Dec
30

Pattern Recognition

Tuesday night at the sectional, I’m glancing around at the other tables and wondering where the other B/C/D players disappeared to over the dinner break — the evening game bears an uncanny resemblance to the A/X game from that afternoon. I try not to alarm my partner and settle in to get my head handed to me.

Tuesday night also finds me fighting off that special kind of fatigue brought on by too little sleep followed by too much bridge. On Monday I had played 6 hours of bridge on 3 hours of sleep and that night I was working on 7 hours of bridge on 4 hours of sleep. The bottle of “5 Hour Energy” that I downed fifteen minutes before was absorbed into the haze without a trace. I’m amused by the image of the little running man on the cap, at that moment he looks to me to be running away and I can’t help but take it as a suggestion. My boards are going directly to two of the best players in the whole area and I thought that afternoon had been a blood bath.

All of which only serves to demonstrate how remarkable the human mind can be even when being treated so poorly. Part way into the evening and long after I’d forgotten my name, my manners and the bidding a familiar situation arose and my holding of Jxxxx while defending against 2NT raised an alarm somewhere in the back of my addled brain. A week ago, I had found myself in a very similar situation and escaped, but only just. In this case I had the luxury of some leeway with my initial discards and so was able to avoid discarding from the suit in question — not so remarkable until one considers it was all I could do to follow suit that night.

The human brain is built for pattern recognition, “The last time I heard that sound, I almost got eaten by a lion so I’m going to start running RIGHT NOW!” Good thing too because it isn’t as if I’m going to start getting enough sleep anytime soon.

Dec
27

The (Somewhat) Big(ger) Leagues

Today I’m off to a sectional tournament with a partner who has never played in a bridge tournament before. She asked what to expect and I said that it would essentially just be a big club game only the opponents would be somewhat crankier and the masterpoints would be somewhat shinier. I hope it turns out to be a good experience for her. I think the fact it is being held at a club will make it less intimidating, but I don’t think it is going to feel like much of an adventure either. I guess we’ll just have to look for excitement in the cards and they usually oblige.

Dec
24

And so on and so forth ….

The problem with screwing up on the very last hand of a session is the chain of events it puts into motion.

So first, by failing to play the queen of diamonds I ensured at trick two that I would never make the contract.

Then, making bad situations worse is sort of a speciality of mine so instead of off one, I contrived to be off two.

As a result, it took hours for me to fall asleep because I kept kicking myself back awake.

So later today, when I again find myself at the table, I’ll be ever so slightly sleep deprived which will catch up with me in the very last round just as the caffeine starts to wear off and then I’ll make some brain dead move that will keep me awake ….

Update:

This falls under the category of, “Why couldn’t I just leave well enough alone?” Something seemed vaguely familiar about the name of one of my opponents during that last round and now I’ve dug up the fact that he was the coauthor on one of my favorite bridge books. Just perfect.

Dec
23

Funny Guy

The Mad Scientist has struck again. This time I am partly to blame because I did ask for some clarification on our system in competition. His response came in the form of a color-coded chart (and, of course, the attendant symbol legend).

The title? “Simple Overcalls”.

Update:

I just received an update to the chart. It’s an ungodly hour of the morning and there are six and a half hours until game time.

Dec
22

Clubbed to Death

During a team match, my partner had (strongly) suggested we play steps over 2♣ openers and I had (reluctantly) agreed. Such is my luck, that just the sort of thing I had wanted to avoid happened during the second half of the match.

She opened 2♣ and I held:

♠xx
♥Jxxx
♦(void)
♣QJTxxxx

I wouldn’t be keen on taking a run at this hand playing 2♦ waiting; while a 3♣ bid would in that case at least show clubs, it would take up a lot of room. Having no idea what a 3♣ bid by me would mean under these circumstances, I decided to play by the rules (who me?) and bid 2♥ (showing 4-6 HCP). She bid 2NT (22-24 HCP). I bid 3♣ (Stayman). She bid 3♥. Having found an eight card major suit fit, I decided, to quote Falstaff, “The better part of valor is discretion.” Or, to put it another way, I signed off in 4♥ because I am a chicken. And, while I was being plagued by thoughts of our nine card club suit, I couldn’t for the life of me think of a reasonable way to explore it at that point.

