As one who came of age way back in the heyday of flower children and free love, when easy virtue was its own reward,
the possibility of one day becoming a bona fide sexagenarian held an intriguing appeal. Eventually I bankrupted the Vegas bookies by living long enough to achieve this long-cherished ambition but you can imagine my chagrin on learning that the main benefit now accruing to me was merely the right to compete in Seniors bridge events. After a suitable period of dignified grief, I decided I might as well try to make the most out of it then.
Along the way I’d transferred my whereabouts and eventually my WBF affiliation to this splendid land of Croatia, and in 2014 when we were to host the European Championships in the lovely town of Opatija, the local authorities conscripted me to wage battle under my new red-white-&-blue flag, together with a stalwart quintet of indigenous veterans to raise whatever hell we could. For starters, most of the gang had never played in a European Championship, and one combatant had within the same fortnight fled his hospital bed during recovery from a heart attack while adamantly vetoing a well-meaning suggestion by the Federation that he might be replaced for the forthcoming fray — plus your author was but a rank neophyte in Seniors competition. Hence our aspirations were not unduly exalted. Our goals were simply: (1) to be impeccable hosts; (2) while still making our presence keenly felt on the field of battle, and so: (3) to give periodic cause for exultation to those members of our Federation who would be cheering us on all around the Republic; (4) but to visit total financial ruin on any other members of said Federation who might have secretly wagered on a more dismal outcome; and (5) above all to emerge victorious from any contest in which the matchups might pit us against one of our geographical neighbors and hence perennial rivals. It is, after all, the Sacred Honor of the Village which is of paramount importance, however large or small the relevant village may be.
Happily, we did achieve most of these modest objectives. I can however attest with some surprise that six decades of decadence was still inadequate preparation for the grueling challenges, both physical and even more so psychological, which await all who survive long enough to reach this crowning capstone phase of their bridge careers. In this narrative I will NOT be focusing on the awesome feats of derring-do performed by certain bridge luminaries we encountered (many of whom have been certified world-class champions for eons) so as to emphasize that the Force is still strong within the aged warriors. You are simply instructed to believe that is so. Instead, the main intent of this log is to amuse and forewarn, rather than to instill profound awe in my readers at their geriatric prowess. Accordingly the experiences related here will feature a droll selection of quaint and poignant moments that have left the strongest impression on me from a “Human Comedy” perspective.
These little bijoux for me most typify the atmosphere of this enjoyable event, in which the continent’s Gladiators Emeritus do their utmost to keep the faith with Dylan Thomas’ classic exhortation “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” (or in this case Fight). Because despite the frequent demonstrations of unabated mastery, time has lamentably taken some toll on all of us. Here and there a step has been lost, the eye drifts away from the ball, and although memories of a first kiss long ago may be as vivid as any other lightning bolt, we may have just overlooked that someone discarded on the first round of trumps. I do not bother with such mundane clichés as leads out of turn, revokes, or insufficient bids, banalities which routinely litter all three Medal Series at virtually every Championship. My little curios all involve something at least a bit more piquant than those garden-variety consequences of a lapse in attention.
Exhibit A: “It’s going to be a looonnnnggggg tournament” — Tale of the Other King of Clubs
As hosts we were featured on Vu-Graph in the opening match, and against the current holders, FRANCE. I extracted the S hand below from the very first board and when partner opened a strong 1N, for me this was an automatic raise to 3N. After mature reflection, Francois Leenhardt finally fished out a club spot, and already a pile of IMPs was up for grabs as both possible games could conceivably either make or fail:
If playing 4H, declarer must be instantly battle-ready right on the first deal, accurately leading a spade to the nine on the first round of that suit as an extra-chance play. Meanwhile back at our own 3N ranch, the defense has only to cash out the club suit — but accidents (and miracles) do occasionally happen. Leenhardt could hardly be expected to block the suit, even in a Posthumous Teams, but it is not totally impossible for W to play the lead to be from a three-card holding and accordingly return a small club at trick two. After all, for example, sneaky players will sometimes bash to 3N holding surprise major-suit playability and weak clubs, for fear that Stayman might get doubled for a fatal lead. Slim chance at best, to be sure, but hope springs eternal. And indeed, what happened next amply confirmed that mysterious factors can produce some very quirky effects — first-board jitters, Vu-Graph anxiety, caffeine deficiency, or the dreaded “Generation-Z” Force can all be highly disruptive to bridge focus.
Once the lead hit the table everyone followed promptly to the first trick, won by the King — which the defender then twirled about thoughtfully in his fingers as he pondered his next move: “Should I try to cash five quick clubs? Could the lead be from a tripleton? Oops … for that matter, am I even 100% certain which club was led? For example, was it the nine?” Everyone else had long ago turned their cards face down as a matter of course, but at length W concluded his five-finger exercise with the king of clubs and slapped it down on the table again face up and began to ask to see everyone’s card again (which was his right as he had never turned his own card over, so it was not yet a quitted trick). Unfortunately, before W could get a syllable out declarer simply assumed that declarer was done deliberating and was now leading his other club honor to trick two (no doubt having fatalistically expected this dreaded outcome all along), and accordingly put the club queen on the table. Once the defenders had finished digesting what had occurred and the associated implications, W eventually continued with the club ace, while E carefully unblocked his ten, allowing five clubs to be run for down one. Wistful but as yet unperturbed (because I naively expected a push board, though not in every theatrical detail), nevertheless I heaved a deep sigh and privately reflected “It is going to be a looonnnnggggg tournament.” Lose 11, great start.
