Bridge At the Corners
This is the complete Bridge humour series on the "Fearsome Foursome", residents of Punkydoodles Corners, excerpted from the manuscript "Bridge at the Corners: The Canadian Club".
The complete manuscript details the peculiar
Precision-esque bidding system which these characters employ.
If you would like to see a reposting of the entire manual,
including the technical sections detailing the Canadian Club,
please post your request or leave the author an e-mail message
at cpw@escape.ca.
Your comments are welcome !
For our purposes, simply ignore the bidding entirely !
[ Technical note: To comply with standards and allow everyone to distinguish the suits, I will employ letters (c, d, h and s) for suits rather than the symbols. I thank Messrs. Lewis and Buchhorn for this suggestion.]
Most people would be reluctant to believe that anyone would name their town "Punkydoodle's Corners". But, for a small speck on the northern landscape, that skepticism would have served them well. It is true that this is not a megapolis. The greeting "Welcome to Punkydoodle's Corners" is written on both sides of the sign. The closest thing to a subway system was constructed by two gophers on a Tuesday afternoon.
Six months ago, I was driving through that area,
understandably desperate to find a highway back to civilization.
A typical male, I proudly and stubbornly refused to stop for help
until I was beyond all help. I was hopelessly lost.
In Punkydoodle's Corners, no less.
And I was about to learn that
there is no road back from Punkydoodle's Corners.
Judging from the road signs, there are a lot of services to be found in Punkydoodle's Corners: fire station, mayor's office, general store, post office, meeting hall, police station and municipal office. Unfortunately, there is only one building in town: a brown brick house plastered with official signs.
I entered via the front door. The main floor was a general store. Food, clothing, hardware, building supplies, pharmaceuticals — everything but a clerk. The place was deserted ! I took a steep stairway up to the offices on the second floor. Again, there was no one around. The third floor was smaller, fitting under a slanted ceiling. Once more, desolate. I retreated down to the ground floor, trying not the think of Stephen King. On the way out, I noticed a second stairwell leading down to the cellar.
As I stepped down these stairs, scenes from the Amityville Horror House flashed through my mind. It occurred to me to tread lightly and announce my presence. This area was "NRA country" (i.e., Beirut has tougher gun-control laws).
“Hello, " I shouted. No response. I continued down the steps into the bowels of darkness. What I saw when I reached the cellar scared me more than any loaded gun. Indeed, it made me wish I were in Amityville.
A sixty-watt light bulb barely illuminated a table in the
middle of the room.
Hunched around this table were five hideous
figures: one birdlike, the other four roughly humanoid.
It was
an anthropologist's dream come true: an Australopithecus, a Cro-
Magnon, a Neanderthal and a Troglodyte.
I wouldn't even guess at
the bird's exact species; it was a massive conglomeration of
black feathers, talons and beady, carnivorous eyes.
I stared in
terror at these still figures, until I convinced myself that this
was a wax museum.
I then scanned the room for signs of more
modern human life.
No such luck.
As my gaze returned to the table, I chanced upon a sight which made my blood run cold.
Smoke ! The Troglodyte had a pipe in its mouth and there was smoke billowing from it ! I gawked in disbelief. Suddenly, one of the figures moved ! The Cro-Magnon. He moved ! I distinctly saw his hand pick something up from the table and relocate it to another place on the table.
Thirty seconds later, I was back in the car, two miles down the road. My car was doing 120, my heart was doing 130. I drove for hours, turning here and there as the notion struck. I was completely lost, and couldn't find so much as a farm house. There was nothing but miles and miles of more miles and miles. Finally, I spotted a building up ahead. I strained to read the road sign in the falling darkness.
"Welcome to Punkydoodle's Corners."
My fate was obvious. I was stranded in the Twilight Zone and my only option lay in re-encountering my evolutionary ancestors.
I descended the stairs as if I'd been consigned to Hades. Deafened by the pounding of my own heartbeat, I stood beside the table.
“Could one of you gentlemen direct me back to the main highway?” I squeaked. No reply. The primates could not be distracted. I leaned forward to see what was keeping them so enthralled. My jaw dropped. Cards ! These primordials were playing cards !
“Shouldn't you guys be inventing fire or something?” I wondered to myself. The four players continued to ignore me. Not so the bird. Its head swivelled as I moved around the room. Two hawklike eyes shadowed my every move. If nothing else, the bird made me feel welcome — as welcome as a steak in a crocodile pit.
Being an inveterate cardplayer myself, I concentrated on finding out what game these pre-humanoids were playing. I was convinced that it would be some crude derivative of Snap, War or Go Fish. I observed a pattern. The players would grunt in clockwise rotation. Then one would put a card face up on the table. The one on that ape's left would then lay down all of his cards face up. My God ! They were playing Bridge !
I listened more closely to their auctions, hoping to learn how to bid in Neanderthal. I discerned that, with a little imagination and allowances made for dialect, facial hair, familiarity and lazy elocution, these grunts could be construed as English. Couldn't “Nar” constitute a bastardized “one heart”?