To review, with the opponents silent through-out: 2♣-2♥*-2NT-3♣-3♥-4♥-All Pass

She put down:

♠AQx
♥AKQT
♦AJTxx
♣A

To make a long story short, the opening lead was a small spade and I made seven when the king of clubs dropped singleton under the ace and the hearts failed to split 5-0.

Some days I hate this game.

Dec
21

Elementary

He has me in his teeth, he just doesn’t know it yet. I saw it coming and so for the last three tricks I’ve been waiting to toss that small diamond on the table and look completely casual about it. My difficulty is compounded by the fact that the declarer in this case is often my partner so I’m rather worried about a tell, anything that might alert him to the fact I’m nervous. Now he switches to a diamond, a small one from his hand through my partner who has one, but only one, to the ace in dummy, I follow with another small diamond. The declarer hesitates. My heartbeat quickens. He saw the diamond discard, I know he did. Another small diamond from the dummy and declarer plays high. My partner shows out. Declarer fumes, “I knew she’d only discard from five!” Dummy is weighing a comment to the effect of, “Well, if you knew it, why didn’t you play her for it?” but wisely chooses to remain silent.

Later that night, I’m at the late showing of the new Sherlock Holmes movie. Robert Downey, Jr.’s character while not really Holmes is certainly inspired by the eponymous character. The fight sequences are telegraphed in advance, Downey’s Holmes playing through the likely sequence of events in his mind followed immediately by the actual, often almost identical, events. In that universe, incompetence abounds, but some of the characters (Holmes, Mycroft, Moriarity, and, to a lesser extent, Watson) are engaged in a high-stakes game the results of which depend upon an ability to anticipate the actions of others to a high degree of accuracy. Not surprisingly, it reminded me of bridge.

Dec
19

The Birth of Trix

“Don’t win a trick unless you know what you’re going to lead.” Sound advice until you realize just how irritated your partner is going to be with you if you start refusing ruffs and ducking winners on a regular basis just because you didn’t know what to do on the next trick. So the good news is the declarer just mis-guessed the two-way finesse and now that my queen has won, I need to find a graceful exit from my hand … only I can’t for the life of me remember what my partner played at trick two.

The second trick is crucial because we’re playing Reverse Smith Echoes which sounds like a pairs figure skating move, but is instead a way of clarifying our feelings about our opening lead. Partner is staring at me. He’s wondering what I’m thinking about. He told me at trick two whether or not he liked the suit he led so what is there to think about? Maybe he liked it, if he didn’t like it I’d have something legitimate to think about so the fact that he’s staring … is it legit to draw an inference from the stare? When I think my partner should know something I try not to look at them. Attempt to telepathically communicate the information to them? Yes. Stare at them? No. Maybe the floor will open up and swallow me and my cards, but we’re in a basement … good thing too or partner would throw me out a window right now if he could.

“Who’s lead is it?” The nice little old lady to my right is smiling at me, she knows exactly whose lead it is. She’s taunting me. She’s like a vulture, waiting for the lion to rip out my throat so she can stand by watching the spectacle and then pick at my abandoned carcass. Trick two, trick two, what was I thinking about at trick two? Oh right, the cell phone policy … a tinny sounding Jimmy Buffett song was playing at the other end of the room and I was wondering why they don’t enforce the no cell phone policy and then the person answered only to say they couldn’t talk right then because they were playing bridge, why do people answer the phone to say they can’t talk? Don’t they have voice-mail?

Too much time has gone by now. I’ve been put to a guess by Jimmy Buffett. If I guess wrong my partner will be furious because I wasn’t paying attention. But if I guess right my partner will be furious because it wouldn’t have taken me so long if I had been paying attention. The vulture is licking her lips. Do vultures have lips, like under their beak?

My partner is changing colors. I could change my name. I could throw my cards up into the air and run screaming from the club never to return. I could move to a different state and a different club where no one will know who I am, change my name and perhaps even convince the ACBL to give me a new player number, like a bad bridge player protection program. I could wear a wig and dark sunglasses whenever I played at a tournament under my new name. I’ve always liked the name, “Beatrix”. I could be “Trix” for short, that’s a cute bridge name.

