Bridge and Grits

       Posey Fontaine. Her name alone evokes the unique beauty that is the old south...moss draped live oaks, grand antebellum mansions...
       
       Posey is in one of my bridge groups (group count is now up to six for a game I insist I'm not addicted to...) this one located in Charleston, South Carolina. She could charm the "blue out of the sky" to quote a favorite southern writer down here. She always looks nice - smartly dressed; hair in place; flawless skin She lost her husband Felix three years ago and now plays bridge EVERY day. 

        I hadn't played in this game since last year but when I walked into the church assembly room where the game is held, Posey came right up to me and said, "Whale-cum bay-uk, sweetie! We've missed y'all!" This after being gone for a year. "How y'all doin'. How's y'husband's new hee-up?" The hip is a year old.

        I sat with her while she finished her ham salad sandwich - homemade and ground from her famous recipe baked ham, basted with coke and (lots of ) bourbon. 

       So when Peggy (my partner here who's actually a Yankee from Rhode Island) and I played against Posey and Joyce we were in 3NT, with yours truly the declarer. Peggy laid down her hand and the table collectively sighed at the SEVEN diamonds she displayed. Believe it or not - I know this is a hard one - but after the Ace and King were knocked out I played my Jack to low in dummy instead of overtaking with the Queen and...whoops... I HAD NO ENTRIES BACK. Seven diamonds might as well have been seven lumps of coal. We went down FOUR!

       Posey was very upset by this turn of events. She gently put her hand on my arm and said, "I am just so sorray. I just hate doin' this to y'all." She felt so badly I thought SHE might cry. I left the table consoling HER!

       ...or did I just get played by that legendary southern charm??  




     

Smokin' Elegant

       Barb emailed a most interesting article from the Wall Street Journal the other day. It was about Maggy Simony, a 92 year-old Floridian who has been trying to bring bridge back to its early-to-middle 20th-century elegance. 
       
       She had enjoyed the game with her husband and friends for years. A bridge gathering in those days involved elaborate meals and hours of socializing. Tea sandwiches, canapes, Waldorf salad and chicken a la king were commonly served and gossip, er, news about the community was shared over homemade cream puffs. She laments the fading of that era beginning in the early 1970s. In fact, the article points out, bridge playing in general has declined over the years, with membership in the ACBL dwindling.
       
       Well, I would like to lift Ms. Simony's spirits and tell her, we are trying to keep the tradition going. In the winter months, a group of us meets in each others' homes for bridge and while I've yet to see a tea sandwich, we've had lovely lunches complete with delightful desserts and "news" sharing.

       Why, one afternoon our hostess even served up a little excitement with lunch when she left her pot holder in the oven with the chicken casserole. Smoke billowed out of the kitchen and we had to open all the downstairs windows to fan the fumes out. Coughing and hacking we were able to save the place before it all went up in flames!
       
       So while we need to work a bit more on the "elegance", we are trying hard to retain the spirit of the golden age of bridge. Even if it kills us.

The 8 of Clubs Was Good???

       Cindy and I recently started branching out and playing with other partners. We now play together every third game and with Barb and Joan the interim games. Consequently the skill level in Cindy's interim games has gone up a notch and I needed to get up to speed.

       So it was a pleasant winter's day, sunny and unseasonably warm, when Cindy and I played together for the first time in several weeks. I was anxious to play well and was trying hard to fully concentrate on the game and not write mental grocery lists or think about recent phone conversations with my son.

       I bought the 4 hearts contract. I made my plan and found I needed another trick. I studied the board. I studied my hand. I wasn't seeing it. I commenced play, cashed in nine tricks and was stumped. I implemented the squeeze play, always an option when you don't have a clue what else to do, but I went down. I felt awful.

       "So sorry, partner," I said, not for the first time in my bridge career.

       "That 8 of clubs on the board was good," my helpful left-hand opponent pointed out. "Did you know that?" I had no reply. "You had the clubs set up and you didn't take that 8," she explained. Thoughtful of her.

       I nodded and moved on to the next table. My mind was spinning. "The 8 of clubs was good? How the heck was I supposed to know the 8 of clubs was good. Who would have thought an 8 would be good? I didn't even set up the damn clubs, at least not consciously. I can't keep track of all those different suits - two different colors, four different shapes, all those numbers and those three ghastly people dressed in strange 15th century clothing!"

       On my way home I pulled into the grocery and was surprised when I knew off the top of my head that we needed olive oil, fabric softener, and black peppercorns. And out of the blue I thought about my son's arm that he injured recently skiing. He told me about it on the phone last night...oops! The 8 of clubs was good but it looks like my concentration wasn't. Gotta work on that a little.