I pulled up a chair and began kibitzing. The calibre of play was unremarkable. Indeed, to call these characters "kitchen Bridge players" would be an insult to all three terms. What intrigued me was the bidding. Stuck in this remote location, far from the outside Bridge World, these characters had fashioned an utterly unique bidding approach. What caught my attention was seeing them bid confidently up to 7♣ on:
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The auction had gone thus:
1
| – Strong and forcing. | |
1
| – Game-forcing response showing 5+ Spades. | |
| 1NT | – “Do you have a second 4+card suit?” | |
| 2
| – “Yes, I have 4+ Diamonds.” | |
| 2NT | – “What is your short suit?” | |
3
| – A fifth Diamond. | |
| 3
| – “Again, what is your short suit?” | |
3
| – Short in Hearts. | |
| 4
| – “Let's set Clubs as trumps for now.” | |
| 4
| – No Q, minimum, 1 Ace or K.
| |
| 4NT | – “Kings?” | |
| 5
| – One King outside Clubs. | |
| 5
| – “Do you have anything extra — a Queen, perhaps?” | |
| 5
| – “Yes, Q.”
| |
| 7
| – “Ruff a Heart high, draw trump and claim 13.” | |
| Pass | – “You're the boss.” |
As the bird's glare finally returned to the game, I began to relax and settle in for the long haul. I spent the next four months there, learning more about the system that was able to reach 7♣ on these cards.
Seated in his customary chair, furthest from the room's only
window, is the loudest and most intimidating of the humanoids.
This obnoxious and overbearing ape is aptly named "Attila".
A certified graduate of the Rush Limbaugh Charm School, Attila has
the same good nature and pleasant demeanour one would expect in a
wounded rattlesnake.
He is every bit as disturbing as he is
disturbed.
Indeed, this insanely vicious and cold-blooded
reptile is the world's one (and, we hope, only) Rabid Rattler.
He refers to strangers as "intruders", partners as "idiots" and
adversaries as "pigeons".
For obvious reasons, I was never able
to determine what he calls his friends.
Nevertheless, this "Caustic Caution"
saves his harshest vitriole for "Fleshie", the bird
sitting on his partner's shoulder.
Only during his kinder
moments, would he call Fleshie a "gutter snipe vulture" and
"feathered freak".
When Fleshie trounced Attila in the
Punkydoodle's Corners mayoralty race, the bird received a letter
bomb in his mailbox.
Since then, Fleshie has suspected Attila of
trying to make him an offer he couldn't defuse.
The "Rattler" considers himself the best of the four
players.
He is, in fact, the worst.
True to type, Attila blames
his copious errors on his partner "hanging" him during the
auction or play.
In fact, such accusations account for the man's
full name: "Attila the Hung".
Attila occupied the centre stage on
one of the first hands that I kibitzed in Punkydoodle's Corners:
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Attila's RHO noted the vulnerability and the Declarer. Pass !
When his ♥J was allowed to win the first trick, LHO continued with ♥10. RHO overtook this with his ♥Q. He then cashed ♥A, ♠AK and ♦AKQ. Attila bared down to ♣AKQ10 and ♠Q. When RHO, with ♥9 and ♣xxxx, switched to a small Club, the Caustic Caution "knew" that RHO must have ♣ Jxxxx. Why else would he play this way ?
“Congratulate me, pard,” crowed Declarer as he put in ♣10, “I certainly maximized the result here !”
After watching the opponents win all 13 tricks, his partner agreed.
“For the defence,” dummy muttered under his breath.
It is said that "bad luck comes in threes".
Sitting across from Attila is a hapless and unkempt Cro-Magnon known affectionately
as "The Maggot".
His first and most serious curse is already
evident: he is sitting across from Attila.
The Maggot's
appearance and personal hygiene could be described as
sub-minimal — even by Punkydoodle's Corners standards.
This, of
course, does not escape the attention of his partner, who calls
him "The Ghost of Cleanliness Past",
adding "long past" under his breath.
The Maggot's second misfortune is the presence of
Fleshie on his left shoulder,
glaring at any guilty of making
an error.
This, of course, means that Fleshie stares fixedly and
contemptuously at the Rabid Rattler.
In turn, this brings the Maggot even more abuse from his partner, who has positioned the
Maggot and Fleshie nearest the window, in the hopes that either
the fumes or the "Plumed Profanity" might escape.
The Maggot's third jinx is his inability to make a
successful finesse.
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He muttered his thoughts, as he contemplated a course of action.
“Hook a Heart or two, hook a Spade, take two Club hooks and the Diamond — Geez ! More hookings than Xaviera Hollander ... ”
The ♥8 lead allowed Declarer to take/lose a free finesse in that suit. Winning the trick with his ♥J, RHO switched to a Club.
The Maggot ducked and watched LHO win with ♣Q and
return ♦J.
The ♦Q produced ♦K from RHO.
Back came another Club.
The Maggot ducked this, and saw LHO win ♣K and
return ♥3.
The Maggot inserted ♥Q, losing a trick to
♥K and another to a Heart ruff.
LHO exited with a Spade to
his partner's ♠K for down two.
“Holding my hand, a lesser player would have raised to 4♠,” Attila boasted.
“Yes,” agreed the Maggot quietly, “but where would we find a lesser player ?”
I have come to know the Troglydite as "Cowboy".
Perhaps, it was his maverick style or his bullish optimism that brought him the name.
Or perhaps his horse-mane hair and card-sharp
reputation brought him the monicker.
This cow-puncher is the direct antithesis of his opponents.
He is easily the luckiest Bridge player in the world.
He quickly attracted the envy of the
Maggot, who turns green at the sound of Cowboy describing a
finesse as "two top tricks".
This explains why the Maggot calls
him "God's Favourite Atheist".
The Cowboy is charming as an
individual and skilled as a player, garnering him a place right
next to Fleshie's in Attila's Pantheon of the Despised.
In one rubber, the Atheist defeated a 99% game before making a 1.8% part score, a 0.4% game and a slam whose chances could only be measured with exponential notation. Seeing this, Attila stormed into the local Post Office and tacked up a large picture of the cowpoke. A caption underneath the photo read: "The Law of Average's Most Wanted Man".
