|
by B. Scott Boring
In September of 1992, after accepting my first professional teaching job, I walked into the faculty dining room of Overbrook Junior High School. What I witnessed upon entering would shape me and start a love affair with an inanimate mistress which would consume my life. There in the faculty dining room were three tables of my colleagues playing cards during their lunch. I assumed it was pinochle, a game I learned in my youth, but I saw the strangest thing—every hand someone would lay their cards down on the table and watch his/her partner play both hands. Now I knew it wasn’t pinochle.
I tend to be a wallflower in new situations, so I just sat and observed, but slowly as I warmed up to what would become lifelong friends, I discovered they were all playing contract bridge—a game I knew about peripherally from the daily bridge hands which appeared in the local newspapers alongside the crossword puzzles and daily Jumble.
It didn’t take long for my math teacher friend and soon-to-be bridge mentor, Sheila Williams, to slide a chair next to her and kibitz. I had no idea what kibitz meant. It sounded like Jewish slang Judge Judy would use on television, and I wasn’t wrong. It’s Yiddish taken from a German word which means to look on (at cards).
I watched, learned, and became fascinated with the game, and before long there was a vacant chair, and they needed a fourth, and I delved into the card game. My ex-wife would call it my addiction, my affair, my girlfriend, and though she said it tongue-in-cheek, secretly I believe there was some jealousy there. I tried to involve her, but she never seemed to understand or perhaps want to comprehend the game. It was my thing to enjoy.
I played bridge for the next thirty-two years—later I discovered duplicate players call it party bridge—but I played it as often as I could. I bought books and learned conventions which I taught to my colleagues. I arrived at my teaching responsibilities an hour early every day, so I could get my schoolwork completed and free up my planning and lunch periods to play cards. When summer came, I ached. Going two months without playing bridge was like a death in the family for me. Most students and teachers dreaded the return in September, but not I. I was eager to get back to my “girlfriend.”
I discovered Yahoo bridge which I played on my desktop computer at home until the wee hours, and then when smart phones became the rage, I found an App—Omar Sharif On Bridge, and it is STILL on my phone—it is my friend and travel companion as I wait in the grocery line, at traffic lights, and on airport travel days.
Flashforward to the spring of 2025…I was now divorced‚—no, not because of bridge —relocated to Florida, recently retired, and bored. I spent my days gardening, writing, and sunbathing at the beach. One afternoon, I took a side street to avoid a traffic jam in Stuart, Florida. And there she was. My long-lost girlfriend had resurfaced. I was immediately smitten again, for the adoration had never waned. My mistress stood before me. She called to me like a siren from the pages of Homer’s Odyssey. I pulled my car off to the side of the road and snapped a picture of the sign—Khatib Bridge and Education Center. Khatib beckoned to me like the seductress she was. It wasn’t long before I was in a seat, partnered with Ken W. and playing duplicate, something I had only experienced on vacation one time in Palm Desert at Duncan Bridge Center.
I soon learned that duplicate was more advanced than party bridge, much more serious. My partners and opponents played duplicate fervently, like a faith, a religion, dare I say, a cult. Ironically, Khatib Bridge and Education Center is housed in a former Church of Christ, an apt location for these faithful fans. I soon learned about master points, ACBL membership, membership numbers, Bridgemates, daily percentages, and a plethora of conventions.
Around May of 2025, I discovered online play at BBO; this is the real success to my education into the world of duplicate bridge. The online solitaire games come with some education. Before I bid, I can scroll over the bid and discover what it means, something I can’t really do during live play. I can ask my opponents what a bid means, but I can’t get tutelage before I make a bid. The online play gives me this mentoring, and I have learned so much.
I guess if someone were to ask me what advice I would give to a budding player it would be this, always have your antennae out and learning. I’ve learned from every partner and opponent, and Khatib is never short on offering advice after I have played incorrectly or brilliantly. They want me to improve. There is no air of jealousy or competitiveness in my evolution as a bridge player from my colleagues at Khatib. They want me to excel.
Mike S. one of my favorite people at Khatib said it best, “Don’t try to add it all at once. Learn something new and add it to your toolbox. Once you master it, add the next thing.” That advice has become my bridge bible.
To recap: learn, listen, never feel like you have arrived, and play online bridge at BBO. Those things will make you a better player.
Shhh!!! Don’t tell anyone, but I’m off to meet my mistress to continue my love affair at 1:00 today.
____________
|