Susanna Gross

It can be hard to explain to people who don’t play bridge why it’s quite such a beautiful game. And yet, with fewer young people taking it up, and numbers declining, it’s vital that we do: otherwise, we face the heart-wrenching prospect that it might die out. Bridge organisations worldwide are doing what they can to reverse the trend, of course. And countless individuals are helping. But I don’t believe anyone is doing more than Sam Punch, professor of sociology at the University of Sterling.   Sam, who plays for Scotland, has decided to spend the next 15 years establishing a new academic field: the Sociology of Bridge.

Zia Mahmood is as famous today as when I first met him 20 years ago. Not only is he still one of the world’s top players (a rarity for someone in their early seventies), but he brings as much dazzle and flair to the game as he always did. Quite simply, he’s one of a kind. Or so I’ve always thought — which makes it rather disconcerting to hear reports of his teenage son Zain emerging as a talented player. Zain attends Eton College and recently won the Stockdale Cup (its pairs competition) for the second time. No doubt his proud father is plotting some fearful double act, although I’m sure many players will feel that one Mahmood at the table is quite enough.

For those of us who play rubber bridge at TGR’s, the New Year began with the very sad news that Maurice Esterson had died. He was 89, but it was still completely unexpected. He was part of the club’s furniture — perhaps its most comfortable and precious item — and had been playing with his usual vigour just days earlier.   On the whole, we rubber bridge players are a grumpy lot, with fragile egos. Maurice was a rarity: a fine player (he represented England three times) with an even, kind temperament, always full of good humour, and universally liked and respected.   When I last saw him, we were making one of our favourite jokes about how fussy players become when deciding which chair to sit in at the start of a new rubber.

The other day, I opened a Christmas card showing Santa carrying a sack full of presents, and was immediately reminded of one of my favourite Boris Schapiro stories. Schapiro was famously mischievous, and here his victim was his partner, Terence Reese. He and Reese were, of course, a legendary pair for two decades from the mid-1940s, and won the world championships in 1955. But their personalities couldn’t have been more different: Reese was aloof and dispassionate, Schapiro cheeky and volatile.   For some reason, their many trophies were stored at Schapiro’s flat, and one evening, Reese popped round to collect some. Using a pillowcase as a sack, he set off home, but was stopped by a policeman who thought he looked suspicious.

It’s been six months since the legendary Martin Hoffman died, but I’m still not sure if I’ve quite registered the fact. For 70 years, Martin was an omnipresent figure in London’s bridge clubs, and at 89 he remained as active as ever: he was cheerily playing with a client just hours before he passed away. I keep half-expecting him to pop into the YC or TGR’s, either to play or just to watch, as he liked to do.   Martin was renowned for the lightening speed of his analysis: he could spot complex coups within a nano-second. Popular though he was, this made him the last person you wanted kibitzing you. He had a supremely irritating habit of tapping you on the shoulder the moment a hand was over and saying: ‘You could have made that.

It’s no surprise that so many bridge players are computer programmers or systems analysts; it’s an ideal game for those who excel at logic and puzzle-solving. But at the highest level, a strong imagination is what really gives you the edge. Certain players have an extraordinary ability to visualise their opponents’ cards, put themselves in their shoes, and then persuade them to go wrong. It’s a rare gift that elevates the game almost to an art form. Artur Malinowski, the manager of TGR’s rubber bridge club, is one such player. During a recent high-stake game, he pulled off this coup against two formidable opponents, Robert Sheehan and Gunnar Hallberg: Robert (West) led the ♥A, then switched to the ♦8. Gunnar played the ♦Q and Artur won.

For most bridge players, defence is the hardest part of the game. Not only do you need to visualise declarer’s hand, you also need to visualise your partner’s — and then you have to make sure you’re in step with each other. What if he inadvertently sabotages your plan? Worse, what if you sabotage his? Nothing stresses me so much at the bridge table as when I’m partnering a top-class player who, midway through defending, stops to think for ages. I quickly lose confidence in whatever plan I had formulated; my job now is to try and figure out what on earth he’s plotting. The longer he thinks, the worse it’ll be if I botch it up.   Luckily, a brilliant defence doesn’t always require much from your partner.

