A Very 'Bridge to Nowhere' Christmas

Christmas carols are like the tabloid journals of the festive season. They reduce complex issues and situations to a simplistic verse-chorus structure for easy consumption by the masses, and they incorporate masses of errors in context and detail. Why, for example, did Good King Wenceslas carry heavy pinelogs down to the poor man who lived by the forest fence? – if he’d only picked out a pair of wirecutters and a sharp axe, he could have acquired all the wood he wanted on the spot for half the effort. Where is the land of Orientare, and what complex constitutional arrangements allow it to be ruled by three kings? And how could anyone have seen three ships come sailing in when Bethlehem is forty miles inland?

Such distortion has also affected that perennial favourite, “Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer”; but tonight, after literally minutes of tireless research, Bridge to Nowhere is finally in a position to reveal the true story behind this classic Christmas anthem! The other reindeer have been much maligned down the years for shunning Rudolf on account of his harmless physical deformity, even to the point of excluding him from their games. But Santa is an agent of absolute good! Could he really have such malicious and small-minded creatures in his employ? We find this hard to believe. The truth is, if the reindeer game was bridge, then eight players would have been sufficient for a competitive two-table game, leaving no space for poor Rudolf, who arrived on the reindeer scene too late to get a regular partner and, for his first few years in Lapland, got no closer to the game than Vugraph operator for the benefit of the thousands of entranced elves watching on BBO.

We are now in a position to tell you more. The event is the annual North Pole Classic, and until lately the only entrants were the same four reindeer pairs. Dasher plays with Dancer: Dasher plays at a blistering pace, relying on instinct to make up for his inability to think through complex endings, but is often saved by the thoughtful plays of Dancer, who can make the cards pirouette like ballet prima donnas. The next pair is Comet and Cupid. Cupid’s just a boy, really, but he’s completely in love with the game; Comet, a former international who blazed a trail through the bridge firmament in his youth, has taken him on as his protégé. Donner and Blitzen are a solid and dependable couple, though somewhat short on flair, relying on a bidding system that has been constructed with Teutonic thoroughness and similar inflexibility. Don’t go overbidding against them, though, as they exhibit astute judgement when it comes to swinging the axe (though some would suggest that the thunderous tones in which they boom “Double!” are perhaps a touch unethical). The last, and weakest, partnership is Prancer and Vixen, an ill-matched pair indeed: Vixen is a subtle player well-versed in the arts of deceit, but her shrewd traps are often unlaid by the heedless plays of her preening exhibitionist partner. The North Pole Classic is the prestige event of the Contract Bridge Association of Lapland. Each pair plays seven boards in partnership with each other pair, for each match playing in direct opposition to the other two pairs. All scores are IMPed against the other table, and the pair which wins the most IMPs by the end of the session earns the much-coveted prize of the lead position in Santa’s team, fronting the Jolly Fat Man’s efforts to deliver playing cards, pencils and scorepads to all the good boys and girls worldwide (and to the bad, no lumps of coal, but rather a guarantee that their finesses will always be off, and trumps will always be 5-0 offside).

Rudolph’s big break finally came one year when Cupid and Comet, returning from a Congress abroad, unexpectedly found themselves fogbound at Schiphol Airport, and Santa (the Tournament Director) put out an urgent last-minute call for substitutes. Rudolph eagerly volunteered, but finding him a partner was a more difficult task, until finally, with the utmost reluctance, Olive (the other reindeer) came forward. In the first set, they played against Donner and Blitzen, with Prancer and Vixen as team-mates. This was a baptism of fire for an untested partnership, and Olive’s attitude did not help matters: she laughed at Rudolf’s clumsy and unsophisticated bidding methods on the first few hands, and called him all sorts of names, such as “palooka” and “muppet”. However, on board 6 Rudolf finally had a chance to shine, sniffing out a vulnerable game that was missed at the other table, and on board 7 he passed a big red two-suiter on which Dasher took a phantom sacrifice. These two pieces of good judgement made up in some measure for the catastrophes they had suffered earlier in the set, and they managed to hold the deficit to 16 IMPs, a mountain to climb, certainly, but not yet out of touch, with Olive’s confidence in Rudolf’s play much improved.