Indeed, Cowboy's success has prompted him to take to
cheating in order to provide his opponents an excuse for their
inevitable losses.
Long before I arrived on the scene, Cowboy and
his previous partner established the practice of passing messages
and cards underneath the table.
At one point, this traffic became
so regular and dependable that Attila dubbed it
"The Punkydoodle's Corners Subway System".
Cowboy's old partner
became known as "The Conductor" for his contribution to the local
transit authority.
But, the Conductor left the game, citing some
flimsy excuse (he was getting married).
Since then, his name is
rarely mentioned in polite Punkydoodle's Corners circles.
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Our hero ruffed the ♦A lead and pondered his chances.
This
did not take long, since he had so few.
He led a Heart to ♥Q and ruffed a second Diamond.
He now played off two top
Hearts from his hand and then lead a club towards dummy.
When Attila played low, he finessed with ♣J.
Two top Club honours
allowed him to ditch his two small Hearts.
When he led a Diamond from dummy, the Maggot, down to only Spades, was forced to
ruff.
Cowboy over-ruffed, exited with his lowest Spade to
Attila's ♠A, and claimed the last three tricks with his ♠KQ10.
“6♠, Doubled and Redoubled — oh, and vulnerable,” scored Cowboy, “that's +2070.” It was a number he knew well.
“Would it have helped,” wondered a shocked Attila, “if I had led my Ace of trumps ?”
Cowboy shook his head, saying: “It wouldn't have helped us at all.”
The Maggot was non-plussed.
“Where do you get your luck?” he asked.
“Well, sometimes it comes from above,” drawled the cowpoke, casting a glance towards Attila, “and sometimes, it comes from another direction.”
Sitting across from Cowboy is the Sultan: a tall, thin wisp
of a man, whose misfortune rivals the Maggot's.
The Sultan's first curse is his looks: he bears an unfortunate resemblance to
Ron Palileo ("Horshak" from "Welcome Back Carter").
Rising from
his uneven facial features between vacant eyes is a veritable
mountain of a nose.
The Sultan once woke up to find that Attila
had rented out his nostrils as a two-car garage.
“He looks like a can opener with hair,” commented the Caustic Caution and, for once, few would disagree. None of this talk disturbs the Sultan's happy-go-lucky manner. His sunny disposition and massive proboscis resulted in him being dubbed the "Happy Hooknose".
The Sultan's biggest problem, though, is his inability to attract HCPs. Known alternately as the "Duke of Yarborough" or the "Sultan of Spots", this man is largely responsible for the structure of negative responses in their system. Indeed, the touchstone of a 100% forcing bid is one that even the Sultan cannot pass. On one occasion, the Duke went three months without a single HCP. When he finally got a hand with an HCP — a measly Jack — he stopped the game.
“Wait a minute,” he whispered suspiciously, “one of my cards is staring at me !”
After another such dry stretch, the Duke gave up on his pursuit of Aces and face cards. Instead, he developed the Low Card Point Count: 4 points for a ten, 3 for a nine, 2 for an eight, 1 for a seven, and one extra point for possession of all four deuces. During this period of development, he picked up this hand:
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| Cowboy | Maggot | Sultan | Attila |
| 2NT | Pass | 3
| Pass |
| 3
| Pass | 4
| Pass |
| Pass | Pass |
Attila led ♥6.
The Sultan called for ♥9.
Winning this trick with ♥10, the Maggot returned ♦Q.
The Hooknose played off ♦AK, and entered his hand with a
Diamond ruff.
He took the Club finesse, and returned to his
hand, by ruffing Dummy's last Diamond with his ♥7.
At this point,
Attila considered tossing a Club to blank
his ♣K, but the Sultan
could then make by playing a Club followed by ♥A and ♥Q,
eventually endplaying the Maggot in Clubs.
Instead, Attila threw a small Spade.
Another Club hook allowed the Sultan to play off ♣A, and ruff Dummy's fourth Club with his ♥8. A Spade to ♠A and another Spade endplayed the Maggot in ♥KJ.
“4♥, non-vulnerable, making Five“, scored the Maggot disgustedly, “for 450.”
“It was a good thing you had ♥8 and ♥7, pard”, observed God's Favourite Atheist drily.
“What ?” asked an indignant Sultan. “You think I bid on nothing ?”
Sleep is an unplanned affair in Punkydoodle's Corners.
One player takes too long for a play or call, and the others either
recognize that he is asleep or fall asleep themselves.
Soon all
four players are unconscious.
Only rarely, do any of them make it
as far as their beds in the adjoining rooms.
On one occasion, I awoke to find the Caustic Caution,
Cowboy and the Duke of
Yarborough picking up their hands.
They wondered aloud about who
was going to go into the Maggot's bedroom to wake him up.
All three refused the mission and then turned to stare pointedly at
me.
Clearly, the job was mine.
I inhaled deeply before entering the Maggot's crypt. Instantly, I sensed where Attila's letter bomb must have exploded. Garbage, sweaty clothes and debris were scattered hip deep about the room. I stumbled towards the Ghost of Cleanliness Past, still holding my breath. I shook the comatose Maggot awake.
"Is it tomorrow already?" he moaned, wiping the blur and
sleep from his eyes.
Pausing for a moment to orient himself to
reality — such as it is in Punkydoodle's Corners —
the Son of Miss Fortune threw on a bathrobe.
He yawned inadvertently, his morning breath curling my eyebrows.
I helped him to the table,
where he took his seat and picked up his first hand of the day.
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The Happy Hooknose led a small Club and dummy came down. It seemed like an unremarkable hand to me. Six Spades, requiring one of the two finesses. Realizing this, the Maggot conceded down one and threw his cards into the centre of the table.