It’s really weird that I’m not just considering quitting altogether, but let’s face it this isn’t the end of the world. It’s just one hand. It’s matchpoints even so relocating and playing under an assumed name is a perfectly rational reaction whereas quitting would be overboard. Well, if I’m going to move and change my name anyway I might as well lead what I want. “Hello, my name is Beatrix, but my friends just call me ‘Trix.”

Dec
18

Psychotic

The thing about the Hens is that no matter how snippy they are toward their opponents, they are much worse to one another. They have a lot to say to and about their opponents as well so it makes for a lot of chatter.

Hen #1 is clucking at Hen #2. I’m tuning them out, staring into the middle distance while absentmindedly shuffling my cards. I’m wondering if perhaps I could have made that contract after all, of course, I’m pretty happy with down one. I don’t think it could be made, but my feeling of contentment is short lived. My attention is drawn back to the present by the silence of the Hens; they have ceased their clucking and are looking at me expectantly.

“Sorry?”

“What did you have?” Hen #1 asks.

I shrug, shoving the packet of cards securely into the board, “Thirteen HCP, five hearts …”

“And in diamonds?” Hen #2.

“Three small.” It’s an admission, kind of.

“I’m reporting you for a psyche bid,” Hen #1′s feathers are ruffled, “Director!” And then to Hen #2, “If she wants to play games …”

“If I didn’t want to play games, I wouldn’t be in a bridge club,” I mutter, but they hear me. The Hens fall silent. The director arrives at the table. The Hens begin to squawk. My partner who has until this point been silent jumps into the fray. Things are getting ugly. The director wants to see my hand. This particular director seems not to like me very much. Once in the midst of explaining to her partner just why the score they had gotten was so bad, she gestured at me while saying, “Well a NORMAL person would have bid …” At the time it made my night, but it was a rather grim reflection at this particular moment.

“It’s not a pysch bid!” my partner is yelling. The whole club is silent. Everyone is staring; no one is playing. I’m silent too. The director is staring at me now, “If you make another bid like that you’ll be penalized a quarter board or something, I don’t know what it is. Don’t make me look it up.” I nod. I don’t think it was a psych. I think it was a bad bid and I think I got away with it. I think the opponents are pretty angry that they let me get away with it. I’m going to agree so that everyone will be quiet and we can get on to the second hand of the day. I’m going to agree so that the director won’t penalize my partner for insubordination, though I assume if there is one, she’d have to look up the penalty for that as well. I’m going to agree because there are far worse things than having a reputation as someone who on occasion makes a psych bid.

Later my partner will demand a definition of a psych bid, and, then subsequently a definition of the word “grossly”. But for now peace is restored at the table and we’re on to the next hand. The Hens’ bidding goes astray somewhere and soon enough they are clucking at each other again which is as it should be.

An e-mail I sent to one of my regular partners retelling the events of the day was met by a story about the Hens insisting that a penalty double of a 1NT opening bid should have been alerted. They had called the director after the hand had been played and insisted the declarer would have played the hand differently had they known that the double had been for penalty. To their mind, not only are all artificial bids alertable, so are all natural bids they don’t like.

The next day I arrive at the club and as I approach that day’s director to pay my card fee, she greets me with “No psyching! And if you do psych you have to tell them after the bidding,” I stare, mouth slightly agape. I’m trying to decide if that’s an ACBL rule or a club rule or what. I manage to shut my mouth before saying anything I might regret. She wasn’t going to let me get a word in edgewise anyway, and eventually I realize she’s talking about a different hand from another day entirely. Not a psych bid either, for the record, I’d just forgotten we were playing a conventional 2♦ opening. I got a good result. The opponents claimed they didn’t double me in 5♦ because they thought my opening had been a full opening hand; but either they believe me or they believe their partner and once I pull my partner’s double of 4♠ it should be clear who’s lying. Still I can think of worse things than being a player that other people assume is psyching when in reality I’ve just forgotten what I agreed to play.

A few days later an eMail landed in my inbox from one of the friendlier experts who was there the day the director had been called. His e-mail said he “partly overheard” (which is a polite way of saying, he couldn’t help but overhear) and wanted to know the particulars of the hand in question (if I didn’t mind, of course, he really is very nice) because he’d never heard of such a ruling. I sent him the hand, noted that I didn’t think it was a psych. He spoke to a couple of local tournament directors who agreed it wasn’t a psych (the consensus seems to be it wasn’t a psych, just a bad bid). The Hens, it turns out, are known to these tournament directors, one noted that he spent half his time at their table whenever they played in an event. The other noted that they were experienced enough that I should have gotten the bad bid shoved down my throat (I’m paraphrasing, but that was the gist of it) and that they are in particular known for not alerting their own system properly. I’ve witnessed that first hand, but I’m not much for calling the director — especially ones who don’t like me.