In the second set, Rudolf and Olive partnered Dasher and Dancer, this time sitting down against Prancer and Vixen. Rudolf had by now hit his stride and felt good about his game, and unravelled many of Vixen’s most cunning traps. At the other table, Donner and Blitzen, with the same cards as Rudolph and Olive, produced workmanlike and accurate bridge, but were undone by the swings created by their team-mates, and were disappointed to come back with a 17 IMP defeat.

And so the stage was set for the last round: Donner and Blitzen (-1), no longer able to qualify but still playing for their pride, in harness with Rudolf and Olive (+1), who needed a big swing to be in with a chance; on the other side, Dasher and Dancer (+33) protecting a long lead, but this time handicapped by the clearly out-of-form Prancer and Vixen (-33). Few IMPs changed hands on the first six boards, but the ones which did moved in Dasher and Dancer’s direction, leaving them on +36 IMPs and Rudolf and Olive on -2 when Board 21 hit the table.

Board 21. N dealer, NS vulnerable

North Pole Classic, Board 21

Dealer N Vul N/S Scoring Imp	♠ A64 ♥ AK9 ♦ AKQJ732 ♣
♠ QJ9752 ♥ 75 ♦ T65 ♣ K8		♠ KT3 ♥ 63 ♦ ♣ QJ975432
	♠ 8 ♥ QJT842 ♦ 984 ♣ AT6

Prancer	Donner	Vixen	Blitzen
	1♣(1)	p	2♥(2)
p	5♣(3)	p	5♦(4)
p	5♠(5)	p	6♣(6)
p	7NT

(1) Strong & forcing
(2) 6 hearts, 4-7 HCP
(3) Exclusion Blackwood, asking for keycards outside clubs
(4) 0 or 3 keycards outside clubs
(5) Asking for heart Q
(6) Showing the heart Q, plus extra values in clubs (here clearly the ace)

At Donner’s table, Donner opened a strong 1C, and Vixen guessed to pass, outfoxing herself once again: heavy pre-emption would surely have worked out better. Thereafter the auction proceeded on conventional lines to the rock-solid 7NT, +2220 to the good guys. Nevertheless, the chance for a big swing looked poor: 7D was just as ice cold as 7NT, and even if Dasher and Dancer reached the heart grand played from the South seat, it was by no means obvious for West to lead the diamond. Not to mention that even bidding (and making) a partscore would still leave Dasher and Dancer well in front and with the prime view on Santa’s forthcoming rounds.

Rudolf	Dasher	Olive	Dancer
	2♣	3♣	3♥
p	7♥	X	p
p	p

At the other table, Dasher (North) opened an Acol 2C, which Olive, in the East seat, overcalled with 3C. Dancer could do no more than show her positive with hearts, whereby Dasher, with no thought to the match situation or to the location of the club ace, bid the grandstanding 7H. Olive now found a Lightner Double, hoping against hope that Rudolf could diagnose the diamond lead. Perhaps Dancer could have converted to 7NT; but ignorant as she was of partner’s holding, she decided to pass in case partner had a spade suit that needed to be ruffed good. Dasher had misgivings about passing, and rued now his rash leap to the grand, but with his club void he really had nowhere else to go.

All eyes were now on Rudolf; it was the night before Christmas, but not a creature stirred as he pondered his lead. In the vugraph room in the Toy Workship, and online throughout the BBO community, the elves and the toymakers held their breath. Donner and Blitzen came over from the other table (where the play had been completed at lightning speed), and nervously chewed their antlers. Santa himself was caught up in the tension of the moment, and as he drifted over to the table and diagnosed both Rudolf’s lead problem and the number of IMPs that would ride on his decision, he called for a hearty swig of sherry to steady his nerves.

