Recruiting

Our son, Gregor, was always the outlier in our sports obsessed family.  However, since moving back to San Antonio, he has become as fanatic a Spurs fan as all the rest of us who live here.  He shows up on Sundays to observe the Cowboys/Giants controversies and, recently, has been subjected to the baseball playoffs since the beloved Phillies are still alive.  During the last Sunday's game, held at night in Philadelphia, the temperature was about 40 degrees or so. 

Greg asked, "who is that girl sitting on the sideline?"  We explained that she is the "ball girl" and retrieves foul balls.  Next question, "why is she all covered up?"  We explained that it was really cold up there.  Greg was shocked and said, "what's the point of watching a sport where the girls are all bundled up?"  Aha moment!  He doesn't care about the games - just the cheerleaders and other scantily clad so called dancers or whatever.  I should have known.

However, it started me thinking.  If the ACBL were smart and really wanted to grow the game, it should start looking to ramp up interest by using peripherals.  What if a new player has a game breaking the 60 % barrier?  Maybe the rest of the players should throw them to the floor and pile on top in celebration.  The new health insurance plan should take care of the multitude of hip fractures. 

How about teams in each city playing each other on the bridge network?  Cross training some scantily clad, low cleavaged babes to interview the 50,000 point players would probably drag in some ratings.  To keep the female viewers happy, hire some hunky pros who love seeing themselves on TV.

 I envision a male/female duo doing the play by play of games in hushed voices like the golf guys.  "Wait, wait I THINK he is going to finesse that 8 -yes, YES he is!  It's rolling past east - almost there - oh NO - west takes it with his 9.  What a miscalculation on south's part.  That's gotta hurt him.  What do you think, Sam?"   Sports commentary just lends itself to the game don't you think? 

Maybe some nice fireworks on a jumbotron when there is a spectacular Knock out win.  Side stories on players' traumatic childhoods like they always do on the Olympic athletes.  "Zelda grew up in Kazakistan and her mother had a cold when Zelda was just 6.  She really had to work to overcome that tragedy".  We bridge players have stories too!

I hope somebody at ACBL is reading this blog.  I won't charge much for my ideas.

A Decent Game

When we sat down at the club sectional game today, Pro Greg said, "I noticed you guys had a decent game yesterday".  This is opposed to our usual indecent game where I strip naked and dance on the table if I don't screw up a 3 NT play.  At least, I think that is what he meant.  Maybe not.  For the first time outside a novice game, husband/partner and I had managed to score a 60% the day before.  Director Tom was close to a dead faint when he saw the score.  Maybe it was the concussion from falling off his director chair earlier.  Maybe not.

As you may recall, we took last week off from bridge play.  We felt that we needed to reset our heads not to mention our expectations after our dismal 25% game in the NAOPs.  In the first sectional game on Thursday afternoon, we scored about 40%.  We were actually okay with that and stayed positive, feeling that we had not played badly.  In the Thursday evening game, we netted a little over a coveted silver point with a 50% game.  The next day our percentage went to 60.  We expected a 70 today but, as you might guess, that didn't happen.  We were knocked out of the knockouts by a considerable margin but took first in the afternoon C strat. 

Teacher Diane was delighted for us.  We have had one supervised play session with her and she is now taking credit for our most unexpected success while reminding us that bridge is a game of ups and downs.  She and Director Tom can do a duet on that song.   I do believe them based on our recent history alone.

The question is, what happened between 25% a week ago and these past three days?  I think I need to study probability theory to explain it.  There seems to be a possibility that anything can happen. The probability may be that some things might not but, then again, they might.  The possibility is that our game will continue on a straight upward line.  The probability is that we will continue to do the sine wave dance.  After the drop to the bottom of the chart, we somehow made it up the other side to make a nice V.  Perhaps the law of averages is working.  I should have paid more attention in math class.

Bottom line, I love this game; win or lose.  I think the few days I took off  from playing gave me time to get myself under control and regain some perspective.  If we play badly and lose, there is always another game.  It happens to even the best players, although much less often.  Maybe I will get to that point someday; maybe not; but, in the meantime, I will have great fun playing this magnificent game with my good friends in the San Antonio bridge community.

Sine Waves

"Bridge is like a sine wave", says Director Tom, "results go up and down and up and down. Some days all your bids are genius and the hands fit and play themselves. Other days are normal." Okay - he didn't really say that last sentence. That was mine. I replied, "Yes, Tom, but we had a 25% game." As he wandered off, his voice floated back to me. "Okay - that is really bad." Add a Homer Simpson "duh" right here.

A series of gentle hills and shallow valleys charting our results would be a happiness. However, a 25% game is more like one of those steep lines you see on TV when the stock market crashes; nothing gentle in diving off the cliff like precipice impaling on the spade spears below. I'd be most happy to get back to the sweet undulating curves of a sine wave. Maybe tomorrow.

