Susanna Gross

As someone who gets anxious quite easily when faced with difficult bidding decisions (have I done too much? Or not enough? Will my partner be angry?), I admire players who just do what they feel is right without worrying. A refusal to be cowed by your opponents, or nervous about your partner’s reaction, is a great quality in bridge. One of the most confident and fearless players I know is Artur Malinowski, the manager of TGRs. If ever an auction demonstrated it, it’s this one from the recent World Bridge Tour teams tournament in Copenhagen – definitely a contender for my favourite hand of the year. Playing against the brilliant Swedish Rimstedt twins, Ola and Mikael, Artur showed that even world champions should think twice before doubling him.

At high-stake rubber bridge, it’s not uncommon for players – nearly always male, I should add – to react to a penalty double as though a direct challenge has been made to their manlihood: out comes the redouble card, essentially quadrupling the stakes. But they have a point: in bridge lingo, if you make a doubled contract you get a bonus not for the double, but for the ‘insult’. Besides, it’s sometimes right to redouble – the fact that it seldom happens outside of rubber bridge is simply because others are far less gutsy. Among tournament players, a redouble is used more commonly as an SOS: partner, please bid a different suit! And this can be very useful. But it also has its risks.

It’s surprising how many bridge players seem to think they’ll never be able to execute a squeeze. They talk as though squeezes are the preserve of experts – a view no doubt reinforced by all those technical terms like ‘rectifying the count’ and ‘isolating the menace’. But there are plenty of books to guide people through simple squeezes, putting them within anyone’s grasp. And in any case, even beginners sometimes manage to catch their opponents in a vice simply by cashing all their winners. One of my favourite examples comes from a friend who’s a professional, and was partnering an inexperienced client (South):West led the ♦️3 to East’s ♦️K and South’s ♦️A. When trumps split 4-1, South could count only 11 tricks – the ♠️K was stranded.

Everyone knows how hard it is to keep fighting when you’re behind in a match. But it ain’t over till the fat lady sings – and if anyone needed reminding of it, they only had to watch the Gold Cup semi-finals last Saturday. After 56 boards, Janet de Botton and her team were down 50 imps against Team Penfold. With only eight boards to go, victory seemed impossible. But Team de Botton made one of the most spectacular comebacks I’ve seen. They went into those eight boards with all guns blazing – bidding to the hilt, doubling and forcing the opponents into high-level decisions. When the dust had settled, they had won back not just 50 but 69 imps. Most were generated by Thor Erik Hoftaniska and Thomas Charlsen in a virtuoso display of tactical aggression.

I never make psychic bids. The only time I tried, it backfired horribly: my partner leapt to slam and we went for an unthinkable penalty. I decided there and then that psyching was best left to those with a real nose for it – not to mention nerves of steel. The art of psyching is, of course, nearly as old as the game itself. As a young man in the 1930s, the brilliant British player Adam ‘Plum’ Meredith – later world champion – was already renowned for it. ‘For Plum, a three-card suit is not only biddable, it is rebiddable. More, it is playable,’ one of his partners said. He had a particular fondness for opening spades, whether or not he held the suit. It made him a very tricky opponent, especially at the rubber bridge table, where he made his living.

I’m hugely ignorant when it comes to history – and just about everything else, except for bridge – but I do know a little about the Spanish-American war. Why? Because one of its most dramatic episodes, the sinking of the cargo ship Merrimac, has lent its name to a bridge coup. Early in 1898, the US navy hatched a plan to rig the Merrimac with explosives, sail it into the narrow channel leading into Santiago harbour, then blow it up, thereby blocking the Spanish fleet within the harbour. It was basically a suicide mission, so the skeleton crew of just eight men were volunteers. It didn’t go to plan: the vessel was damaged by enemy fire and, despite sinking, failed to block the channel. But the crew survived.

The World Championships are taking place in Marrakesh, and when I log on to Vugraph I feel like a child in a sweet shop, spoilt for choice about who to watch. And yet an old expression which I heard as a child keeps coming back to me: you know you’re getting old when policemen start looking much younger. That’s how I’m beginning to feel about bridge players. The new generation – world champions like Michal Klukowski (27) and Sanna Clementson (23) – make me feel decidedly long in the tooth. It’s wonderful to see so many young stars representing their countries, of course, but I’m pleased the old-timers are out in force too: Zia Mahmood (77), Jeff Meckstroth (67), Alfredo Versace (54) and Geir Helgemo (53), for instance, are still at the top of their game.

