Susanna Gross

There are three reasons why I never make ‘psychic’ bids. First, because I’m a wimp. Second, because I often play with partners who are better than me, and I feel it would be arrogant to manipulate the bidding. And third, because you really have to know what you’re doing with psychic bids — and I’m not sure I do. But I know someone who does — Alex Hydes, my partner in the World Mixed Teams which are taking place in Poland this week (along with the Open, Women’s and Seniors). It’s a huge privilege to be on the England team — and to be partnering Alex in particular. He’s a ballsy, flair player — and I’d better brace myself as he probably psyches more than any other English international.

There’s been a fair amount of moaning about the English Bridge Union’s decision to move the week-long ‘Summer Meeting’ — one of the most popular events in the bridge calendar — from Brighton to Eastbourne. The decision was purely financial: Brighton is far more expensive. On the other hand, Brighton is a buzzy, vibrant town and was hugely popular with our younger players, who we desperately need to encourage. Whereas Eastbourne... let me put it this way: a couple of years ago, Eastbourne became the first place in the country to have an average age of over 70. The jury is still out, but I’ve just come back from the first Swiss Pairs at the new location and — call me an old fogey — I thought it was rather wonderful.

Here’s a bridge tip you won’t find in a book — one which the wonderful Gunnar Hallberg gave me. You’re declarer and a suit is led; dummy comes down with something like 8643, and it obviously doesn’t matter which card you play. Instead of routinely playing low, you should ask for a ridiculous, random card — say, the six. ‘The six?’ your partner (dummy) will ask, looking confused. ‘The six,’ you should repeat, emphatically. This has the effect of 1) making the opponents think you’re a scarily good player, and 2) distracting them from their defence while they try to work out why you might need to ‘unblock’ that particular card.

The rise of Donald Trump in the US presidential race has had at least one very peculiar consequence: millions of American bridge players are suddenly bidding no-trump contracts with great gusto. A recent New Yorker cartoon encapsulated it perfectly, depicting four players at a table with the caption: ‘One no-trump. Oh, please, God, no Trump.’ And it hasn’t stopped there: at tournaments up and down the country, vendors are doing a roaring trade in jaunty hats declaring ‘No Trump’. Meanwhile, a team of social scientists has caused a stir by publishing a study showing that no-trump contracts are being bid with greater frequency than ever.

I’ve never had the courage to ‘psyche’ at the bridge table, but I grudgingly admire those who do. Sally Brock and I were well and truly kippered at the recent European women’s pairs championships when, neither side vulnerable, I opened 1♣ holding AK43, K986, J4, 854. Our innocent-looking young Dutch opponent found the gutsy overcall of 1♥, holding QJ52, 42, Q1085, Q97. Sally held 87, AQJ1073, AK, A106 — and felt, quite reasonably, that she had no option but to pass. So the Dutch woman played in 1♥ undoubled, five down — a great result, given that we were making 4♥ plus one.

Congratulations — yet again — to the England women’s bridge team, who last week won gold at the European championships in Budapest. They have now won medals at the last six World and European women’s teams events which, according to the English Bridge Union, might currently make them the most successful international team in British sport. I was with them in Budapest the night before the tournament began: the newly bemedalled Sally Brock and I had travelled there four days earlier to play in the European Women’s Pairs. I should have done better with Sally, but we finished a respectable ninth — and I like to think I helped warm her up for Nicola Smith, her usual, brilliant partner!

Just take the money! That’s the philosophy of many rubber bridge players when it comes to bidding — or rather not bidding — grand slams. Why risk going down in seven when a small slam will net you a large enough gain? I’m not of that school myself: so long as I trust my partner, I can’t bear to stop short of bidding grand slams. But trust — ah, there’s the rub. Who can you trust? Playing for £10 a hundred at TGR’s recently, I cut Maurice Esterson as my partner. I’ve known Maurice for 20 years, I like him enormously, and I trust him completely. He trusts me too. Unfortunately, on this deal, it was his trust which proved unfounded: Maurice opened 2NT and I bid 4♣ — a slam try.

The Hubert Phillips Bowl is one of my favourite tournaments of the year: a friendly, knockout event with a rather quaint rule that all teams must include at least one woman. For some reason, this normally leads to teams of men plus exactly one woman — as though the woman represents a handicap. So, in a spirit of defiance, my team — captained by Sarah Ewart — has broken the mould: we have a preponderance of women. We did well in the 2016 bowl (which started last year), reaching the semi-finals. We began this new 2017 season full of confidence, turning up last week (three women and one man) to play against Bernard Teltcher’s team (three men and one woman). But, calamity — our first match and we’ve been knocked out!

Sometimes Janet teases me that this should be called the David Gold Column, as I mention his name so frequently. It’s true — David is a good friend as well as my bridge mentor, so he often points out interesting hands for me to write about. But it’s also true that over the past few years, David — who is still only 36 — has become one of the leading lights in world bridge, and an absolutely pivotal member of the England team. He also can’t stop winning things. The latest notch on his belt — as part of Alexander Allfrey’s team — is the Spring Fours in Stratford which, as Janet wrote last week, is about the best event on the English bridge calendar.

I’ve been practising bidding online with my friend Guy Hart in preparation for the Spring Fours in Stratford (we’ll know our fate by the time you read this). We’ve not played together much before, and frankly the field is so strong — a roll-call of the greats — that our team has about a zero chance of getting to the final. Still, we can only do our best — and I must do better than I did during our practice game last week. Towards the end of the evening, I played a hand sloppily and went down. I asked Guy how I might have made the contract. ‘You’d have made it if you were a Republican, and not a Monarchist,’ he replied. ‘What?’ I spluttered.