Exhibit B: Pass-Double Inversion & Directional Asking Bids, Croatian-style — Tale of the Eight of Clubs
The curious feature of my next miniature does not feature an irregularity — at least, not as that term is used in the Laws. However since the situation arose as a result of my bidding, many would say that by definition irregularity was centrally involved. Once again it was the first board of a match, now against Germany (who eventually carried off the B final), and once again I sat in the S seat for the deal below:
I have long been preaching to any who would listen (and she agrees) that against such weak two-suited openings one should add a full trick to one’s values (or a second trick to the one already added in all circumstances). Thus to keep the faith with my own dictum, I started with a takeout double planning to rebid spades, rejecting the more orthodox alternative of Spades-then-Double. This produced a sticky situation when W raised and it came back to me, as now I faced a partner who had passed twice so the aggressive campaign was even riskier. Stubborn as ever, I stuck to Plan A and at last partner came to life with 3N. The stakes were soon raised to an uncomfortable level when W, who understandably was not impressed with the sound of our auction, chose to double. A heart went to the jack and king and in short order we were +550, despite the 4-1 club break, thanks to partner’s club eight which provided a crucial tenace in the suit. His heart nine was also a potentially vital asset, as it made the contract foolproof on any other lead as well, by providing a late stop in the suit if declarer is obliged to lead a diamond to the queen to establish a ninth trick, whereupon W would then shoot the heart jack through.
The hand is presented here not to showcase my dubious bidding, nor to celebrate the gratifying result, but rather for reasons reflected in the subtitle above. In theory the doubler should have the strong hand and the two-time passer a comparatively weak hand, and at least superficially that description seems to apply in this case. Yet the hand I had trumpeted as a rock-crusher took only three tricks, while it was my seemingly silent partner who contributed two-thirds of the tricks to our game. It was an unusual variant of the concept “Pass-Double Inversion”– or from anther standpoint my sequence proved the equivalent of a directional ask which said: “I have some high cards — can your passed hand produce a stopper and a source of tricks plus some crucial spot-cards just in case?”
Exhibit C: Sleeping Dogs Lie — Tale of the Queen of Hearts
Fast-forwarding here to the final match of this loooonnnnggggg tournament, our team was now playing exclusively for the Sacred Honor of the Village, as we were at long last confronting a team from our own neighborhood, the delegation from Slovenia. Despite extremely amicable relations, we were still keen to achieve this last and most important of our team objectives by taking no prisoners. Unfortunately, things quickly felt like they had started ill for us, and to make matters worse I had just misguessed the trump queen in 4S for a possible swing away. Still brooding darkly over my ill-fated choice on that deal, moodily I withdrew the N hand below from its slot:
We will not delve deeply into the auction, except to report that it began as it ended: with three passes. 4H was then reached in brisk fashion (1H-2H-4H), whereupon my LHO screenmate suddenly sank into a trance. I could only conclude that he had some sort of very distributional hand which was light in high cards so he hadn’t felt it safe to enter the auction vulnerable — that is, until we had shown a significant fit from which he concluded that his side likewise had a good fit. Eventually he passed, which seemed inevitable since it is very hard to justify remaining silent until opponents reach game and then suddenly entering the auction, especially vulnerable. He duly led out queen then ace of spades. As he might easily have a diamond honor too, the position of the heart queen was marked. After a trump to the ace and another one to the supremely confident jack, a cruel surprise befell me. In a mild daze I asked if I might see the silent-throughout dealer’s entire hand, and he sheepishly exposed his reasonable facsimile of a strong NT for me to read and weep, all the while profusely apologizing for having slept through the auction until my 4H bid. There was little I could do but laugh it off and graciously reply: “It’s no problem, my friend, we all have to win IMPs whenever and however we can.”
Happily things picked up after that, and teammates produced a fine set. So when we conducted our comparison the rather ironic good news was that the dozen IMPs lost on the hand above were almost the only ones conceded in the whole match. So despite the myriad wounds suffered throughout this very loooonnnnggg event, our final Parthian shot enabled us to make our exit from the European Seniors with unfurrowed brows and heads held high.
In closing, I want to thank our captain, Tvrtko Perkovic, and all my gallant teammates: Davor Antonic, Slobodan Babic, Zvonko Petrovic, and especially my partner Goran “Bumbar” Lamza. The deepest appreciation of all, however, I offer to our sixth Musketeer, the intrepid Zeljko Pintaric (aka Pinta), the aforementioned refugee from Intensive Cardiac Care who refused to malinger in bed surrounded by a bevy of gorgeous nurses attending to his every need, when his country needed his services in Opatija. The world still needs heroes, Pinta. Even crazy ones. You are an inspiration to us all.