PLAYING DUPLICATE

As I wrote a few months ago, I play contract bridge every Friday evening with my Brebeuf buddies. As well engaging in some friendly competition, it’s an excuse to catch up on our week, pick on Mario (he seldom gets good cards) and share a few wobbly pops.

When I was invited this past week by my friend and former teaching colleague Alexandra Stefaniw to be the fourth at her bridge table, I jumped at the chance to take my game on the road.

Alexandra introduced me to her husband Myron and her lifelong friend Mary and revealed that they’d all been taking lessons on the finer points of the game. I was delighted to finally be with people who actually knew how to bid properly. Sorry boys.

As the game began, Alexandra explained that we would be scoring using the duplicate bridge way. I had heard a lot about duplicate and was eager to see how it differed from my usual game.

The first hand turned out to be a simple two Spades bid that I began to play out.

“No, no, Mike,” Alexandra said gently. “Don’t touch the cards in the dummy. Everyone plays their own hand. If you win the trick, simply place your card face down in front of you in a vertical position, horizontally if you lose the trick. That’s how we do it in duplicate.”

OK, I thought, certainly more hygienic than what I had planned but as the game unfolded, I really began to miss the tactile satisfaction associated with gathering in a winning trick.

A few deals later, I opened the auction with one Heart. Mary to my left said one No Trump and my partner raised the ante to two Clubs. Next to bid was Myron. Quickly doing the math (13+16+10), I blurted out,

“You know Myron, you really can’t bid with one point in your hand.”

He looked at me as though I was Houdini before breaking out in laughter.

“You’re absolutely right. I guess I’ll have to pass.”

Mary, his partner, wasn’t laughing however.

“Mike, you can’t talk that way. You’d be sanctioned for a comment like that in tournament play.”

Yikes! Mary doesn’t realize that I like being a jerk sometimes.

Thankfully, I knew Mary wasn’t in charge of the delightful treats I could see in the kitchen. Unlike games at chez Michel, no Cheezie snacks here.

On my best behaviour for at least the next forty five minutes, we then decided to change partners. I was with Myron now. I began to get a bit restless with the pace of the game as I placed my jack of Diamonds face down in front of me before my opponent even had a chance to select her card.

“Mike, you can’t do that,” Alexandra corrected. “That’s intimidation. Tournament officials would be all over you for that.”

Now I felt like Ty Domi and wondered if Alexandra was about to send me to the penalty box.

Myron, my newest ally, came to my defense like a lawyer who pleads insanity for his client.

“He didn’t know. Besides, Mary was going to play a Diamond anyway.”

I now held out the slim hope that Myron was the one in charge of the treats in the kitchen.

Of course I’m exaggerating. Alexandra later served a delicious zucchini bundt cake, an assortment of cheeses and incredible Mozartkugel chocolates that came all the way from Austria. It was a delightful interlude and I thoroughly enjoyed listening to some wonderful stories including how my hosts celebrate their Ukrainian Christmas.

“Guess what? We still have three more hands to play,” Alexandra announced as I sipped a second cup of decaf. “Let’s see who’s winning.”

Big mistake Alexandra, I thought to myself. She didn’t know I’m the guy who likes to beat seven year olds at Crazy Eights.

“Oh, Mary and I are about 300 points ahead of the men,” she announced innocently, reminding me of Little Red Riding Hood.

The next two hands were flat and I realized time was running out on the big bad wolf.

My final hand was a wonderful gift, just like some of the ones you read about in the Toronto Star. Unable to contain my excitement at seeing eight Diamonds and a singleton ace of Clubs, I blurted out five Diamonds to open the bidding.

Needless to say, I surprised even myself when Myron and I recorded twelve tricks to capture game, set and match.

Myron was jubilant. Mary was a bit incredulous by the turn of events but Alexandra, forever the gracious hostess, was quick to congratulate the men and invite me back for another game in the New Year.

As I drove home along the 401, I knew that next time, Mike 2.0 better check his competitive spirit at the door.