Taking a Break

Husband/Partner's Phillies limped into the playoffs in the east, collapsing badly at the end of the season. Tony Romo and the "Girls" (husband/partner's name for the Dallas Cowboys when they are less than stellar) are not spectacular so far this season. Coach Pop is in the media saying that he is "very pleased with the Spurs team this year". This is code for "out after the first round of the playoffs". My NY Giants are doing well though. The kids call any Giants/Cowboys game the divorce bowl and make postgame phone calls to check that the marriage is still intact.

Our bridge playing however poses more danger than the divorce bowl ever has. It rained 4 inches last night but it has not rained points or, more importantly, decent play all week. The awful, horrid, embarrassing debacle at the NAOP event yesterday was the last straw. We decided to take a break from bridge. We both wonder if it is worth it when we feel so awful after such a wretched game at the end of a pitiful week. We have committments to other partners which we will honor including team games at the club sectional next week but we will not be playing otherwise.

We decided to find out how much we miss playing. We are also trying to analyse what happened this past week after feeling as if our game was on a good upward track. We decided to do some more bridge book reading and studying the game.

I am looking forward to playing with Biig Al next Tuesday because it is always fun. He covers for my dumb mistakes and makes my lemon bids into lemonade. I am extremely fortunate to know a few other women who are great for me to partner with and learn from. I hope those games will continue. Give up the game altogether? My internal jury is still out.

to be continued.

Giving Credit

Biig Al paid up yesterday. Since I had previously posted that, after cleaning his cat's litter box for a week, he owed me points, I feel that it is only fair to give credit for yesterday's game. Partner/husband has set up a regular Tuesday game with Barney so I asked Al to play. I'm always honored when Al says "yes". It can't be easy for a bridge master to play with someone as low level as me. It was a really fun game and we netted a little over a point. Barney and husband/partner netted about .6 so I gained a half a point on husband/partner who remains 4 points out in the Ace of Clubs race. It's probably too late in the year to make up that amount so, I'm continuing my yoga and tai chi to attain inner bridge harmony.

The Worst Round Ever

Last night, at the wonderful, well run by bridge dynamo Nell Morgan, well loved New Braunfels sectional, we were given an entry for north/south. Partner/husband wanted to switch to our usual east/west but I said no. I think the directors seat you where they need you and I hate to ask to switch without a compelling reason. East/west took 25 out of 27 bids and had 6 slams their way. We took two hands only; the first, a weaky freaky 4 hearts which brave partner/husband bid and made where I had about 3 points but 5 of his hearts. The last board of a verrry long night, I had 17 HCPs and opened one no trump - only the second opening hand I had in the round. Partner passed - I was down one.

One of our fellow beginners looked as shell shocked as we did. When we met at the one round to go scoring list, she said, "If it were like this all the time, I would never play again". I agree. Remember those old gray metal meat grinders with a vise grip thing to hold them on the edge of the heavy wooden kitchen table? Mom used to throw all kinds of leftover meat into it, turn the handle and grind out little shreds to make hash. After last night's session, we felt like the meat. Husband/partner used the wringer washer analogy. I think we need to work on new analogies. We are incomprehensible to our children who have no idea that the results of a meat grinder or wringer washer look like us after a round of rotten bridge.

The last time this happened to us was April 1st of 2008. We had 24 out of 26 negative scores as did most pairs who sat our way. We thought it was an April fools joke. It wasn't. Of course, like last night, our negative scores were lower than most others, defense being the biggest need for improvement in our game.

We tried not to whine but we did ask Director Scott how they came up with those hands. He told us that the ACBL provides them and that they are randomly generated. If he means computer randomly generated, someone needs to seriously look at that programming. I suppose, in truly random fashion, anything can happen at any time and the mathematicians among us could explain such happenings but it would be beyond my understanding anyway.

I prefer the conspiracy theory. We almost always sit east/west. The evil bridge fates knew what was coming and, purposely, sat us north/south. I wonder if they are trying to tell us something?

Correction

Previously, I wrote that I had opened a Flannery bid with 9 points. Director Tom read my blog (since I told him that he was in it) and, when I walked into the Civic Center in New Braunfels yesterday, he told me, with a grin, that I was a dirty, rotten liar. Looking shocked (I wasn't), he told me that I had held 8 points not nine. He didn't buy my argument that I had upgraded my singleton queen of diamonds to 3. Nope, he didn't budge. He said that if I did it again he would throw me out. Shoot, I'm a child of the 60s. I've been thrown out of way better places than a bridge tournie.

We first met Director Tom last year at a sectional early in our duplicate days. Husband/partner had revoked three different times and Tom was quite tired of appearing at our table and ruling against us. At the first board of the session last night, husband/partner revoked. I had even asked, "no spades partner?", remembering Tom's original lecture that a revoke is partly partner's fault if partner does not ask the confirmation question.

Tom didn't even look surprised - one trick penalty. I later misplayed a makeable 3 NT hand to make up for husband/partner's error and give us one zero board each. Luckily, there is no director call for bad play.

Back to New Braunfels in a little while to mine for silver yet again.

