Cut for Partners

By S. J. Simon

This vintage book contains an accessible and entertaining guide to playing bridge. Told as a narrative following a game of bridge between four 'characters', it explores various situations that the players find themselves in and suggests how a play would have been better made. Entertaining and instructional, "Cut for Partners" is highly recommended for any bridge player. Contents include: "First Round", "Preliminaries", "Deal No. 1", "The Play", "Post-Mortem", "Chucks", "Deal No. 2", "The Play", "Post-Mortem", "Chucks", "Deal No.3", "The Play", "Post-Mortem", "Chucks", "Deal No.4", "The Play", "Post-Mortem", "Chucks", et cetera. Many vintage books such as this are increasingly scarce and expensive. We are republishing this volume now in an affordable, modern, high-quality edition complete with its original artwork and text.

• Language: English
• Publisher: White Press
• Release date: Sep 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781473340862

Book preview

RUBBER

INTRODUCTION

By

TERENCE REESE

PEOPLE play bridge for different reasons. For some it is an opiate, for some a mild gamble. Others find a real intellectual interest in the game. Finally, for some good players much of the fascination of bridge lies in its human interest.

You play chess with your brain, but in bridge your whole character and personality is expressed. Moreover, bridge goes beneath the surface. Many people who in ordinary life get by as amiable and sensible characters, show themselves at the bridge table to be stupid, cunning, selfish or vain.

Simon knew all about this. For him, bridge was part of the human comedy. Amusingly and without malice he exposed the foibles of the players one meets in every game.

Take the first hand in this book. How characteristic of a certain school is the Unlucky Expert’s pained surprise at the strength of Mrs. Guggenheim’s dummy and the iniquity of Mr. Smug’s singleton diamond. There is a type of player who will never admit an error of judgment: after a bad result they will always claim a foul on the grounds that opponents ought to have bid and played quite differently.

How could I imagine that ‘she’ was so strong, they say, or that ‘he’ had bid Three No-Trumps with a singleton of his partner’s suit?

The Unlucky Expert is an ass, but not a boor, so he would not be guilty of that stupid and arrogant speech, but the train of thought is there.

And Futile Willie’s idiotic, but so typical, opening lead!

Whether you are interested in bridge or in the people who play it, you will be fascinated by the story of these three rubbers.

PREFACE

Mrs. Guggenheim.

The Unlucky Expert.

Futile Willie.

Mr. Smug.

This is the foursome that walked through the pages of Why you Lose at Bridge, committing their respective errors, and in the end joined up to play an eventful rubber together. Here, they play three more.

As before, all the hands used are based on hands from actual play and you would be surprised to hear some of the famous names that occupied one of the seats of the foursome on more than one occasion. I’ve even sat there myself.

As before, in narrating the events, I have used the opportunity to inflict on you, sometimes at length, my own views on bidding and play. What else is a commentator for?

I might add, as a moan of my own, that selecting suitable hands for the three rubbers has proved very troublesome. In Why you Lose at Bridge I could still cause the characters to conform to the hands. But the characters have by now developed such firm lives of their own, that the hands have got to conform to the characters.

INTRODUCTIONS

Meet Mrs. Guggenheim

Possibly you’ve met her already with the rest of our quartet in Why you Lose at Bridge, but though she is as fat as ever, and makes just as many mistakes as before, and loses just as much if not more, she is no longer quite the helpless, tearful, grovelling, apologising Mrs. Guggenheim that you knew. She has somehow acquired just a shade of the toughness of the tough company among which she plays, no longer cries anything like as readily and at times, when sufficiently provoked, will even answer back.

But, for all that, she is still easily the nicest person at the table, for she knows that she is bad and her main anxiety, as before, is concentrated on not letting her partners down. In spite of everything they do to her (and it’s plenty), she continues to regard them with trust and even affection, readily gives much more praise than is due, and laps up with pathetic gratitude the very rare praise flung at her. In fact Mrs. Guggenheim is a poppet—much too nice a person to play Bridge.

Meet the Unlucky Expert

He hasn’t changed a bit. His game is as impeccable as ever; his manner as severe and sarcastic as before. And he still determines to punish all his partners because they are not as good as himself.

He does at times, however, show just the glimmerings of a very dry sense of humour, which was certainly not previously noticeable.

Meet Futile Willie

He hasn’t changed much either. He is still the super scientist of ill-digested and, in the main, unsound theory, and no judgment whatever. He has, however, through the rubbers acquired a species of low cunning, mainly directed at Mr. Smug, whose game he despises, but as he inevitably elects to use it at the wrong moment, it always rebounds on himself and he would be far richer without it.

Poor Futile Willie. Brought up differently he would have been quite a passable partner, for his technical equipment is better than most. But he has read the wrong books and listened to the wrong people, and I would far rather cut Mrs. Guggenheim.

Meet Mr. Smug

Mr. Smug has got out of hand. Originally created to mis-play a Dummy in Why you Lose at Bridge, purely because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings by showing you misplaying it, he was merely intended to represent the epitome of complacent inefficiency. But from the moment I sat him down with the other three he refused to play the part and set out to show me just how wrong this estimate was. And he has succeeded completely. Today, though he still makes all the mistakes he was born to make and remains as complacent as ever about them, though he gloats at his triumphs, moans at his misfortunes, bawls out his partners, and cackles and jeers at his opponents until the one thought in their heads is double him and set him thousands, he emerges as the only practical player of the four, whose simple creed is to bid what he thinks he can make, double opponents when he thinks they can’t make it, and make himself as much of a nuisance as possible to them at all times, and though, against more sensible company, his transparent stratagems would cost him dear, against the present opposition they seem to come off more often than not.

Technically, of course, he is still miles below both the Unlucky Expert and Futile Willie.

But if I had to back any of them with my money, I’d back Smug.

FIRST ROUND

PRELIMINARIES

TABLE UP! chorused Mr. Smug, Futile Willie, and the Unlucky Expert.

A member roaming round the cardroom turned his head and quickly turned it away again.

They cut.

You and I, Mr. Smug, said Mrs. Guggenheim.

Quite, said Mr. Smug. He looked reproachfully at the pack spread out on the table. He had picked his card right at the other end from hers too!

Futile Willie settled himself expectantly.

Forcing two, partner? he said. Four-Five, Asking Bids, Prepared Club, Strong No Trump, Weak Threes, and I need protection.

The Unlucky Expert looked at him. But he didn’t say it.

Mr. Smug’s preliminaries were shorter.

Let me play ’em, partner, he said.

DEAL No. 1

Love All. Dealer, South.

The Bidding

The Play

Futile Willie led a Diamond!

Personally, I consider that a double of three No Trumps is only a lead directing double when Dummy’s suit has been bid only once and the rest of the opponents’ bidding has been confident throughout. In all other cases it merely means I think they can’t make it. But doubling opponents because you think they are going down is a luxury one cannot afford when playing with a scientist like Futile Willie. You can be quite certain he will lead opponent’s suit and present declarer with a tempo if not with his contract.

Both the Unlucky Expert and Mr. Smug frowned on