I’ve just come back from ten days in Orlando, but don’t ask me what it’s like — I haven’t a clue: I never made it out of the World Center Marriott, where the Bridge World Series was taking place. Such is the bridge life: you travel the world, and see none of it.   I played in the Mixed Teams through a fog of jet lag (that’s my excuse, anyway); we eventually got knocked in the Round of 64. In the Mixed Pairs, my partner Tom Paske and I failed to qualify for the A-final, but there was still a lifeline: the top three pairs (out of 112) in the B-final got a pass back to the A. We finished 4th — 0.07% behind 3rd. Ah well, I shouldn’t complain — we had bad luck, but good luck too. Here, for instance:   Sitting South, I bid too much.

I’ve just arrived in Orlando, where the 15th World Bridge Series is taking place. I’m here for the second event — the mixed teams — but I fear this week won’t be half as exciting for England fans as last. In the women’s teams, several England players triumphed magnificently: Sally Brock and Fiona Brown won gold, Nicola Smith and Yvonne Wiseman silver. Yvonne is on my mixed team this week and I’ve banned her from too many boozy celebrations.   Meanwhile, in the open teams (the Rosenblum), England won its first medal since the tournament began in 1978. Congratulations to Andrew Robson and Alexander Allfrey, and their young teammates, Tom Paske and Ed Jones.

Around this time each September, I get to say, ‘I’m off to Tangier for a few days to play high-stakes bridge’ — which always makes my life sounds wonderfully Bond-esque. The invitation comes from my generous friend Stuart Wheeler, and really is as glamorous as it sounds: stunning house and gardens, pool, Pimm’s… But what really stands out is how convivial everyone is — I mean, for a group of bridge players. Playground-style bickering is far more normal. But then Stuart’s guests are mostly Portland members, who are famously courteous; they’re only half-kidding when they insist just two comments are allowed after a hand: ‘Well played’ and ‘Bad luck’.

Anyone who doubts that bridge keeps your brain sharp in old age should have a game with Bernard Teltcher. Bernard recently celebrated his 95th-and-a-half birthday (very touching, I thought), but don’t be fooled by his frail demeanour or his wheelchair. He’s a formidable opponent. Not only is he one of the best high-stake players at the Portland Club; he also can’t seem to stop winning matches and tournaments. His biggest result came last month, when he won the Summer Festival Swiss Teams. I couldn’t have been more pleased for him; indeed, I felt a benign rush of hope that he’d keep it up until his next half-birthday and beyond… All of which just goes to show how little I know myself.

Long-married couples are notoriously intolerant of one another at the bridge table. It’s as if all their pent-up irritation comes bursting forth — no matter how humiliating for their partner. Frankly, some players are so mean to their spouses that if they behaved like that in everyday life, it would be classified as mental cruelty. It’s not always so bad, but even the happiest of couples snap sometimes. At least, that’s what I thought until I came across John and Lucy Phelan, from Ireland, at the Summer Festival. Their behaviour left me stunned: they weren’t just nice to each other, they were delightful. And it’s not like they’re newlyweds or care-free amateurs.

Over the many years I’ve been playing competitive bridge, I’ve managed to cobble together a system-file which now runs to about 20 pages. It’s basically a melting-pot of suggestions from the various pros I’ve been lucky enough to partner. But I haven’t a clue how to lay it out properly, and it’s full of gaps and inconsistencies. I’ve always looked with envy upon the neatly enumerated notes that some players carry around. But now I finally have my own, thanks to Peter Crouch. Peter is well-known as an England international, but he’s also the man to go to if you want any sort of help with your system. His efficiency and clarity of mind are extraordinary.