Rudolf himself was well aware of the eyes of the kibitzers upon him, and the rich red glow of embarrassment spread over his whole body at the attention that was focused in his direction. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes to steady his nerves, and he opened them fully focused on the problem. What lead was Olive calling for? Clubs could be ruled out for certain: not only was Dasher well prepared for a club lead, but Olive herself could expect her partner to lead her suit, unless she issued a clear directive to do otherwise. Rudolf could also rule out the possibility of an ace in Olive’s hand. Certainly Dasher was one of the more... er, adventurous bidders to inhabit the Arctic Circle, but even he was schooled in the various species of Blackwood, and could be relied upon to apply Exclusion Keycard if he needed a bullet somewhere. That left a void with Olive, and mathematically her most likely shortage was in spades, Rudolf’s long suit. Rudolf unstretched his front legs, and reached for the 2 of spades with his right hoof...

...But wait! Luckily reindeer lack opposable thumbs, which affords them plenty of time for second thoughts. As he fumbled with his cards, Rudolf suddenly realised he had given no thought to the likely content of dummy’s hand, which was surely even more transparent on the given auction. By his count, Dasher had at least ten forcing bids available over 3H to learn more about Dancer’s hand. Why, then, had he chosen simply to jump to the grand? Because he could underwrite thirteen tricks on his own cards! And why would that be? Because he had a long, and solid, side suit of his own! What could that long and solid side suit be, if not diamonds? (it certainly wasn’t spades!) Grinning widely, Rudolf realised that the answer was as clear as the nose on his face: lead the red side suit! He picked out the five of diamonds, and when Olive covered it with the heart three, exchanged a jubilant “high one” (again, the physiognomy of hooves prevents a “high five") with his partner. +200 at Rudolf’s table, against +2220 for his team mates: +2420 points works out as +20 IMPs, just enough to overcome the deficit. Rudolf would be flying point tonight!

The rest is history, as we all know from the song, when Santa came to say,

“Rudolph, with your lead so bright
you can lead my sleigh tonight!”

Then all the reindeer loved him,
as they shouted out with glee,
“Rudolf the Red knows bridge, dear;
he’ll go down in history!”

Merry Christmas, and may all your finesses hold up!

The dog who could play bridge

We heard the story recently of a man who walked into a bar and proudly said to the barman,

“I’ve taught my dog to declare a bridge hand! He’s no good at the bidding, but his declarer play’s pretty sharp! I bet if you set him up with a makeable contract to play, he’ll make it.”

The barman says, “You’re on!” and sets up the following hand:

♠ 9 ♥ ♦ AK765 ♣ 8765432

♠ AKQJT86 ♥ KT63 ♦ 52 ♣

“OK,” says the barman. “The contract’s six spades, and the lead is the ace of hearts. Call your card from dummy.”

The dog says, “RUFF”.

The barman yells, “You’re a fraud, and so’s your dog. Get the HELL out of my bar!” and throws them both out on the street. Befuddled and dazed, they pick themselves up. The dog turns to his master, and says, “Do you think I should have left him on lead to rectify the count for a squeeze?”

Occult Bridge

Sick of playing those same old mortal opponents you get at your local bridge club? The folks in Mollo’s Menagerie had the spicy experience one Walpurgis Night (go on, look it up!) of playing against the Prince of Darkness and his consort, who had taken the assumed names of Lord and Lady Greymalkin (Destiny at Bay, chapter thirteen). Here’s my favourite hand, where the demonic duo get the better of perennial lovable muppets Timothy the Toucan, and the original Rueful Rabbit:

	♠ T86 ♥ 9 ♦ 98765432 ♣ 9
♠ KJ97 ♥ 8 ♦ AK ♣ AKQ864		♠ AQ ♥ AKQJ753 ♦ QJT ♣ T
	♠ 5432 ♥ T642 ♦ ♣ J7532

The Rabbit and Toucan bid the East-West hands to the unassailable 7H, and excitedly showed each other their cards. Unfortunately, they had forgotten to wait till the bidding was over, meaning that all twenty six cards they held were now major penalty cards. South could now bid 7NT, and, since Law 50 allowed him to choose the cards the opponents played, this ludicrous contract romped home on a combined 1-count! I’ll leave it to you to work out the best sequence of play to ensure thirteen tricks.

