Apr
07

My Contract for a Trump Trick

I got to play a particularly interesting hand today. I had all of the information I needed to make it and even considered what would turn out to be the best line of play, but I went down one like most of the room. (So now that I’ve gotten to the first step of at least thinking of the correct option, I just need to start choosing it once in awhile.)

Ironically the trump lead which is the only lead that can hold it to four also makes the correct line of play glaringly obvious because it makes a trump loser inevitable. A link to the hand can be found here.

Unfortunately, I eschewed the cross-ruff (mostly due to my concerns about my low trump spots) in favor of picking up my RHO’s long trump. If I had instead chosen to embrace the trump loser, with the lead I received (a small heart), I can actually make an overtrick.

Mar
26

Speed Freak

“I may not be good, but I’m fast.” I’ve said those words dozens, if not hundreds of times, by way of acknowledging that my partner and I are once again sitting around waiting for the next table. Some days at the club it feels like I spend more time waiting to play than actually playing.

Not that playing quickly isn’t without consequences, I’ve made more than my fair share of ridiculous errors like calling for a card from dummy that I meant to play on the next trick or not really seeing the opponent’s card before I play, which is as inexcusable as they come as far mistakes go. As fast as I play, sometimes I just end up ahead of myself.

As much as one hears complaints about slow play, to my surprise some of my opponents have actually complained about my playing too fast. When one person at a table is playing at an excruciating slow rate they are, whether they mean to or not, foisting their pace on everyone at the table; but my pulling cards from my own hand without a moment’s hesitation (or, some might say, thought) does not wrench the cards from the opponent’s hands any quicker — much as I might like it to in some cases.

The expert types that I’ve come to admire do pause to ponder the unseen far more frequently than I do. I know their ability to play the cards better than I do is related to whatever it is they’re thinking about at these crucial junctures, but while I may know enough to realize a hand has reached a key play, I can only very rarely tell just what it is they’re working out.

Just the other day at the club, one of these quieter expert types was waiting at my table for the next round and our respective partners had wandered off. Out of the blue he said, “You play fast. I mean, REALLY fast.” “Yeah, it’s kind of a problem,” I said. He shrugged, “But if that’s just how your brain works.” My brain, when it works at all, works fast. When I slow down I get lost, start to second guess myself, often losing the thread of my thoughts altogether.

I have this nagging fear that to get to where I want to be I am going to have to tear down the way I declare a hand and start from scratch because there’s a lot I’m doing by feel and that’s only going to get me so far. “Card sense” doesn’t take as long as analysis, it isn’t as hard either, maybe I’m this fast because I’m lazy. Maybe I should worry about eliminating the stupid mistakes before I start worrying about improving declaring technique, but maybe they’re the same thing and, of course, there’s much more to bridge than just card play. This game so often feels like a sinking ship, every time I fix one leak another one appears somewhere else.

Jan
21

On a Winter’s Day

You win battles by knowing the enemy’s timing, and using a timing which the enemy does not expect. – Miyamoto Musashi

The car gave up the ghost in Winchester and no amount of cursing or coaxing would convince it do otherwise. Three hours and $140 later, I was hugging the hair-pin curves through the picturesque gash of Harper’s Ferry. The radio fought to keep a bead on “California Dreamin’” and my cell phone had dropped signal long ago. It occurred to me that there — with the tight two lanes and minimal shoulder, rock face festooned with frozen waterfalls immediately to my right and sudden drop leading to the Shenandoah off toward the left — well, that would have been a much worse place to find myself stranded. Timing is everything.

Like a lot of people I struggle with timing at the bridge table. There are subtle ways, a seemingly innocuous opening lead giving the declarer enough breathing room to make a close contract; and, not so subtle ways, failing to cash an ace at what will turn out to be the one and only opportunity. Surprisingly often during the post hand analysis I see the issue of timing disregarded altogether and I’ve committed that tiny error more than once myself.

The issue of the number of tricks that are available to either side fluctuating through-out the life cycle of a hand is a fascinating one. As the hand record is all too quick to note, with perfect defense and play, there is only one number of tricks available to either side in a given contract. However, imperfect beings that we are, the results at the table are more complicated than that and, as illustrated by this entry, it’s difficult to come up with a useful, coherent exploration of the subject.

Unfortunately my detour via tow truck to downtown Winchester prevented me from getting to visit the National Museum of Civil War Medicine as I had planned. Speaking of Civil War medicine, I think leading toward a singleton king should be known as an amputation coupe.