“Come on, Mag”, chided his partner, “at least give it the old college try.”
The Ghost shrugged his shoulders, and picked up his hand again. Winning the first trick with ♣A, he led a Spade towards his own hand and inserted ♠Q. It held.
“Nice defence,” commented the Maggot. He knew the script by heart: he would waste his last entry to dummy in order to repeat the finesse; the Sultan would win the second round of Spades and then Declarer would not even be able to get back to dummy to lose the Diamond hook.
“Kto skazal (Кто сказал) ‘A’, ” muttered a resigned Maggot, astonishing me with his knowledge of Russian proverbs. Once you've said ‘A’, {you must say ‘B’}. He re-entered Dummy with ♥Q and played a small trump. The Law of Average's Most Wanted Man contributed ♠K. The Maggot stared at the card, until the truth set in.
“A finesse !” he shouted. “I made a finesse ! I can't believe it ! I made a finesse !”
With this, he threw his cards up into the air and jumped to
his feet.
Waving his arms and screaming uncontrollably, he
started dancing an Irish jig.
With surprising grace, he made the
transitions into a tarantella, a skottische, a brief Charleston,
and then a stylized Cossack sabre dance.
At this point, he caught
sight of the other three players looking at him with coprophaegic
grins spread across their faces.
Slowly the truth dawned.
“Oh, no,” cried the Maggot. “You ... you couldn't have ... you wouldn't ... you didn't ... ”
“Enough of this fun, pard,” announced the Rattler, “it's time to play some real Bridge.”
I asked the players why they were not interested in playing
duplicate Bridge.
In truth, I had an ulterior motive: if I could find a duplicate game, I could find civilization and get out
of Punkydoodle's Corners.
The players stared at me blankly.
Later, the Maggot took me aside and explained.
The PdCers had
been declared primata non grata at every club in the district.
It seemed that sensitive listeners didn't want to sit with
earshot of Attila, bidders didn't want to sit in the same
direction as the Duke, first-place aspirants didn't want to play
in the same game as God's Favourite Atheist, and nose breathers
didn't want to sit downwind of the Maggot.
Nor were the Maggot or Attila quick to return after their last foray into duplicate Bridge. Lured by the glamour and excitement of a National, the residents of Punkydoodle's Corners travelled "en masse" to the big city to participate. The Open Pairs event involved 13 2-board rounds. As two dignified ladies approached their table, the Rattler hissed: “Here come two sure tops.”
On the first hand, the woman on Attila's left brought home a chancy slam in spectacular fashion. What she did on the second hand is still a subject of reverent whispers around Punkydoodle's Corners.
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But, only the Ghost of Cleanliness Past and the Caustic Caution found a way to go for –800.
With cucumbrian coolness, our Heroine led ♦2 from
♦AKQJ7642.
Her partner did a doubletake at winning this trick
with her ♦10, and returned a low Club.
The lady in the limelight trumped this and switched to ♥Q.
Attila won with ♥K in dummy and finessed a Spade.
Winning this trick with ♠K, our
Heroine put her small Heart on the table.
Attila harrumphed,
confidantly calling for a small Heart from the table.
When RHO won this trick with her only High Card Point (I leave it to the
reader to guess which direction the Sultan sat in this event), she
tracked back another Club.
Our Heroine ruffed this, and magnanimously conceded the remainder of the tricks.
Silence reigned at the table, until the Director called for the next round to commence. The ladies wished them luck and moved on.
“You were right, pard,” said the Maggot cheerfully. “Two tops just came and went.”
The Ghost shook his head glumly, as he finished relating this story to me.
“I made a note of that lady's name, in case we ever ran up against her again.”
“Oh? Who was she?” I asked.
“She went by the name of Helen Sobel. Ever heard of her?”
Those who hold cards as poor as the Sultan tend to find
themselves on opening lead more often than the rest of us.
And, just as "practice makes perfect", the Duke's experience and skill in
this field has earned him the role of "leading man".
On rare occasions, when he is at a loss for a good opening lead, Cowboy
comes to his rescue, humming "The Troglydite Song", "Diamonds Are
a Girl's Best Friend", "Dear Heart", or "Coal Miner's Daughter",
for a lead of the appropriate suit.
In recent years, this
practice became more refined, adding tunes to call for either of
two suits or any of three suits.
Chris De Burgh's "Lady in Red" is geared towards a Heart or Diamond lead.
Gordon Lightfoot's
"Black Day in July" attracts a Club or Spade start.
Bob Dylan's "Black Diamond Bay" encourages any lead other than Hearts.
Unfortunately for those with earshot, Lady Luck's Lover is
completely tone deaf.
As the Rattler has pointed out, the cowpoke couldn't carry a note in an envelope.
His mournful,
off-key humming has caused this lead-directing convention to be
called "The Dreary Convention".
Staring at
|
Q x
10 9 x
x x x
10 9 x x x
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| Attila | Sultan | Maggot | Cowboy |
| 2
| Pass | 2
| Pass |
| 2
| Pass | 2NT | Pass |
3
| Pass | 3
| Pass |
| 4
| Pass | 4
| Pass |
| Pass | Pass |
Knowing that Opener holds 16-17 HCPs, 4-4-1-4 distribution
and 0 or 3 Key Cards, what should he lead?
The Duke needed no help from Dreary here.
As soon as the final Pass came out of his
mouth, a small Spade shot out of his hand.
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Winning with ♠Q, the Hooknose returned a Diamond
to Dummy's ♦K and partner's ♦A.
This allowed the Law of Average's Most Wanted Man to play a third round of trump.
Declarer could no longer set up Diamonds.