They say a two-way finesse is never a complete guess: there are always clues to be gleaned from the bidding and play. That’s not strictly true, as the great Giorgio Belladonna once demonstrated at a tournament when, after a long think, he turned to a kibitzer and asked him to toss a coin. But even with nothing concrete to go on, you can often rely on psychological inferences – an untimely hesitation, for instance, or feigned nonchalance from one of the opponents, which, as P. Hal Sims argued, made it far more likely he held the queen. Alan Truscott’s advice was always to play your left-hand opponent for the queen: it can be a dangerous card to lead away from, so that might be one reason he didn’t lead the suit.

It’s been more than 30 years since Zia Mahmood published his classic memoir, Bridge My Way*, and now – finally! – he brings us up to date with Bridge, A Love Story. It’s published next week, and having just binge-read an early copy, I can assure you that it’s every bit as brilliant. Zia is still at the very top of his game, and the book fizzes with passion and energy. It’s full of funny anecdotes, snapshots of legendary players, hands galore, quizzes, tips and his views on everything from the best players in the world (no spoilers) to which conventions should be dumped (Gerber).

Bridge isn’t a game you can master quickly. Quite the opposite: with every new level you reach, another looms above you. The higher you climb, the more humbling it is: possibilities you didn’t even know existed reveal themselves, yet remain beyond your grasp. Frankly, even Sisyphus wouldn’t swap places. Recently, one of the clients I play with asked how long it takes to become an expert. ‘Without wanting to discourage you,’ I replied, ‘it’s taken me 30 years to get this bad.’ Reading helps. But in my opinion bridge books often underestimate how slow and difficult the learning process is. Books for beginners are generally fine, but those labelled ‘intermediate’ tend to expect too much too soon.

I always look forward to seeing what Team Black are wearing when I go to international bridge tournaments. Their captain, Andrew ‘Bertie’ Black (founder of Betfair), picks a new team shirt for every event. At the recent European Transnational Championships in Strasbourg, they wore grey flat caps and Hawaiian shirts adorned with palm fronds. For next month’s World Transnationals in Marrakech, Bertie has already chosen a set of matching kaftans. My all-time favourite shirts were emblazoned with images of Einstein. But however much good cheer their outfits spread, don’t be lulled into lowering your guard – they are some of England’s very best players (David Gold and Tom Paske to name just two), and the deadliest of foes.

I never stop being amazed by the freakishly good memories of top bridge players. Last week, at the European Transnational Championships in Strasbourg, I got into a lift with the Italian international Fabrizio Hugony. Looking at my name tag, he remarked: ‘I’ve played against you before. It was at the Mixed Championships in Belgium about 12 years ago.’ I was flattered – but why had he remembered me? ‘Because you asked a very strange question,’ he replied. ‘The bidding went one club, double, I bid a spade, and you asked if I was showing five spades.’ He remembered that? ‘In England people often have only four after a double,’ I said. He shook his head. ‘In Italy, never! Impossible!’ Anyway, I’m glad he got the matter off his chest after so long.

It’s a great idea to set a thriller in the world of high-stake bridge, and my friend Helen Erichsen has pulled it off brilliantly. Her debut novel, Murder by Natural Causes (Muswell Press), is about a young, amoral contract killer named Cilla, who the reader can’t quite help rooting for. It’s a page-turner from start to finish, whether or not you play bridge; but there are delicious added elements if you do. The setting is London’s famous rubber bridge club TGRs (where the gamblers among us have passed many a crazy hour). Some well-known players make a cameo appearance, such as Zia Mahmoud and Nick Sandqvist. Others are disguised – and Helen has offered a game with her husband Espen Erichsen, a world-class pro, to anyone who can spot them all.

