Thursday, April 11, 2013


A recent session at the club had my partner and I in stitches. At one stage the pair of us held on to a wall column for support, both racked with laughter as we waited to sit down and face our next adversaries.
    Both of us had tears in our eyes, literally, as we suppressed mild hysteria. We couldn't look at each other because eye contact would trigger a new wave of out-of-control laughter.
  "We chortled like meerkats drunk on tequila!"
     What was so funny?  I'm glad you asked. We had one of those rollercoaster rides at bridge that landed us with a pitiful 49.5 score (13th, I think, out of a total 18), but you know... for once, we did not care a hoot.
     Admittedly, by the end of the three-hour session, we were also emotionally drained. The reason we were laughing is that we simply COULD NOT BELIEVE the neurotic, mad, annoying, crazy people we met as we sat down at each table; smiled politely at our opponents; picked up our cards; and prepared to play.
     I'm sure it's happened to you too. You arrive at the club excited, your sails full of hope; then the computers don't work; someone spills coffee on a skirt; the air conditioning is freezing cold; someone is having a bad hair day; another person is FURIOUS because you "stole" the table's pen... and so it goes.
      First World whingers, I call them, and though I feel tempted to give everyone a "are you kidding me?" reality slap, of course I don't. I try to jolly them along... hence the drained exhaustion by the end of it all.
     The main thing is that Lulu [not her real name] and I had enormous fun even as we recognised that our competitive spirit had ebbed away completely by the end of three hours of Fawlty Towers, bridge club-style. We went home arm-in-arm, giggling, and looked forward to a triumphant return.
      In bridge, as in life, hope springs eternal. >>>
P.S. The next week Lulu and I came last with a score too embarrassing to mention. Reason? I was a first-class First World jerk, completely thrown by too much noise caused by nearby drilling; a partner that continually passed; and the fact that I was the sucker left to score the results which I intensely dislike doing. So the moral of this story is, let he or she who is blameless throw the first stone, or similar.... Until ze next time!