Instead, the Rabid Rattler banged down ♥A and tabled ♥Q for a trumping finesse.
The Sultan broke out laughing at this effort.
“You thought that I could be dealt ♠Q and the ♥K on the same hand?” giggled the Duke of Yarborough.
“No,” blushed the Caustic Caution, “but I couldn't think of anyone on your side more deserving of ♥K.”
“It was ♠K, not ♥K, which was misplaced,” opined the Maggot.
“But ♠K was in my hand,” said Attila, bewildered by his partner's observation.
“Yes,” agreed the Maggot, “and at trick #3, it was still in your hand !”
The Maggot continued to regale me with stories of their
participation in the Nationals.
They had arrived on Friday, just
in time to play in the Swiss Teams.
The Ghost insists that their
entry into the playing room might have gone unnoticed, had the
Head Director not pointed at them and screamed “Aliens !”
The Fearsome Foursome was forced to retreat under a hail of boards,
pencils, chairs, shrieks and abuse.
They regrouped in the men's
room.
A terrified occupant of one of the cubicles was impressed
into service as an intermediary.
This go-between negotiated with
the directors to facilitate the Foursome's participation in the
tournament.
He returned with terms: the players would have to
change into clean clothes, bathe, remove all facial hair and
ditch Fleshie.
While the other three promised to comply reluctantly,
the Maggot remained adamant.
Clearly, this was no way to treat a
visiting dignitary such as the Mayor of all Punkydoodle's
Corners.
Eventually, a compromise was worked out:
The Foursome rented
a hotel room, scraped off their beards, cleaned themselves up and
changed their ecoutre.
They cut up a bedsheet and threw it over
Fleshie.
After showers, shaves and shroud, they re-entered the
playing site without incidents.
The PCers bought their entry and sat down.
The first opponents to play against Attila-Maggot were a kindly old grandmother playing with her attractive granddaughter. The Illegitimate Son of Miss Fortune stopped fuming for a moment to smile at his adversaries. Fleshie was not so mollified. The granddaughter wondered what was under the shroud and why it was on the Ghost's shoulder. The Caustic Caution explained that it was a cancerous growth, an oozing open sore too hideous to show the public. His partner quickly clamped his hand on the top of the sheet to quell any squawks.
The Rabid Rattler turned his attention to the elder opponent. Glancing at her convention card, he chortled: “I don't believe it. She's so old, her name is Pearl.”
As play began, this abuse continued. Whenever the lady failed to make a bid or play in exact tempo, the Caution prodded her with such charming admonitions as “Come on, lady. Before rigor mortis sets in ... ” and “Hey, lady, nap time is between rounds !”
For her part, the grandmother never lost her composure. She smiled in the face of this abuse, even thanking the Rattler for reminding her when she might catch some sleep.
As play progressed, Attila became even more offensive — though one would have to know the man to believe this possible. His mood deteriorated after the first hand:
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At this table, Pearl offered up the Trojan-Horse lead of ♣K. The Caution can resist anything but temptation. Without a moment's thought, he scooped up ♣K with his ♣A, banged down ♣Q and never saw his hand again. In with ♣J, the Beauty dutifully played through a Spade for partner. Two Spades and a trick in every other suit meant down one, –100.
Sadly for the Fearsome Foursome, this was one of their better boards from this round.
“But how could anyone lose a seven-board match by 109 IMPs?” the Sultan wondered in the post mortem.
The granddaughter approached the Maggot with her sympathies.
“I'm sorry about that ... that thing,” she whispered sweetly.
“Oh, don't worry about this,” the Ghost said non-chalantly, stroking the top of the shroud, “it'll be fine.”
“Oh, that,” she said, “I'm sorry about that too.”
Pearl confirmed the score. Yes, 109, that was correct. Attila was shell-shocked, incapable of coherent speech.
“Wha ... wha ... what happened?” he blithered.
Pearl swung on her heels, pointed at her tormentor and hissed through clenched teeth: “That'll teach you, you f# !#@ !# pooch !”
Every town or city is afflicted by its own version of the
Caustic Caution.
The host city of the Nationals was no different.
Theirs was a nasty, unprincipled lout known as the Beast.
Ironically, while Maggot and Attila battled
Beauty and Pearl, this particular local burden was playing only
three tables over.
Fate, in the form of a Tournament Director
looking for an excuse to evict the Foursome, would soon bring
them closer still.
Acting as team captain, the Illegitimate Son of Miss Fortune picked up their second round assignment. Hoping for a scouting report, he strolled over the the man from the washroom, who had negotiated their entry into the event. The rest of the PdCers joined them.
“What's this guy like?” asked the Ghost of Cleanliness Past.
“Well,” drawled the go-between, “let me put it this way: this is the one guy who can trace his ancestry forward ... to the Book of Revelations !”
“Come again?” said the Sultan.
“Let me give you another clue,” continued the diplomat diplomatically, “when this guy talks about the Four Horsemen, he ain't referring to the Cartwrights.”
“The Beast !?” guessed the Maggot. Even as far away as Punkydoodle's Corners, people had heard of the Beast. It seemed that no one ever wanted to play in the same game as this disgusting, underhanded reprobate. No one, that is, except God's Favourite Atheist and the Caustic Caution.
“Dibs on the Beast !” they shouted in unison. Their motives were clear enough. Lady Luck's Lover wanted to meet a fellow card-sharp; perhaps they could compare notes and talk shop. Attila felt his position threatened by the notion that anyone could be more obnoxious than he. The two men began bickering about who should be accorded the dubious honour of playing against the Beast.
“I have a solution,” offered the washroom ambassador, “why don't the two of you play together, you know, as partners?” Cowboy and the Rattler looked at each another. Again they shouted as one.
