The strange, enduring world of bridge, and the people who play it
Bridge games are supposed to be ruled by civility and politeness. But there are exceptions ...
Bridge is a card game that is and has been enjoyed by millions around the world, both the famous — with the likes of Warren Buffett, Bill Gates, and Omar Sharif — and the infamous — like James Bond (in Moonraker he made a Seven Club bid, doubled and redoubled!) and Myrtle Bennett who, in 1929, killed her husband after a particularly difficult bridge game (he failed to make a contract of Four Spades).
Even Snoopy has been known to play the card game in one interesting comic strip.
For me, playing bridge was an entry to the dating scene, not always easy on the ego when your card sense was the measuring stick and nothing else mattered. I’m not sure whether it was my politics or card sense that destroyed one particular relationship. Another memorable time involving the game of bridge took place on the Empress of England when my partner was a handsome traveller who drank Scotch. I learned a lot that time. I liked the game but hated the drink. I don’t remember the fellow’s name.
Later, while married, bridge was the mainstay of my husband’s and my social life. They say you always remember the first time. Well, I do.
My first was a small slam bid, 6 Clubs, one trick short of a Grand Slam. During those years most Saturday evenings found us playing kitchen table bridge, a relaxed version of the real game. We never played one bids. Not worth it, we thought!
Little did we know. We argued about our bids’ meanings with fervour and, I must admit, were sometimes less than polite (usually with our spouses), but feelings were assuaged over dessert. Know that kitchen table bridge is a distant cousin of the real game, duplicate, with its rules and regulations.
There’s an old joke that asks who is it easier to talk to, a bridge player or a serial killer? Simple — it’s the latter because you can reason with a serial killer. After all, faced with incriminating evidence, the murderer will admit defeat. Not so the duplicate bridge player who, though he says he’s a stickler for the rules, will still point out there are exceptions to these rules.
This is the bridge player’s defence when caught short. He may be failing to make a contract, ignoring a partner’s lead or doubling a legitimate bid. Or he could have reneged. Maybe he even failed to recognize a conventional bid for what it was and missed alerting the opposition (a real crime). The list is long but most bridge players know it by heart. A bridge game, be it contract or the more perverse duplicate variety, is all about using the grey matter as Hercule Poirot said. His creator, Agatha Christie, set one of her mysteries around the bridge table, having the card game assume even more deadly consequences than bruised egos. Apparently boosting one’s grey matter gives the person more compassion, but, I’m afraid, not all bridge players exhibit this.
The game of bridge can be a cutthroat experience as witnessed by the vocabulary of the game: attack them when they’re vulnerable, pre-emptive strikes, penalty points, putting them down, the dreaded finesse or trumped and going for slam! Bridge techniques take on a cloak-and dagger approach. Watch out for squeeze plays, artificial bids, spurious card signals and doubles.
Speaking of doubles they come in all sizes. There’s the negative double, a takeout double, cubed double.
It all sounds duplicitous but fear not. Bridge games are supposed to be ruled by a zero-tolerance policy that is simple. Be kind, be pleasant, be courteous. Generally these guidelines are observed but you’ll sometimes receive a gratuitous lesson from a player even though it’s frowned upon. It might be better to leave your feelings at the door, play one’s cards close to the chest and memorize this limerick:
A player going by the name of Stan (non de plume)
Plays bridge wherever he can He knows every rule
But is a bit of a tool,
Now nobody will play with the man.