It’s not unusual to get distracted at the bridge table, but sometimes that distraction takes peculiar forms. Last month, I was lucky enough to be on a team with the Swedish women’s gold medallists Jessica Larsson, Kathrine Bertheau and Sanna Clementsson – three of my favourite people. They had flown to Bristol to join me and another friend, Paula Leslie, for the Spring Fours. At 23, Sanna is by far the youngest of us, and is enviably talented: she was just 19 when she became the youngest ever women’s world champion. As if that wasn’t enough, she is also training to be a doctor. Which is why I was surprised to learn she has an odd quirk: an intense aversion to people’s feet (even her fiancé’s). During the weekend, she emerged from a match looking queasy.

The American multiple world champion Eric Rodwell is truly a legend of bridge. He and his former partner Jeff Meckstroth were the best pair in the world for so long that they were referred to simply as ‘Meckwell’. When he published his book The Rodwell Files: Secrets of a Bridge Champion 12 years ago, it quickly became a modern classic. I bought it a while ago, but only got round to starting it recently, and by coincidence, a friend told me he was reading it too. ‘I came across your name,’ he added. ‘Impossible!’, I replied, laughing at the idea. But he was convinced, so as soon as I got home I flicked through the pages and – behold! – there it is: ‘North: Gross’. It all made sense when I saw ‘South: Brock’.

Working out ‘safety-plays’ is pretty tedious, but can be vital when playing rubber bridge or teams. Unlike matchpoint pairs, guarding against bad breaks to secure your contract is far more important than trying for overtricks. That said, it can be difficult to work out safety-plays quickly at the table, especially as they’re often counter-intuitive. Far better to familiarise yourself with them from books. Zia, for instance, always shuts himself in a room for an hour before a big tournament to memorise the more obscure ones. But if you lack the time or patience, you can always follow Janet de Botton’s typically funny and forthright advice: ‘Just play the card you wouldn’t normally play in a million years. The card which seems most ridiculous. You can’t go wrong.

The idea of going to a bridge tournament where you have to sit in a separate room to your partner, and play with tablets instead of cards, sounds like a dystopian nightmare. But that’s exactly what’s planned at the next US Nationals. The idea is to eliminate cheating between partners via unethical hesitations and mannerisms. But most of us love the feel of cards in our hands. And we want our partners in the same room! As Zia says: ‘The day bridge is no longer played with cards is the beginning of the end.’ Luckily, at the recent Nationals in New Orleans, there wasn’t a tablet in sight, and Zia got to sit opposite his partner, David Gold – something I’m sure they both enjoyed during this hand, which helped propel them to victory in the Vanderbilt Knockout Teams.

Imagine you’re at an auction. As it begins, you turn to the other bidders and, with a few short words, scare them into remaining silent. Moments later, the hammer falls and you pick up a complete bargain. In real life, you’d need to use outright threats to stop people bidding. Not so in bridge – it happens all the time. It’s the power you wield when you’re ‘at favourable vulnerability’ – in other words, when your opponents are vulnerable and you’re not. Being at favourable means you can bid far more pre-emptively and aggressively than your opponents: you have less to fear from the double card. I’ve never forgotten the tip given to me by David Gold many years ago: when partner opens at favourable, and the next hand passes, never pass! Bid anything!

I’ve always relished the raw emotion of bridge. Its old image as a gentle game for genteel people – what rubbish. It’s a game of passion; people explode, tables are upturned. That’s why we we love it so much. True, every bridge writer stresses the importance of partnership harmony, of never shouting, never blaming. But who can do that in practice? Not even the writers themselves – as I first realised many years ago when I heard a famous player, whose wise and measured book I’d just read, exclaim: ‘You f***king prick, why didn’t you just count your tricks and claim, you c**t?’ Don’t we all feel that sometimes? Well, I suppose it depends – you might not, for instance, sitting opposite Michal Klukowski, one of the world’s best players.

o think for a long time, I feel a strange mix of awe and inferiority. It’s not the fact that they’re thinking, of course – we all do that. It’s the awareness that when it comes to difficult hands, their thought processes resemble mine as much as an Olympic sprinter resembles a contestant in an egg-and-spoon race. They enter a higher dimension of awareness, skill and clarity. Take my friend David Gold: he found an extraordinary solution to make a tricky 3NT during the recent Reykjavik Bridge Festival (see diagram). South led ◆Q and David (East) ducked. South continued with the ◆J, won with the ◆K. North discarded a club. If clubs were 3-2, David had nine easy tricks. However, South was marked with at least 55 in the red suits, so was likely to be short in clubs.