But then, if you want to play occult bridge, there’s no need to wait for the Father of Lies to cut into your club game. The Bridge to Nowhere team includes our very own Necromancer, a notorious psychic bidder, who is adept at conjuring up the spirits of hands long since dead and bidding them in place of the thirteen cards he actually holds. (Thirteen cards? No wonder there’s a home for the occult in our game!) Now let’s be clear, though, what the Necromancer’s goals are, and what makes a good psyche. Our psychic pscientist once saw a junior pick up the following, third in hand, non vulnerable against vulnerable:

♠ 32 ♥ 974 ♦ A84 ♣ JT872

After two passes, would you ever open 1C? The Necromancer disapproves. Meddling in the spirit world is a risky undertaking, and the ghouls who inhabit the dark beyond play cruel tricks on those who interfere without fixed purpose in mind. You’re not eating any bidding space, you’re not directing a helpful lead from partner (do you really want him to lead from K-x in that suit?), and you’re not even picking off a suit where the opponents are likely to have a fit. This pitiable effort met with just punishment: for of course partner had a maximum pass, and of course he responded 2NT, and there are few forms of scoring where -200 on a partscore deal leads to a good result.

No, our Necromancer, instructor in the dark arts, has convinced us that the forces of the underworld will only side with our efforts when we have some evil, sinister purpose in mind. A psyche has a chance of succeeding when it can meet two objectives. Firstly, it has to envision an action from the opponents that will lead to their winning the board – finding a slam, or the right game, or getting off to the right lead against our best contract. And next, it must create an illusion, a diversion, that draws the opponents away from that successful action and leads them to their doom. It’s much like tempting someone to sell his soul – you have to offer in exchange a prospect that appears enticing at first sight, but only reveals itself to be smoke and mirrors when it’s already too late.

Here’s an example of how the Necromancer enlists the psychic forces of the Dark Beyond, from the Brighton Congress teams this past summer:

♠ AQ874 ♥ KQJ732 ♦ ♣ 32

Holding the above cards, the Necromancer opened 1H first in hand, and was gratified to hear a 1S response from partner. What would your next bid be? 4S seems to sell the hand short, when as little as ten-fourth of spades and the ace-queen of clubs opposite would give a decent play for slam, but what is the best way to try for six? A 4D splinter would convey the diamond shortness, though would not get across the potential of that beautiful heart side suit, and would probably imply better clubs. The Necromancer also had a 5D bid available (Voidwood, or Exclusion Blackwood) which would ask for keycards outside the diamond suit, suggesting a diamond void, and would at least have the merit of avoiding a hopeless contract whenever the opponents could cash two aces on lead. What do you think the Necromancer did?

Rejecting all of the above bids, he tried for outright larceny, and bid 5C(!), showing a void in clubs, and asking for keycards outside the club suit. Partner duly showed two without the queen of trumps, and shortly found himself in 6 spades. Turn now to St Jude (for it was he) in the East seat, and try to find an opening lead:

♠ T3 ♥ A9 ♦ T875 ♣ AK954

Obviously on the auction the club lead looked like one of Jude’s trademark Lost Causes, since not only would it be ruffed in the dummy, it might also allow declarer to take a ruffing finesse in clubs for a critical discard later in the play. Jude settled on a diamond, as dummy looked to have a few high cards in diamonds on the auction, and partner might have the offside king to establish before declarer could set up the hearts to get rid of his losers in that suit.

Partner did indeed come up with the king of diamonds, but to no avail, for this was the full deal:

Dealer S Vul All Scoring Imp Lead ♦5	♠ KJ92 ♥ 854 ♦ AQ43 ♣ J865
♠ 65 ♥ T6 ♦ KJ962 ♣ QT76		♠ T3 ♥ A9 ♦ T875 ♣ AK954
	♠ AQ874 ♥ KQJ732 ♦ ♣ 32

With both dummy’s clubs going off on the diamonds, twelve tricks were now trivial for declarer, thanks to the Necromancer’s incantations. And who can say he didn’t deserve his luck? He imagined a hand where God intended that slam should go off, and with the assistance of the psychic world thwarted the best efforts of His humble agent St Jude once again. Good versus evil... the battle that began in the Griffins’ club among the Mollo menagerie continues at the card table to this day, and will not reach its resolution until the day the Angel Gabriel draws the Last Trump.