It's Always Something

I thought I made a particularly brilliant bid today. With 5 hearts to the 10 and 4 good spades and a total of about 9 points (pushing it to count a singleton queen), I opened a Flannery 2 diamonds. Left hand opponent asked husband/partner about my bid. Husband/partner gave the 5 heart/four spade/11-15 point correct explanation. LHO doubled and good partner/husband bid 2 spades. Right hand opponent bid 3 clubs and I bid 3 spades as a suicide bid knowing there was no way I would make it but figuring that they had something more than 100. I went down two.  We opened the traveler and the opponents were making 3 NT on all previous boards. Left hand opponent felt cheated in that I had nine measleys and she had counted on at least 11 and quit bidding. I felt bad but thought I had made a brilliant defensive bid. Not so fast Ms. Novice.

At our encouragement, LHO called our fave tournament director, Tom, who was directing the game. I got a lecture (one of many helpful ones from Tom) on how "psyching" is not legal in a 2 suited opening convention. In other words, I had to have at least 11 HCPs to use it and anything else incurred a penalty. Oh no!!! Just when I think I'm being brilliant, I mess up our game. How typical.  The problem is, if someone told me I had to make a psych bid, I wouldn't have the slightest idea how to do it. I didn't know it was wrong in this case nor did I know I had "psyched" but ignorance of the law..... you know the rest. Tom made what I thought was a fair ruling for both parties but warned me that he would remember and if I did it again, the penalty would be far more severe. 

Now, if I can just remember the point count for opening Flannery is 11 and not 9, I'll be fine.

It's Fall

At last, it has rained, the days are finally below 100 degrees, partner/husband's beloved Phillies are making their way into the playoffs and we went to an Austin sectional yesterday placing in two sessions. I am a great believer in omens. However, partner/husband has zoomed 4.5 points ahead of me in the Ace of Clubs race. I'm meditating and doing yoga to deal with this. So far, the zen state is eluding me but I have only whined about it occasionally. Housework today and back to Austin tomorrow with the hope that our streak keeps rolling.

We have both received great advice from the masters who occasionally play as our partners. Husband/partner has been told to take both hands into consideration when bidding and not just his own. I have been advised to stop dumping on partner/husband when he makes a mistake. We have agreed to go back to friend Steve's suggestion. When one partner takes exception to a lead/bid/play etc., he/she requests the other partner to "circle it" on the score sheet for later discussion. This is code for "stop discussing now; I'm getting upset; I don't want to hear about it; I know I messed up; NOT NOW PLEASE" or all of the above. Sometimes the offending partner has to say "circle it; circle it; CIRCLE IT!!!" before the ranting partner finally stops talking. Granted, this doesn't happen often but we are working on better partnership manners. Teacher Everette always reminds his classes that dumping on partner results in losing partner for at least three tables. I can testify to the truth of this from my time as dumpee. I'm not ALWAYS the dumper.

The good news is that, for me, my joy in playing the game no matter the result seems to have returned. It came back, of all things, when playing with Biig Al last week. We didn't have a good game but had a big load of fun playing together. Biig Al and dementor Robert had been on a road trip stealing gold from the Bostonians at a regional in New England. Meanwhile husband/partner fed Al's cat and I cleaned the litter box. The cat is not crazy about women so I stayed out of the way while husband/partner played with her. Mostly, she would look at me and run under the bed. Anyway, I told Biig Al he owed me a game. I forgot to mention that he owed me a game where we actually made points. As far as I am concerned, he hasn't paid up yet.

Okay - off to dusting and vacuuming - way less fun than playing bridge.

Depression

My friends at the bridge club have been asking why I haven't written anything in a while. One word answer - depression. I don't want to write a downer blog; I'd rather write funny stuff but not too much funny has been happening lately or maybe it has and I haven't noticed. I misplayed a makeable 6 NT hand last night and was feeling pretty down and crabby when really good player, Daniel, told me that my problem was a bad attitude. I gave him a nasty smart remark back, probably because he hit too close to home. Okay - maybe he has a point. Okay - he is definitely right. I need an attitude adjustment or, as another player suggested, Zoloft (antidepressant for you non medical types).

I'm not doing the medicate myself into oblivion thing so I need an alternative. I know; I can blame husband/partner! Um, maybe not. When I try to do that ( I know I shouldn't but do anyway), the really good players tell me he didn't do anything wrong; I did. I guess that's why he is beating me in the Ace of Clubs race. I figure that is the bridge God's revenge for my sin in blaming partner/husband.

You know what I really, really hate? TRAVELERS!! Partner/husband says I shouldn't look at them. It's hard not to when everyone discusses what others did before us. It's more difficult still when the previous tables made their 6 NTs and I didn't. I suppose I could take a bathroom break at the end of each board but then people would be telling me to get a bladder control medicine rather than Zoloft.

Partner/husband and I are playing with several people other than each other this week. That might be a good thing, unless he zooms farther ahead in the Ace of Clubs race. I've been really nice to him lately. Maybe the bridge Goddess will notice.

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.