WORTH THE WAIT

Waiting patiently is one of those occupations Senior Citizens, especially bridge playing ones are very good at; if waiting patiently was a recognised Olympic sport we elderly bridge players would win gold medals galore. We patiently wait at the doctor’s surgery….. at the supermarket checkout….. for the cat  to come in at night. We also wait during interminable television advertisements offering to lend us money at usurious rates of interest and wonder why the return on our own savings is so pitifully small in comparison. Then of course there is the most patient wait of all ….. the time when we can look at our hand and confidently open the bidding with seven no-trumps.

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INCOGNITO

David Berwitz, bridge teacher and committee member of Christchurch Bridge Club Dorset writes:

I was playing with a new partner the other day.
He misplayed the first 2 contracts and went down on both.
I was very controlled and didn’t say a word
He then misplayed the very next contract and went 2 off in a stone cold 3NT
He looked up at me and asked ” Well David how should I have played that contract?”
I looked back at him and said ” Under an assumed name “

GIMLET-EYED GERT RULES

The Americanism ‘Never give a sucker an even break’ is a philosophy widely adopted by bridge players, none more so than by Gimlet-eyed Gert. She is a stickler for the rules and heaven help any opponent who breaks them, Hoyle can teach her nothing. The following examples will suffice.

“You’re not allowed to do that” she snarled. I asked what it was that I was not allowed to do. “Scratch your nose as your partner is about to bid” she replied. I pointed out, reasonably enough I thought that I had scratched my nose because it itched; to prove my point I sneezed loudly. Gert fixed me with a glare that would have felled a Giant Redwood at a hundred paces saying as she did so “How dare you come here infecting me with your wretched germs, leave the room immediately”. I meekly complied, as I left the hall she summoned the director to take my place, he too meekly complied.

More recently: “If you make a bid I will call the director”. Puzzled I asked why?

“You passed, I made a bid, your partner hesitated before passing now you’re hesitating, it’s against the rules” she said. I protested that I was not hesitating, merely pondering.

“Stuff and nonsense, pondering, hesitating, they mean the same thing. What were you pondering about anyway”? I gave what I thought was rather a clever reply; I told her I was pondering whether to have baked beans on toast or macaroni cheese for my supper.

“May I remind you, you are here to play bridge not worry about what to stuff in your belly, you’re too fat anyway”.

It’s no use arguing with Gert, she will always have the last word.

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HOLD THAT TIGER

“When you become too old for sex it’s like getting a tiger off your back”. So said Socrates (the philosopher not the footballer) a long time ago. It may have been Aristotle who said it; anyway it was one of those wise old Greeks. A modern day philosopher might well say “When you become too old for sex you take up bridge” You thus replace one tiger on your back with another!

THINGS THEY NEVER TAUGHT YOU AT SCHOOL

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‘Divorced beheaded died. Divorced beheaded survived’.

The journalistic adage ‘never let the truth stand in the way of a good story’ equally applies to writers of historical events. Fiction and fact merge; modern historical writers would have us believe that Henry VIII took on six wives to either cock a snook at the Vatican or produce a lusty male heir  or maybe both. Nothing could be further from the truth; Henry was simply looking for a good reliable bridge partner, not for nothing was he known as ‘Bluff King Hal’.

To his credit Henry stuck with the first Mrs.Tudor for best part of twenty-four years, eventually he grew tired of her constant revoking and gave her the old heave-ho, she appealed to the Pope as the EBU was at that time non-existent, the pontiff prevaricated and she was forced to depart. Anne Boleyn swiftly followed and for a time all went well; she was a spirited lass who could hold her corner but her unwise infatuation with the striker of West Ham football club led to her downfall, one day she was happily blowing bubbles; the next, for her, it was the unkindest cut of all.

With Jane Seymour it was a different kettle of fish altogether, her union with Henry was a true matching of souls, fate decreed they be together for just one year when poor Jane due to the lack of penicillin died prematurely. Henry was inconsolable and for three years gave up playing bridge, it was only when his envoy to the Low Countries who, noticing a young girl from Cleves playing cards sent her as a possible partner. It was to be an ill fated venture, the envoy failed to realise the only card game little Annie could play was happy families. She was quickly packed off to a grace and favour castle where she spent the rest of her days doing good works and organising gymkhanas.

You have to feel sorry for Kathryn Howard; she was but a slip of a wench when Henry, thirty years her senior, took her on. She should have made sure he was her sole partner, as it was she played the field and her coming of age bash was not the one she had in mind.

Kate Parr definitely had her head screwed on the right way; she had the good sense to employ a sleight of hand artist as the royal card shuffler whose mandate was to ensure that Henry always received strong biddable hands….. They both lived happily ever after.

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RABBITS REVENGE

It has to be admitted, most members of local bridge clubs are rabbits; the social aspect of our weekly get together is as important to us as is our scores. It also has to be admitted that there are a few really strong players around for whom the score is everything: bash the bunnies is their motto.

When confronted by really strong players we rabbits usually adopt a policy of keeping our powder dry and our heads below the parapet, after a few hands they will depart leaving us to lick our wounds. It doesn’t have to be this way; we can by borrowing a leaf from the book ‘One-upmanship’ by the late Stephen Potter strike back.

Recognising really strong players is easy enough, they have a habit of picking their noses whilst at the same time chomping away at a Subway Veggie Burger spluttering crumbs over all and sundry as they do so, the most remarkable thing about them however is their appearance; it is in a word; scruffy!

What you must do when really strong players join you is say to your partner in the most disarming manner “Isn’t amazing how scruffy very good players are”. Your partner equally disarmingly must reply “Yes, and some of them are remarkably smelly as well”. That’s all there is to it, you may well still be trounced by the really strong players but the inner glow of satisfaction you experience as they leave your table and surreptitiously sniff under their armpits as they depart more than makes up for this.

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