Chuck Norris and bridge

Bridge to Nowhere likes to keep abreast of the memes and fads which sweep the Internet, and like bridge players everywhere, is always within a couple of years of the latest fashions. In this spirit we present our list of Chuck Norris Facts: If Chuck Norris Played Bridge...

• Do not pull Chuck Norris’ penalty doubles. This is your only warning.


• General rule of defence: Lead through Chuck Norris, and up to weakness.


• When other partners overcall, and you don’t lead their suit, you lose the post mortem. When Chuck Norris overcalls, and you don’t lead his suit, you ARE the post mortem.


• Chuck Norris does not bid one more when he is in doubt. Chuck Norris is never in doubt.


• When Chuck Norris decides to play for the drop, he can bring down a doubleton king.


• Chuck Norris’ LHO opens 1D. Chuck Norris’ partner overcalls 1H. Chuck Norris’ RHO bids 1S. Chuck Norris bids 1C. This is a sufficient bid.


• There are no redouble cards in Chuck Norris’ bidding box. This is because no one dares double him.


• Chuck Norris does not play Weak Twos. Chuck Norris cannot possess a weakness.


• Chuck Norris once made a grand slam that was missing the Ace and King of trumps. No-one revoked.


• The five level belongs to Chuck Norris.
  
• Chuck Norris does not play the Weak No Trump. If you don’t know why, you are sadly under-informed about Chuck Norris.


• Contrary to popular belief, Chuck Norris is not an expert at reading opponents’ cards. The cards just make it their business to be where Chuck Norris wants them to be.


• Chuck Norris just executed a simultaneous double squeeze. On your sister and your mother.


• When Chuck Norris holds AQT8, he counts four top tricks.


• Who would win if the Italian Blue Team could play the Culbertson team that won the ‘Bridge Battle of the Century’? Answer: Chuck Norris.


• Chuck Norris does not make slam. Slam makes Chuck Norris.

Next post: some topical musings on the sinking of the Titanic...

Why should we shuffle before returning hands to the board?

Bridge is a thinker’s game, and no thinker delves more deeply into the minds of his fellow players than Sigmund, Professor of Creative Bidding and academic consultant to the Bridge to Nowhere team. You, dear reader, no doubt consider yourself a Master Player, not only because you’ve attended the Holmes Wilson for the last thirty years straight and have managed to scrape together enough 15-15 draws for the required national points, but also because, in all those years, you have acquired a modest amount of fluency in remembering the bidding and play at your own table, at least while the board is still in progress. You still have some way to go, however, before you match the feats of Professor Sigmund, who is capable of reconstructing what happened on a board that has already been played two tables back!

Here’s the scenario. Pairs tournament, of mixed ability. It’s towards the middle of the competition, and Sigmund is doing reasonably well, despite a couple of characteristic slips. His boards are coming from the sitout; he returns to the table after slipping out for a cigar (just a cigar, nothing else), greets his new opponents (“How’s your mother?”), and picks up the following cards.

Board 19
South dealer, E-W vulnerable

♠ KQJT8 ♥ T4 ♦ KQ5 ♣ T42

Would you open this hand, first and green? It depends on your style. If you like going off in game, or letting through a cold 4H, doubled by partner, then by all means reach for the 1S card. If you’re playing Precision or Polish Club or Carrot Club or some other system where openings are limited to 16 HCP, you’re probably reasonably safe; partner’s not going to hang you for opening this aceless rubbish, and at least you’ve bought a favourable lead. But if you play the system you learned at your mother’s knee, some kind of Acol-type Weak & 4, surely pass is clear. Should you declare the hand, you’re at the mercy of your opponents in the early play, since you don’t have any controls: the tempo on this hand belongs to the enemy. Plus you have a very nice spade overcall available on a later round of the auction, which both describes your hand and also has some values to spare. That’s not the case with an Acol 1S opening, which shows 12-20 (yes, twelve to twenty), and compels you to make minimum rebids on the next seven rounds of the auction as parter repeatedly forces the bidding, plenty of time to repent of your folly in opening a hand with too many faces, not enough aces.