“When hell has hockey !”
Nevertheless, there was no other solution. Word of the match-up spread and a crowd of ghoulish kibitzers crowded around the table. Onlookers did not have to wait long for the fireworks to begin. Oddly enough, the Beast's opening salvo was one of Cowboy's favourite ploys.
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A standard 1♠:3♠:6♠ auction left the Beast in a seemingly impossible slam. Impossible, that is, after the Cowboy led the ♦9. Declarer ruffed the Caution's ♦K, only to have dummy ask: “No Diamonds, partner?”
“No ... whoops ... sorry, I do have a Diamond,” stuttered the
Beast clumsily, as he produced ♦Q.
Attila switched to a Club,
and watched Declarer pitch his two Diamond losers on Hearts.
6♠,
making, –1430.
“A Trump Commotion,” observed the Law of Average's Most Wanted Man. “Well done.”
The Beast followed this up with another old standby.
With ♣AJ9x opposite ♣K108x,
he faced a two-way finesse for ♣Q.
He won the opening Heart lead in his hand and then tried to lead
♣10 from dummy.
“You're leading from the wrong hand !” protested an excited Rattler.
“Sorry,” apologized the Beast, as he led a Club to dummy's ♣K, rather than letting ♣10 ride. Attila's agitated state had alerted him to the location of ♣Q.
“A Blue Cross Coup,” said Cowboy patiently.
“Why do you call it that?” queried the Beast.
“Try it on us again,” the Rattler seethed, “and you'll find out.”
On the third hand, God's Favourite Atheist opened a pre-emptive 3♥. The Beast's partner made a loud but "co-operative" Double on
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x x
A Q 9 x
A K x
A x x x
.
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In light of the volume of the Double, the Beast decided that his most co-operative action would be to leave the Double in — with four Spades and a singleton Heart. This decision turned out to be very foretelling: +500 as opposed to the –500 that 3♠ contract would have cost.
"The Rabies Rule," commented Lady Luck's Lover drily.
it is usually right to leave his Double in.
None of this disturbed Cowboy. What did finally upset him was seeing "third and fifth" written on the back of the Beast's convention card.
In the isolated environment of Punkydoodle's Corners, "3rd and 5th" does not refer to a carding convention. Rather, it refers to a method of dealing with the opponents' 1NT and higher level openings — especially artificial 2-bids. Before passing, one can show a good hand by subjecting Opener's partner to the third degree.
“What is the range of that bid?” – suggests 6+ HCPs.
“Do you play it straight-up or with variations?” – shows 9+ HCPs.
“What negative inferences can you draw from this bid?” – promises a full opening bid.
“Does he ever psyche this opening bid?” – guarantees 20+ HCPs and is forcing to game.
Holding a hand weaker than 6 HCPs, one clams up like a witness citing the Fifth, passing without a word. This understanding, called "Third Degree and Fifth Amendment" or just "Third and Fifth", is a well-known defence against alerts in Punkydoodle's Corners. Playing 3rd and 5th was one thing; marking it on your card was quite another. Cowboy couldn't believe their cheek.
Cowboy's thoughts returned for a moment to the previous hand. Clearly, the Beast was familiar with the Rabies Rule. But, did he know that it was only one of the Three R's of Bridge? Cowboy saw that it was his duty to round out the Beast's education.
He started with the Rocket Rule:
or, more succinctly, Count down! Blast off!
The Beast held 14 HCPs and began questioning the Cowboy.
Did you ever open 1NT with both majors ?
Could there be a 5-card major ?
Does it imply Club length ?
| Attila | Beast | Cowboy | B's Pard |
| 1NT | Pass | 3NT | Pass |
| Pass | Pass |
Declaring 3NT, down 6 (–300), turned out to be only half as expensive as defending Vul. 3NT.
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When the smoke cleared, the Foursome had won by 36 IMPs and none of the kibitzers were demanding their money back.
The unholy alliance of God's Favourite Atheist and the Happy
Hooknose were still lazing in their beds, when Fleshie and I were
convinced to try playing the Canadian Club.
I agreed hesitantly.
The bird was amenable.
It was Fleshie's turn to deal.
He stood in the middle of the table beside the shuffled deck,
and tossed cards one at a time in all four directions.
The Maggot propped up Fleshie's cards in the bird's rack.
The Ravin' Raven stepped behind this rack to begin the auction.
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"Misdeal," announced the Ghost of Cleanliness Past. "Someone dealt me the Sultan's hand."
Fleshie ignored this objection, opening the bidding with 1♥.
After Attila's pass, I was faced with a number of systemic
options: 2♥, 3♥, 2♦,
or 2NT(to be followed by 3♦).
| Fleshie | Attila | Me | Maggot |
| 1
| Pass | 3
| Pass |
| 4
| Dble | Pass | Pass |
| Rdbl | Pass | Pass | Pass |
At his turn, he bid 4♥ and, when the Caustic Caution's Double came around to him, flashed his beaver card.
Attila lead ♥K and smiled at Declarer, when the Illegitimate Son of Miss Fortune showed out.
“Let's see how the Plumed Profanity handles the Hawaii trump split !” cackled the Caution.
“Hawaii?” I asked.
“5-0,” explained the Maggot.
“Oh, of course,” I said meekly. “Silly me.”
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He then ruffed a Club in his hand and placed ♠5 onto the playing surface. Attila trumped this perforce and had to concede the game-going trick to Fleshie's ♥10.
“Geez, partner,” complained the Maggot, “what did you Double on?”
Fleshie had had enough.
This simply wasn't sporting.
He flew back to the Maggot's shoulder and wouldn't budge.