Bridge is such an unforgiving game; you can’t afford to take your eye off the ball for a single moment. Take, for example, the penalty for revoking. There you are, concentrating fiercely, counting the cards — and suddenly you realise you’ve done something as idiotic as fail to follow suit. You try to correct your mistake, apologise. But no, declarer is determined to take full advantage. He calls for the director, who tells you that the card must remain face up on the table — like a beacon of shame — and that you must play it at the first opportunity. Your humiliation is complete when this turns out to be the only way to let the contract through. Players have every right to insist on their rights, of course. But I do relish stories of it backfiring.

Well done to Janet and her team for their victory at the London Easter Congress. My own team — David Gold, Peter Taylor and Ingar Hansen — were lying first equal at one point, but ended up slipping to tenth after Janet and her crew beat us in our head-to-head match. I seem to have been jinxed by the number 10, as David and I came tenth in the Pairs too. I wish I could say we didn’t have much luck. The trouble is, the hand that sticks in my mind is one where we got very lucky indeed: I made a poor lead against a slam but our opponent managed to go down by making an even worse play.

Bridge players are a superstitious bunch. And I don’t just mean the steps they take to prepare for matches — the lucky socks, the special pens, the insistence on sitting North or South. No, even once the game has begun, many rely on strange sayings and beliefs to help them decide how to play. Different countries have different superstitions. In Russia, for instance, it is said that if ever you’re in doubt about what to lead, a diamond is best. In India, the mantra goes that the queen and nine of a suit are always in the same hand. In Norway, if you want to locate a queen, the golden rule is to assume the defender with the longest nose has it.

Unless you’re an expert, it often pays to keep quiet at the bridge table — something I really ought to remember. It shames me to think of all the times I’ve made a mistake and then tried to justify it, invariably using flawed reasoning which makes me look even more idiotic. That’s bad enough; but far worse are the times I’ve criticised my partner only to realise that I’m talking rubbish yet again: I’ve shown myself to be not just bossy, but bossy and wrong — not a great combination. At least I’m not the only one; we bridge players are quick to blame, and I’ve been at the receiving end plenty of times. I played at the YC with Peter Taylor last Friday.

Over the years, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking, and canvassing opinion, about what to lead from AKxxx (or AK10xx) against no trump contracts. Yes, I know, I should be spending my time pondering weightier issues, but it’s surprising how often that particular dilemma crops up. Holding AKxx, you would clearly kick off with an honour, but with five in the suit, the question of whether to lead high or low is as hotly contested among bridge players as Brexit is among Tory cabinet ministers. In fact, most experts would agree there’s no clear right or wrong; but whichever card you plump for ... it’s usually the very one that either beats or lets through the contract.

It’s got to be the most bizarre news story of the year: last week, no fewer than 50 Thai police officers burst into a bridge club in Pattaya — a city rife with crime and prostitution — and arrested 32 elderly players, many of them British ex-pats. Gambling is strictly forbidden in Thailand, and the police were acting on a false tip-off that they were playing for money. But even once it was clear that they weren’t, the bridge enthusiasts — who included an 84-year-old Dutch woman on a walking stick — were carted off to the police station and charged with breaking a 1935 law prohibiting card players from possessing more than 120 cards at any given time. They were released at 4 a.m., after being fined 5,000 baht each (around £100).

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster, and treat those two impostors just the same... Well, Kipling obviously never played competitive bridge. Triumph is the only thing that counts: just ask Helen Erichsen and Fiona Brown, who did brilliantly last weekend to win the England women’s trials. You needed to finish in the top three to qualify for the Home Internationals in April. My partner Sally Brock and I had a great Friday and Saturday — but met with disaster on Sunday. Too many wrong decisions, too many costly mistakes; we plummeted to fifth place and I can still feel the bruises.

Forgive me for the outdated, clichéd expression but ...GIRL POWER! The surprise winners of last weekend’s TGRs auction pairs were two women internationals, Paula Leslie (Scotland) and Solvi Rehmen (Norway). It was a giant victory — and a small step for womankind. Many of the (male) heavyweights of the bridge world had flown to London for the event: Alfredo Versace, Boye Brogeland, Peter Fredin. In the auction, the favourites went for predictably large amounts (Versace and Mustafa Cem Tokay for £3,100; Zia Mahmood and Krzysztof Martens for £2,400). Like most of the outsiders, Paula and Solvi went for just £200. The syndicate who bid for them must be pretty pleased: they netted the first prize of £14,000.

This might be the most beautiful hand I’ve ever seen. I came across it while reading one of the old bridge books in my collection (Test Your Play as Declarer by Paul Lukacs and Jeff Rubens), and was bowled over by the solution: the pure logic of it came as a sort of epiphany. Forgive me if you’ve seen the hand, or a variation of it, before — but if you haven’t, I hope you find, like I did, that your mind has entered a higher dimension. Cover up the East/West cards: West leads the ♦K to East’s ace. East returns a trump to your ♠Q, West showing out. Assuming West started with seven diamonds, how would you proceed? Amazingly, this hand isn’t a matter of weighing up the odds. It is guaranteed, against any distribution.

If you don’t play bridge, you really should avoid gatherings of bridge players — you’ll find us excruciatingly dull. I’ve never forgotten the time, a few years back, when Sally Brock and I went for dinner with our teammates after a tournament. We got a booth in a restaurant, and began discussing the hands we’d played. After an hour or so, the two ladies in the adjoining booth stood up and huffily put on their coats. Then one of them turned to us and said, ‘It’s not just the fact that you’ve been talking so loudly that’s ruined our meal, but you’ve been so painfully boring to listen to.’ It’s true, we talk and talk, obsessively and nerdily; people in trains move away from us, people in planes reach for their earplugs.