For all the sad words of tongue or pen
The saddest of these: "It might have been!"
--Whittier
Many a bridge player has surveyed the disaster of a six suit bid, doubled and down two, with the declaration: "If only we'd had that ace" of "If only trump would have split." Naturally then he'd have successfully negotiated the contract and could have settled back while the opposition held the post-mortem.
The game of bridge has more "if onlys" connected to it than possibly any other fun game played. Because no two hands are alike, there's always the element of surprise and the constant hope that possibly the next hand will be better.
It's a game where conversation is possible and probable. A game where the long suffering male holds his hand and his temper, while the female members of the bridge table settle major fashion problems.
"Marge got her hair done at the Spit Curl and was told she's been wearing it all wrong, and she does look so much younger. Have you seen her? What did you bid Frank? Did you bid anything Jean? I'm mixed up, can we review the bidding again? Oh well, I have to pass anyway."
Now if men play partners in a friendly two couple foursome, you'd think with their concentration on the game they'd always be the winners. But 'tis not so, and to prove it there's a little remark constantly used by the bridge playing fraternity: "Any darn fool can play if he gets the cards."
Now I wouldn't say that really. There also has to be a certain card sense and a good memory connected to this expert bridge playing. It's darn right embarrassing to get down to the point where numbers count--and not remember if your eight is the high card out. Now this may make the difference between making the contract or going down one.
Bridge has a jargon all its own. Words like: game,set, pass, dummy, slam, rubber, and suit are only a few. In this day and age of competition a bridge game with strangers can be anything but a "for fun" contest.
Maybe you can remember that party you and your husband attended? Present were couples whose names you only mentioned in awe or anger around your family table. There were the bosses or bosses wives and of course bridge. Now your husband plays bridge well, but how about you? Oh you manage fine in that neighborhood gals group that meets every two weeks and manage to incidentally squeeze in six hands between conversation. Or you've never had any trouble in the couples group, but they're good friends and wouldn't stay that way if they criticized your bridge playing.
Don't panic though. I recall at such a party taking the tally out of my hostesses' hand with hot fingers and praying I'd avoid being paired with any of the cold eyed boss men in the room. Naturally I got one whose bridge playing prowess ha been mentioned in all the towns where the company maintained plants.
My next prayer was not for a clear head or stout heart. Just that I'd get a run of lousy cards so I could legally and rightly pass. Now in this passing business you can't lie. Not if your partner opens and you can help but don't--or can make and opening bid yourself but don't. Sorta shows up when the cards start falling.
Naturally I had a card count which would have pleased Goren but turned my blood cold and my hands icy. This fellow would sure think I was a real mistake in Pop's career, but I hung on to one thin ray of hope. I could give the bid always to him by raising his suit most times and then I could just relax and be myself--the dummy.
This worked splendidly for two games and my partner thawed with the warm glow of a seven hundred rubber under his belt.
I relaxed too and actually bid a suit which he raised promptly to game. As he put his cards down, I suddenly couldn't remember how to play this stupid game. I must have turned white as my partner busily checked his pockets for cigarettes. Not finding any he went to the hall closet for his overcoat pocket while I frantically rushed ahead and played in his absence. I made it and two hands later when I again got zoomed doing the playing he helped the host refill glasses so he wasn't around to watch me fumble a close two bid. He was nice. I dislike that person who stands over your shoulder, glanced at all the hands and regulates his breathing by the cards you play.
So take heart gals--it's only a game and remember most men are good, but "trained by the wife" players. They're long suffering, seldom critical and expand generously when questioned like: "How could I have made that?" Or, "What was really my bid?"
But beware of substituting at a women's afternoon bridge club. Find out first how seriously they take the game. Nothing can wither you down faster, and make you a total bridge abstainer, than a tongue lashing from the gal whose cards you've misplayed.
If you do meet up with a dedicated, no holds barred player and she begins her critical survey, just smile sweetly, hold your temper, and completely deflate her anger by complimenting her. You'll break her self righteous bubble or indignation and she'll decide you're the most charming, sweetest gal they've ever had substitute--even if you can't play bridge.
Written February 27, 1964.
To the "Greatest Generation" bridge was very popular among couples. Pop played bridge with fellow officers on the transport ship to Algiers (according to his war diary) in between sea sicknesses. Of course Mom played and used her bridge club as a source of information and comments to use in her articles. Bridge was also a source of friendships. Some of them lasted the rest of their lives.
I am surprised that, with the importance of bridge in their lives, she didn't write about it more than this.