Fifteen minutes of pleading from his owner and threats from the
Rattler would not dissuade him.
I intimated that the Cultured Vulture might be lacking a competent partner.
No, the Macho Mynah would not be shamed, begged or bullied back into the game.
It was time for bribery.
The Maggot pulled out his Ace-in-the-hole.
“I'll let you sit on Attila's forehead next time he's waking up.”
In the flicker of an eyelash and the flutter of feathers, the Ravin' Raven was back behind his card rack. The next hand gave the Plumed Profanity an opportunity to "flesh out" his demonstra-tion on the subtleties of advanced pseudo-squeezes.
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The Caustic Caution led ♦K, and saw his partner signal with an
encouraging ♥Q.
When Declarer allowed him to win this trick,
Attila continued with ♦Q, which Fleshie permitted him to win
as well.
At trick #3, the Rattler, noticing his partner
bouncing in his seat, switched to ♥7.
Declarer played two rounds of Hearts, and exit with a small
Diamond to the Caution.
This ploy convinced Attila that this
was an attempted suicide squeeze.
Instead of continuing Diamonds,
he switched to ♣J, covered by ♣Queen, ♣King
and ♣Ace.
Fleshie cashed his ♣10 and ♦A,
and exit with his last Diamond.
Down to ♠J654, the Rattler
was forced to lead a Spade, pickling the Maggot's Spade holding.
The Macho Mynah took his owner's ♠9 with his ♠10,
tossed ♠A on the table,
collecting ♠K,
and finessed with dummy's ♠8
to make the 3NT Doubled.
Routine.
The Rabid Rattler was bewildered. He tried to explain to his partner.
“When I saw you ... that is, when the Buzzard kept throwing me in with Diamonds, I figured I must be squeezing you.”
“Squeezing me?” countered the Illegitimate Son of Miss Fortune. “Are you nuts? You must've been illusionary !”
“Perhaps,” I interjected softly, “he saw a ghost.”
The Maggot shook his head, but remained quiet. Once he had calmed down, he congratulated his pet.
“Now I really have seen everything. First, a squeeze without an entry. Now, a squeeze without a threat.”
I woke up to the sound of a jackhammer in the next room. I staggered into the playing room to find Attila trying to explain to the Maggot the difference between a finesse and a ducking play. I asked about the renovations.
“No renovations,” the Caution explained. “That's the Hooknose snoring.”
Sure enough, the cacaphony stopped, and the Duke appeared in the bedroom doorway.
“Breakfast !” bellowed the Duke.
In Punkydoodle's Corners, food entails beer and potato chips.
It follows that breakfast
involves lite beer and bacon-flavoured potato chips.
I handed the Sultan a brew and a bag of "breakfast".
“I still don't get it,” whined the Ghost of
Cleanliness Past.
“If I never win a ducking play, and I never win a finesse ... ”
The others gave up.
It was like trying to explain music to
the deaf.
Colour to the blind.
Civilization to a PdCer.
Besides, the others were hardly sympathetic to his plight.
Cowboy couldn't imagine anyone having difficulty with making
finesses; it was as natural as breathing.
The Sultan of Spots
couldn't sympathize, since he never held two cards high enough to
try a finesse.
That left the Rabid Rattler, who couldn't spell
the word "sympathy".
“Where's Cowboy?” I asked.
“Still asleep,” the Sultan answered between munches and
gulps.
“He must've exerted himself last night.” The others
concurred.
By the time the Foursome took to their beds, the
quality of play and the attention level had taken a nose dive.
On one hand, God's Favourite Atheist led a Diamond up to dummy,
ruffed it despite the five Diamonds on board, and led a Diamond
from the table, trumping it in his hand.
He continued this until
the suit was established and he was able to claim his contract.
Amazingly, no one noticed.
What was even more remarkable was the
contract.
Lady Luck's Lover became the first Bridge player in
history to make 3NT on a cross-revoke.
The players were anxious to start. Who would fill in for the Law of Average's Most Wanted Man? Fleshie and I both declined the invitation. The PdCers became more insistent with Ravin' Raven. After a suitable bribe (a sleeping perch outside the Maggot's bedroom) was offered and accepted, the Cultured Vulture set up shop opposite the Ghost of Cleanliness Past.
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But Fleshie knew his customers. Sure enough, help was on its way.
The Rabid Rattler began absent-mindedly humming the theme music to a movie that he'd seen recently. As soon as the first bar of the score to "Diamonds are Forever" reached the Sultan's ears, ♦3 landed on the table.
Fleshie viewed Dummy for a moment.
He won this trick with ♦A unblocking his ♦Q, and played ♠J.
This was covered by ♠Q and ♠K.
He played three rounds of Diamonds, ending up on the table and led ♠9,
covered by ♠10 and ♠A.
The Macho Mynah then plunked down
his ♣A, entered dummy with ♣K.
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“If only you'd led a Heart,” commented the Caution, “we'd
have cut off his entry from dummy for the squeeze.”
While the others accepted this analysis, Fleshie squawked an objection.
The bird redealt the hand, and proceeded to demonstrate how Declarer
would make 13 tricks on a Heart lead.
Three rounds of Hearts,
tossing Clubs from dummy, two top Spades, enter dummy with ♣
K and rattle off five rounds of Diamonds.
Attila would be unable to keep ♠Q and a third Club.
At the conclusion of this lesson, the Duke of Yarborough had a query.
“Couldn't Fleshie have played this second line of play on any lead?”
This question remained unanswered. The bird rolled his eyes and shook its head in disgust. He returned to the Ghost's shoulder, determined to never again cast his pearls before these swine.