In the end, I’m left pondering an important question: Just when does a bad big become a psych? After all, I have a reputation to consider.

Dec
17

Dream Sequence

The buzzer went off just as I was realizing a line of play that would enable me to set up the moth-eaten heart suit, clinching the contract. The line of play evaporated into mist. My hand shot out from under the covers to smack the snooze button. In the next nine minutes, the suit re-materialized but the line of play did not.

I’ve always been a prolific dreamer, my dreams are often both vivid and strange and I seem to recall an awful lot of them. Nowadays, more than anything else, I dream about bridge. Every day, in my dreams there is bridge being played and bridge being watched. I literally dream about new conventions.

Just the other night the Mad Scientist sent me some notes on a convention we had discussed (specifically, TOPS – Transfer Openings Pre-emptive or Strong) and I glanced them over before going to bed. My dreams found me defending against a pair playing that system. When I awoke there was another e-mail, with a refined version — I guess I wasn’t the only one thinking about it overnight. I saw TMS at the club later that day and noted that I been dreaming about the system and I felt that it would enable the opponents to double our riskier preemptive bids easily — a trade off I wasn’t ready to make, especially with my penchant for far-reaching pre-emptive bids in 3rd seat. I hadn’t really given much conscious thought to it, but this was clearly the Achilles heal of the system and TMS agreed.

On another occasion, while away at a tournament, I sat down for the evening open pairs session and on the first hand found myself playing a pretty cozy 3NT contract with 30 HCP between my partner and I. The dust cleared and I was off one. I tried to put it out of my head for the rest of the session, but it was the first hand I looked at on the hand record. Yes, there were two 6-0 breaks, but the hand record claimed it could be made. I stared at it. My partner started at it. Lots of people seemed to be looking at because in a big room full of bridge players only two had actually brought it home and they seemed nowhere to be found — even double dummy it looked impossible. I went to bed that night hoping my need for sleep would trump my need to solve that brain teaser of a hand. I awoke at 5 AM with the answer, but I wasn’t able to fall back asleep and, frankly, I felt as if I had spent the five hours between not sleeping but working that hand out.

Yesterday I was again at the table with TMS. A week ago we mis-defended a hand that boiled down to my desperately needing a heart to be led, and him not believing that I could have the holding that I had and therefore not lending much credence to my signals. Today he solemnly vowed to lead a heart when I asked for one, I mentioned that he had not done so in my dreams that morning. I didn’t mention that in that case I forgave him because a velociraptor had burst into the club which caused a bit of a distraction right in the middle of the hand. (And yes we did keep playing once the dinosaur had moved on. Remember, in a bridge club you don’t have to be able to outrun the dinosaur, you only have to be able to outrun the other bridge players — not a tall order in most cases.)

Dec
16

The System, it is a-Changin’

I check my e-mail before I’m even fully awake. There is one from my expert partner, a mad scientist who uses me as a guinea pig for a system of his own invention. The subject line is: “[System] Update”. “Uh-oh,” I think. I do not open the attachment yet. I need to be more fully awake for that.

Later on I brace myself and open the attachment. I print it out without even looking at it. I don’t need to look at it to know I will want a hard copy that I can mark up with a highlighter … and maybe stickers. It’s a good thing I have a fetish for office supplies.

I feel a sense of relief when I retrieve the document from the printer and find that it is only one page this time. But anyone eavesdropping on me in the moments that followed as I read over the page might have (perhaps rightly) thought me a lunatic, especially as I read certain lines aloud with commentary (also aloud): “‘This would normally show a non-minimum and be the start of a short suit game try (SSGT). It is changed to show (a) a SSGT in a red suit or (b) a 5332 15-19 HCP hand.’ Seriously? He has to be … ‘a red suit’ Seriously?!”

In truth, my sense of outrage is short-lived and it does not run terribly deep. The changes make sense, it is just that my brain doesn’t want to process the new sequences. My brain is at its core a very lazy entity.