Hail Mary Bridge

     
       Woodstock is an elegant, old country club where a group of bridge players sometimes goes for the Tuesday game.

       Apparently Woodstock is undergoing some renovation and workmen were going in and outdoors all morning. A cold January wind blew into the card room chilling the players. Poor Alma Graham's nearly frozen left hand was gripping her cards so tightly, she could barely pick one of them out with her frozen right hand.

     Cindy and I, donned in coats and scarves, were playing against Betsy Parker. I observed as Betsy worked on an impossible 4 Hearts contract. I thought I had the defeating card, but of course she outsmarted me. She played a card from dummy, I played second hand low. She played a ten and my partner had nothing higher. Betsy won the trick she needed. 

     “I had not choice,” Betsy said later. “If that play didn’t work I was going down, so I had to do it.”

     I thought about that and how often you just have to go for it - otherwise you are going down. You have to make a decision and hope for the best.

       Like when I was driving my son to the airport. We left later than we should have and he was probably going to miss his flight. I thought: If we don't take the highway, we don't have a chance. But traffic delays this time of day could doom us. I had to make a decision and quick.

       I crossed my fingers (which is hard to do while driving), took the highway, and he made his flight with minutes to spare. I had smoothly outsmarted my opponents! 

Partner Pride

        As the mercury descends, Joe gets out his winter sweaters. Today at the Bridge Center he had on a hand-knit oatmeal-colored number with three large purple tulips splashed across the chest.

     “Wow. That’s a beautiful sweater, Joe.” I said.

     “Well, I’ve got to do something when they lock the doors of the Center,” he replied.

     “YOU made that?”

     “Yes. My wife cooks and I knit.”

     Now Joe's partner Hank may not knit but he can hum a pretty good tune. Whenever he's the declarer he hums away. It must help him concentrate and it certainly helped with the tough 4 Spade contract he made. The round ended with Joe and Hank royally kicking Cindy and me.

       As fun as it was to hear about Joe’s knitting skills and to listen to Hank’s melodic hymn, I felt awful at bridge today. I let my partner down. She bid 2 clubs after my no trump bid and I completely forgot it was Stayman. I responded 3 clubs and if looks could kill...

     But my partner is gracious. She forgave me and said it’s only one game. I left humming. 

 

Bridge Blues

          It was a rainy day AND a Monday. My brown eyes were blue. I was thinking of giving up bridge. 

        I’m just not getting better. I’ve reached a plateau, like when you diet and you don’t lose any more weight. Everyone around me seems to be doing well- racking up points, getting Rookie of the Month -  and all I am is confused.

        Last week before our game, I was listening to our opponents as they discussed their bidding techniques:

“Do you play Cappelletti?”

“Ha ha. Well, we call it Hamilton but I think it’s the same thing.”

“Ha ha. Yes, I believe you’re right! What about Leaping Michaels?”

       Seriously?

       They won all three boards and played as smoothly as Duke Ellington on the eighty-eights.

           I felt I was spending too much time on something I may not be cut out for. The definition of insanity came to mind: “doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.”

       So when the game ended, I disconsolately walked over to our club manager and asked her if a player with my (lack of ) ability should continue playing this game.

       She answered wisely: “Play at your level and you will always enjoy the game.”

       I can’t express how that one statement helped. I didn’t want to quit bridge. I had made friends there. I had fun there. They had good food there.

       I’m just going to take more lessons. 

A Bridge All-Star

      
         Barbara looked drained today. She needed a lot of help getting inside the Center and over to her favorite place at table 5. She was weak and pale and I noticed she had stopped wearing her colorful hand-knit caps. “They irritate my skin. I’m going au natural,” she said. When she got to the north seat, she put her head down for a minute. She said it wore her out just to walk across the room. But she was there and soon she revived and began playing.

         I was sitting on the other side of the room looking at her with her bald head and bruises up and down both arms when it occurred to me. I walked over to her and said, “Barbara, I hope you don’t take this wrong because I don’t mean to be insensitive, but do you realize you look like an NBA player?”

         I explained her head, shaved and shining, looked the way some basketball players’ heads do. And her arms from the multiple chemo treatments looked less bruised and more tattooed, until you got a little closer and saw there was no real form to the marks. But from a distance she looked remarkably like she could play for the Trail Blazers or the Bulls.

         She laughed, much to my relief, and at the end of the game she came over and asked, “Who did you say I looked like? A CEO? I want to tell my son what you said.” I corrected the acronym and she said, “Well, it’s my chemo brain. I can’t remember anything.” 

   
         She placed 2nd in the game today, chemo brain notwithstanding. She ate chocolate, her favorite food group, and said it was a very good day at the Bridge Center, all in all.

 

No Sweat???

    
     “Let’s all move please! Finish your hands and move for the next round.”

     That was not good to hear. I had just started the hand and it was time to move. It was a 3 No Trump contract and I only saw five tricks. Where was I going to find four more?

     Bridge players were beginning to move around the room. East-west pairs were moving to their next tables. The chatting, the rustling of score sheets and the squeaking of Styrofoam coffee cups was distracting. And to make matters worse, our east-west replacements were standing impatiently by our table waiting for us to finish.

     ...I need to set up my diamond suit....

     “It’s time to move!” the director once again bellowed.

     I was starting to sweat, the cards sticking to my hands. The pressure was building until my eyeballs felt like they were going to shoot out of my head. What did Noel say?...Take your losses early?...

     “Can we please have boards 23 and 24 so we can get started?” asked the next table. East-west replacements were now tapping their feet fretfully, one of them crunching loudly on Chex-Mix.

     ...I needed to hurry it up.

     ...if I duck the ace and lose a trick the rest of my diamonds should be good...but the opponents have to lead a club for me to get back in... and...they...do! Cashing in my four tricks, I make the contract! Whew! 

     I was still shaking when I stumbled over to the next table with nary a moment to collect myself before the next hand started.

     Driving home from the Club I thought, how can a mere game be so high-pressure and stressful? I am worn out, beat, exhausted...and next week I get to do it all again! Yea!

     

A Student of the Game

      I continue to take lessons in Play of the Hand, Defense, Popular Conventions - you name it. And I also play two or three times times a week. 

      I’m beginning to feel the need to go to a place where you say, “My name is Elizabeth and I am a bridge player.” Am I an addict? I’m not sure. But I am definitely hooked. And this is strange because I have never been a card player and didn’t know a thing about bridge until the day I walked into the Center.

  The only experience I had with bridge were memories of my grandparents playing every weekend with their friends. We have old pictures of them sitting in their den in the 1940s, my grandmother in heels, a knit dress and pearls, my grandfather in a jacket. Their friends are sitting with them at a bridge table, that I now own, and four refreshing looking cocktails are perched at the corners. 

  But I play and struggle and thank the stars above for my new bridge partner Cindy. Holly has abandoned me for the balmier climes of Florida. Cindy is not new to bridge but she brushes up while I learn and she has become my friend as well as fellow empty-nester.

  The other day we played in a game and received 0.28 point. Our first fraction of a point! It was something to celebrate. I remembered to pass with 5 or fewer points! And when I got home from being at the Bridge Center all day, my son had left three messages on my phone. His last one said, “Well, it looks like you’ve adjusted to me being out of the house. You’re gone all the time.” 

  I’m gonna make it after all.....