That’s how Sigmund saw the hand, and he was about to toss the green Pass card on the table, when a detail suddenly seized his attention. After he had pulled the cards from the board and counted them out 1 to 13, he had inspected their faces, and they were already sorted for him! For sure, the Laws technically require a shuffle before returning the cards to the board; but this is Ireland, the Wild West of contract bridge, where the Laws mean nothing if the sheriff has no gun, and it is routine here for players to cock a snook at the authorities by returning cards unshuffled. Why were these cards in perfect order, spades-hearts-diamonds-clubs, sorted top to bottom? Because that was how the previous South had sorted them before he returned them to the board! And had he really played all 13 cards in this highly improbably order of highest-to-lowest, spades-to-clubs? Surely not. No doubt the hand was passed out, because the points were distributed evenly as 9 or 10 or 11 between the four hands, all of which were fairly flat; and that meant that Sigmund, who held a very appealing holding in the boss suit, could bid 2S, notionally weak (Benjamin style), confident that no-one had the values to come in at the 3 level, and confident of finding at least a partially-fitting dummy with plenty of working values, but not enough to make missing game a danger!

As expected, 2S was passed out, with no-one having the values to proceed further. The full hand was as follows, with 2S cold against a passout at most other tables: +110 and a near top.

Dealer S Vul E/W Scoring MP Lead ♣9	♠ 94 ♥ 862 ♦ AJT62 ♣ KQ7
♠ A32 ♥ AQ753 ♦ 93 ♣ 985		♠ 765 ♥ KJ9 ♦ 874 ♣ AJ63
	♠ KQJT8 ♥ T4 ♦ KQ5 ♣ T42

(9 of clubs led, followed by three rounds of hearts, on the last of which the Professor discarded a spade from hand, playing safe against a possible 4-2 spade split, followed by ace-other spade exit.)

Undeserved reward for the actions of a psycho? Analytical brilliance? Your judgement, dear reader, but if you begrudge Sigmund his fine score on this board, there is one favour you could do us all: Please, please, please, shuffle your cards before you return them to the wallet!

Meet St.Jude!

It’s time you were introduced to our resident writers here at Bridge to Nowhere, so let’s start with our chaplain and regular declarer of hopeless contracts, St Jude. Like his ecclesiastical namesake, Jude is used to lost causes – phantom sacrifices, slams off two aces, desperation switches that give away redoubled overtricks, that kind of thing. Hoping to improve his results, Jude has recently begun casting his eyes heavenwards when his dummies hit and whispering a silent prayer that his opponents renege. This makes him the only player in the room who is actually thinking when he stares at the ceiling.

See if you can match St Jude’s judgement in this hand from a recent teams match in the Sean Stack League, played at the Regent Bridge Club in the heart of Dublin 4 (the good saint apologises if he got some of the details wrong, he had to rush off to confession after passing partner in a cue bid and he forgot to pick up the hand records). Imagine you hold the following cards as South, second to speak, non-vulnerable against vulnerable, IMPs scoring:

♠ AK6 ♥ 82 ♦ AQT7632 ♣ 9

When Jude picked up this hand his right hand opponent opened 1NT strong. In accordance with the wishes of his partner (for the meek shall inherit the earth), he had agreed to play 2D as artificial, showing spades and another, so muttering a quick prayer he leapt in with 3D. The auction proceeded as follows:

West	North	East	South
		1NT	3♦
3♥	5♦	5♥	p
6♣	p	6♥	?

What now? Decide what action (if any) you plan to take, and read on to see how the hand panned out.

