husband/partner due to my stupid bidding on the rescue board. Deus ex machina; the hand of the bridge God in the games of man, for the first time to my benefit.

Intro

I am a novice bridge player. Okay, I've been playing duplicate for about 18 months and have just passed the 100 point mark, but, I'm still a novice and, most of the time, play like one. I have written about some incidents from the past year or so and thought that they might be enjoyable for not only new duplicate players but also older ones. One has been published in our unit newsletter already and was favorably received by everyone (at least that is what they told me). One expert player let me know that, after reading the article, he had vowed to TRY to be more patient with those just starting out. He has been. Another player had been urging her husband to learn duplicate and, after reading the article, he began attending a novice class. I was gratified by these little results. When someone in the club suggested blogging, I decided to give it a try. I've never even read a blog before so, this should be another learning process for me. I probably don't need more since I am still at the bottom of the bridge educational ladder but here goes!


We retired and my husband started rattling around the house wondering what to do with his life. We had always loved playing cards but, knowing no one who would play bridge with us, we joined a nearby bridge club in January of 2008 and started showing up.

It quickly became clear to me that playing bridge reflected other aspects of my life. Prime example: once I call a card from the board, I can’t change my mind. I can try, but will be admonished by the people at the table with ten thousand million master points that said is as good as done - too bad.

I write my own rules on the ACBL card, but, when I forget what’s on there, more admonishments come from the opponents that what I had bid or played was “non standard”, whatever that is. When someone said to me, “That was a non standard lead”, my response was “Which lead?” and they gave up in despair.

An A player called the director stating that we had reversed and therefore bid incorrectly after that. I kept asking him what a reverse was but he wouldn’t answer. We looked it up in our Bible, “Bridge for Dummies”, but still were unable to figure out why he was so upset. The director informed the A player that unless he had received his bridge teaching certification he should leave us alone.

My beloved partner and I made an agreement that we would not chide each other at the table but discuss the hand in a private spot after the boards were finished. When I chide anyway, which he never does, I have to apologize to the table but it doesn’t fix a thing; just like the rest of our marriage.

If I make a really bad error, the opponents call the director, similar to my neighbors calling the police about our loud parties or barking dog.

Bridge, at least for beginner, seems to be a series of elations and despairs. We made a silver point at a sectional, in C players flight, for the first time scoring above 50%. We were psyched. We walked across the club parking lot high fiving each other. “We’re on way – we’ve got it figured out now” we naively gloated. For two weeks after that, we were unable to get out of the twenties.

It’s like your favorite sports team in a batting, scoring, or shooting slump. It seems like it never ends. In fact, our bridge slumps seem to parallel our beloved Spurs when they are unable to find the hole in the basket. When the Spurs can’t shoot, we can’t win a bridge game. I used to think that unless I wore my favorite Spurs’ shirt and bracelet, they couldn’t win. I think I’ll blame my bridge slump on their lack of scoring in the playoffs this year. Fair is fair. They play better defense than I do, though.

We have made friends at the club. We like the directors all of whom take an interest in our daily percentage. We wish they wouldn’t. I feel dumb as a rock when I trump my own good ace from the board. The nice opponents say, “Oh, we have all done that”. I know they are lying.

The club started having 199er games once in a while. Some members told us to steer clear of them feeling that playing in the regular games with those who are much better will improve our game faster than playing with other beginners. We think they like having cannon fodder around to help their point production.

The slump continued so we decided to join one of those games to try to blast ourselves out of our gloom and doom. We got killed. We forgot that we have been playing for 6 months and have 11 or so points. Some of the others had been playing for 2 or 3 years and are almost at 200. Big difference in experience.

It reminded me of our son who graduated from college and started interviewing for a job. He called home and said, “They want me to take an ENTRY level job!” Imagine that. Experience counts for something we explained to him but forgot that the same lesson applies to bridge too.

Ugh, contracts. How many contracts have we had throughout our lifetime? Most recently, we have had contracts in the serial remodeling of our house. That has been going on for 15 years or so. We sometimes ended up in bad contracts with bad contractors and finally got it right in the last room – the laundry room. Oh well.

Bad contracting followed us into the bridge club. We had never seen a bidding box before and had to be shown how to take out the cards and stack them properly left to right in front of us if we dared to bid anything. It took several weeks before I quit reaching over to play the dummy myself.

So, we are putting in table time. This advice we get from everyone, including the bridge club owner, “You need to keep playing.” I suspect that she may have a vested interest in this though.

After about a week and a half of the slump, my partner stated his wish to quit. Biig Al was the first director my husband met when he went to the club to check it out before we joined. Al was wandering around stacking boards and toting coffee so, I privately asked him to talk to my husband. I didn’t want to have to find a new partner. I could see nothing but problems with that. Anyone whom I talked into playing with me would have to leave his concealed hand gun at home. This is Texas, after all.

Al talked partner into playing with him. That went well since husband/partner came home relatively intact with no bruises nor broken limbs. Al is a big guy. Plus, my partner has expressed willingness to continue playing with me as his partner. It gives me a nice sense of security about our marriage. I thrive on security. So why am I playing bridge at all? Great question.

Our percentage has crept back up into the 30s. We now know what transfers, Michaels, and preempts are. We use the bidding box like pros although usually ending up in the wrong contract. It’s a work in progress – like life.