It’s hard to explain to non-bridge players just how all-consuming this game is. For those of us who move in the same highly competitive circles, it’s simply a way of life. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about bridge. For now, though, my kids are on their summer break, so bridge has to take a back seat. My fellow fanatics sometimes find this hard to grasp. Last week, the England international Claire Robinson sent me a text asking if I could have supper in mid-August. ‘I’ll be in Sweden,’ I replied. ‘Lovely!’ she said. ‘Who are you playing with?’ ‘Er, my children on a beach…’ And I still remember Janet de B asking, a few summers ago, whether I’d had a good holiday. ‘Yes,’ I replied.

I have a horrible feeling my column this week is going to read like a mutual-back-scratch. In the last issue, Janet wrote about my team winning the Hubert Phillips Trophy (which gave my ego as much of a boost as winning the thing itself). Now her team has gone and won the ‘Patton Lavazza’ at the Summer Bridge Festival of Biarritz — so it’s my turn to congratulate her.   The coastal town of Biarritz hosts one of the most popular events on the international bridge calendar. Quite apart from the stunning James Bond-location and the huge number of players who take part (including several jet-setting bridge stars), it offers generous prize money — a rarity in bridge.

When my talented friend Paula Leslie and I decided to put a team together for the Hubert Philips Bowl (England’s mixed teams championship), it was really just an excuse to see more of each other. Six undefeated matches later, and our team has won the cup! We’re all elated: we beat Sandra Penfold’s team by a small margin, but to beat them at all is a feather in anyone’s cap. Team Penfold, featuring the mighty Brian and Nevena Senior, are a force to be reckoned with. Indeed, just the previous day, they had won a Crockfords match in style.   Funnily enough, it’s a hand from that match, rather than my own, that I want to relate. Brian Senior showed it to me, and it demonstrates dramatically how careless talk costs tricks.

I’ve just come back from Ostend, where I spent four perfect days. No, not sun, sea and sand — eight hours of intensive bridge, followed by non-stop hand analysis over supper. I was there for the European women’s pairs, partnering the wonderful Marusa Basa (soon to become Mrs David Gold). After qualifying for the A final, we finished a disappointing 16th. But I’m still on a high from the sheer adrenaline of it — especially as the European open teams championships were taking place at same time and venue (indeed they’re still going on), so we could check on England’s progress. This slam, played by Andrew Robson, caused a fair amount of discussion, with some commentators daring to suggest that Andrew had taken an inferior line!

Not many players can pull a fast one on Gunnar Hallberg. The seasoned Swede, who came to live over here 20 years ago, has a fearsome reputation, both internationally (representing Sweden, then England) and also at the rubber bridge table. For as long as I can remember, he’s been a regular in the high-stake game at TGR’s in London. He’s notoriously hard to beat, even for other pros. And yet there is one player who he’d readily admit is more than his match: the club’s dynamic manager, Artur Malinowski. The other day, Gunnar came up to me with a stunned look on his face. ‘I can’t believe what Artur just did to me!’ he exclaimed. ‘How did I fall for it?’ Gunnar was South, Artur West, and Janet de Botton East (see image).

I’ve always suspected that pessimists make better card players than optimists — and I recently came across the proof. A study by a group of psychologists from Central Michigan University has found that the ‘glass-half-empty’ brigade really do perform better at the gaming table; they tend to remember their losses rather than their winnings, making them less impulsive and more cautious.   It’s obvious why expecting the worst gives you a huge advantage at bridge: you take time to prepare for all eventualities. Cheery types, who trust all will be well, often play far too quickly — like half the room at a recent club duplicate did here:   West led the ♦10.

Playing rubber bridge the other afternoon for higher stakes than usual (£20 per hundred), I had a memorably miserable time. I just couldn’t pick up any points, and began losing money at such an alarming rate that I told myself I’d play one more rubber, then quit if my cards didn’t improve.   What was I thinking of? As any rubber player knows, the bridge gods have a very cruel sense of humour; just when you’re praying for your luck to change, they give you one last, sharp kick. In my case, you could argue it was self-inflicted. I was finally dealt a wonderful hand, and bid a slam.