Fidgeting with his rosary, St Jude cast his eyes to the Great Dealer in the sky, and awaited His guidance. What was God’s will for him on this hand? Should he swing the axe, expecting at least two of his three top tricks to stand up? Perhaps there were two top spade winners out for the defence, and LHO was confidently awaiting a diamond lead into his void, in which case the double should steer partner away from the obvious lead? But the auction was very revealing – especially that 6C bid! Jude could tell that West had not read his Ecclesiastes recently ("A time to keep silence, and a time to speak", Ecc.3.7). Surely he had at least twelve, possibly as many as fourteen cards in the round suits to be bidding this way? At last Jude recalled the teachings of the church – “Only Jesus saves!” – and, remembering his namesake’s devotion to lost causes, he decided to pass meekly and pay off to the opponents’ vulnerable slam.

The full deal was as follows:

Dealer E Vul E/W Scoring - Lead	♠ T9732 ♥ 76 ♦ 9854 ♣ 74
♠ 5 ♥ AJT95 ♦ ♣ AK86532		♠ QJ84 ♥ KQ43 ♦ KJ ♣ QJT
	♠ AK6 ♥ 82 ♦ AQT7632 ♣ 9

Partner led a small diamond, ruffed in the closed hand. Two top trumps then hit thetable, followed by the rest of declarer’s cards: the four spades would go on the clubs, and there were stlll trumps to spare on the table to ruff declarer’s singleton. Jude quietly wrote up -1460 on his scorecard, and hoped his team-mates had the nous to drive that four-loser hand to slam.

When it came time to score up, he was overjoyed that for once he did not have to wait for heaven to get his reward, as his counterpart at the other table, on a near-identical auction, doubled 6H (Lightner style; suggesting that partner look for an unusual lead, in this case clearly spades). In one sense he was right, as the spade was the only lead to prevent the overtrick. However, it was only a technical triumph, as +1660 against -1460 proved to be 5 IMPs to the good guys. Kudos to you if you followed Jude’s reasoning and passed; even more so if you had the courage of your convictions and saved in 7D doubled for a likely -800!

The 2017 laws - some suggestions for improvements!

With the 2007 Laws now, one hopes, safely bedded down (though I dread the first time I need a ruling on the new Law 27B, Insufficient Bid Not Accepted!), Lawmakers are already considering what will need tinkering with in 2017. The game belongs to us, the players, and I suggest that the next revision should incorporate the following amendments, all of which represent standard local practice.

LAW 6: THE SHUFFLE AND DEAL

The deal must be performed in a light, perfunctory fashion, hand over hand, in order not to mix the suits too thoroughly. This is to ensure deals remain ‘flat’, and are not fixed in favour of the better players.

If a deal is passed out, it must be thrown in and redealt. The young super-scientists three tables down must not be allowed the benefit of their judgement and cardplay technique after a super-light opening!

LAW 8: SEQUENCE OF ROUNDS

A. Movement of Boards and Players

The players are not allowed to be responsible for the movement of boards between rounds, as they are incapable of grasping such complex instructions as ‘move the boards clockwise’. The Director should perform this function himself, or engage a reliable firm of couriers (FedEx, or TNT) for such purpose.

B. End of Round

In general, a round ends when the Director gives the signal for the start of the next round.
But if any table has not completed play, or if East has not reached the punchline of the joke he is telling, or if any player is still staring at the ceiling and wondering whether dummy’s 9 of clubs is high, the round continues for that table regardless of how visibly frustrated the arriving pair are.

LAW 9: PROCEDURE FOLLOWING AN IRREGULARITY

A. After Attention is Drawn to An Irregularity

1. (a) Calling the Director is the equivalent of a criminal accusation, and should only be undertaken in the gravest of circumstances.
(b) When addressed by a Director, players should be briefed to give only their name, masterpoint rank, and number. The Director is like the police: an interfering busybody who should not be invited to poke his nose into affairs that do not concern him.
(c) The four players at the table are assumed to be grown ups, and should be relied upon to sort out their own problems. In case of dispute the player who can shout the loudest is deemed to be in the right.

More suggestions to follow in the coming weeks!