“By the way,” I interjected, “was that a Vienna Coup, a double squeeze, or a transfer guard squeeze?”
Again, there was no immediate response. After a few moments' thought, the Maggot offered his opinion.
“All three.”
The Punkydoodle's Corners crowd does not like to spend much time on post-mortems. If a long debate over the potential of a hand crops up, the players settle matters by redealing and replaying the hand.
Of course, not every hand is a high-stakes slam or game contract. Take this innocuous partscore, for example.
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Lady Luck's Lover led ♣A, followed by ♣K. Cowboy now switched to ♦J. Declarer won on dummy and played a trump towards his hand. The Maggot felt safe with the Cowboy on lead, so he inserted ♠J. If trumps were to break 4-1, Declarer would like to retain control of the suit.
Cowboy scooped up ♠J with his ♠Q, gave partner ♣2 to ruff and trumped the Sultan's Diamond return. The ♥A became the setting trick. The Caustic Caution weighed in, immediately.
"Why didn't you bang down ♠AK? Taking a Spade finesse was crazy !"
The Ghost of Cleanliness Past remembered the Rattler's Reality Rule:
it will only confuse him.
There was no point in explaining him concepts like trump control and safety.
“I pulled the wrong card,” fibbed the Son of Miss Fortune. He then turned his attention to God's Favourite Atheist.
“Say, Cowpoke, why didn't you give your partner a Club ruff immediately?”
The Law of Average's Most Wanted Man smiled.
“I had to make the world safe for damn ol' crazy Spade hooks.”
The Sultan tried to mollify Attila.
“Cheer up, Rab. It wasn't your hand anyway. 2♠, down one, is much better than our 3♥, making.”
“3♥?” guffawed the Rattler. “My partner probably would've Doubled 3♥. You're vulnerable, you know.”
“Want to defend 3♥ Doubled?” offered the Cowboy.
At this moment, the Maggot looked at his watch.
It was 7:30 P.M.
He took this as an omen that he was about to lose 730 in
the post-mortem, allowing the Doubled 3♥ to make.
“No !”. he said firmly. Fleshie agreed with his owner, squawking and shaking his head.
“Yes !”, insisted the Caution. He redealt the hand and played it open. Three rounds of Spades. Cowboy ruffed the third, played ♣AK and ruffed a third Club on dummy. What did Attila want his partner to do, now that Declarer plays ♥10 from the table ?
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So, partner should cover ♥10 with his ♥J.”
“Okay,” countered the Cowboy.
“I win ♥Q and ruff
another Club with dummy's last trump.
Do you want your partner
to over-ruff with ♥K ?”
“He can't,” the Rattler inferred aloud. “You'll then draw trumps and claim. Okay, so he tosses a Spade.”
“Then, I ruff a Diamond into my hand, and play my last Club. You can trump this and concede the last two tricks to my ♥A9. Now, ♣AK, two Club ruffs on dummy and five trump tricks in my hand adds up to nine. +730 to us.”
“Of course,” opined the Caution, “you'd never reach 3♥, after your partner failed to bid 2♥ over the Double.”
“That's right,” concurred the Ghost, turning to the Duke. “I wonder why you didn't raise to 2♥. I've seen you bid on less.”
“I was a little timid, I guess,” shrugged the Hooknose.
Cowboy came to his partner's defence, explaining that this was simply a matter of perspective. An aggressive bidder might find the pass somewhat pusillanimous [=timid], while a more cautious bidder would find a 2♥ raise reckless. The Rattler guffawed, calling this rationalization "malarky".
What happened next caused the Maggot to drop into a dead
faint, while the rest of us were stunned into silence.
Fleshie raised one wing into the air, catching everyone's attention.
“Nevertheless,” spake the Raven, “timidity is in the eye of the bolder.”
Over the course of the months that I stayed there, I became
aware of what occupations the PdCers had pursued before
discovering Bridge.
The Maggot had been a professional baseball
player, briefly called up to the bid leagues to play with the
Philadelphia Phillies.
Attila had been a civil servant in the
tax department.
This I found ironic, since, while he was neither
civil nor servantile, he certainly was taxing.
The Sultan sold mountain-climbing gear,
while the Law of Average's Most Wanted Man
was — of all things — a minister.
A northern proverb tells us that “any fool can see what's
there, but that only a wise person can see what's missing”.
This would explain Attila's 20-20 vision, but it also causes the rest
of us to wonder what is missing from this group — besides hygiene,
tact, skill, dignity and grace, of course.
There didn't seem to be a Bridge theoretrician in their midst.
Who had invented the Canadian Club?
On what was to be my last day in Punkydoodle's Corners I posed this question.
The room fell silent.
Perhaps, this was false modesty? No.
“Our wives,” answered Cowboy quietly.
“Wives?” I repeated incredulously. “You guys are married?”
The Happy Hooknose shrugged his shoulders. The other three nodded sadly.
“To women?” I know that some questions are best left unasked. But, I had to ask.
“Of course !” bellowed the Caution. “What would you expect?”
Some questions, once asked, are best left unanswered.
When I showed interest in learning more about their spouses, the players became very quiet.
“The ladies ... they're a little ... unbalanced,” stuttered the Sultan.
“Unbalanced?” giggled the Caution obnoxiously. “They're lunatics !”
My morbid curiousity was getting the best of me. I had to meet anyone that these characters could consider "unbalanced".
By prying into the subject, I learned that the ladies lived in the nearby hamlet of Sandy Ledge — better known by its nickname, "Sanity's Edge". I badgered the group until I got directions.
My next stop: Sanity's Edge.
On to “The Session from Hell” article.
On to “The Three Gadgeteers” article.
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