Water Under The Bridge

Posted on June 19, 2013 under Storytelling with 2 comments

I have a confession to make.  When I went to university, I did not attend every single class.  Let’s just say that the transition from high school to university provided me with many distractions.  Unfortunately, books weren’t one of them.  Back in the late ‘60’s, we led a pretty sheltered existence.  I remember with absolute clarity sharing one bottle of beer with twenty classmates at the grade 12 grad party at my parent’s house.  Drinking just wasn’t part of the deal back then.  Many of us made up for lost time once we got on campus.

At an institution of higher learning, the library was, and continues to be, a focal point for the accumulation of knowledge.  At least that’s what we are led to believe.  Unfortunately for many of us, the most important floor in the library was the basement.  Many of us didn’t discover that there were three other floors above ground until late in our university careers.  As they say in sports, “too little, too late”.  In essence, the basement was a lounge area where you could go to share academic ideas far from the watchful gaze of the librarian.  And to play cards.

 My well-rounded education in card play began in the library over forty years ago.   I learned about 45’s and auction.  Some cribbage was played and the Capers played a game called tarbish, also known as bish.  Bish in the “Nish, as it were.  I liked all of these games and some of my hard earned student loan money ended up in the pockets of guys like Roy during poker games that lasted all day.  There was always a delegated “student” at any given time who would actually go to class and take notes for everyone else.

But the one game that I learned in the bowels of this hallowed building, which has remained a friend for life, is bridge.

If you’re not a bridge player, there’s no point in trying to describe it.  But like many other endeavors, there are varying levels of expertise.  I am at the lower end of the scale because I never took the game, or myself, too seriously.  I play what is affectionately known as “kitchen bridge”.  I know enough of the basics to be able to play with most people but you will never find my name in the local paper as one of the winners of duplicate bridge down at the local Club 60.

Bridge is a wonderful game which requires a lot of skill and a very good memory.  In theory, you should be able to remember every one of the 52 cards that is played every hand.  Some people have a photographic memory and are brilliant players.  Others are not quite as fortunate.  A very accomplished player was playing with a novice recently.  After several questionable and bizarre moves by his partner he asked her “ When did you learn to play bridge?  I know it was this afternoon, but I was wondering what time exactly”?

A lot of married couples play bridge together which is the ultimate test of the marriage vows. Regarding the origins of the game, it is said that there once was a married couple who hated each other.  They met another couple that also hated each other.  One night they all got together and invented bridge.

I remember early in my tutelage, playing with a crackerjack of a player.  I was stumbling along making mistake after mistake.  At one point, after a particularly poor play on my part, I asked my partner, “how would you have played that hand”? “Under an assumed name” was his terse reply.

I play with a few family members on a regular basis.  We play hard and we keep score and adopt a “take no prisoners” attitude.  But at the end of the evening, we never tally up the score.  Winning isn’t important.  It is a fabulous game and it brings old friends together.  When we play with our mother, all my siblings know not to call her unless they won the lottery or to announce a death in the family.

Nothing trumps bridge.

Advertisement