Bridge players [#17]

Bridge players

         for the players at the Senior Center

I look at the reflection, wonder when the hair thinned to balding, the beard bleached to white. I'm no Santa, but I could be.

I'm no bridge player either. I just can't handle the drama: too many suits, too few colors, too much strategy that makes my brain hurt. The King of Hearts always plays second fiddle to someone's Ace ...or worse, the deuce of trump.

I hope I don't seem grumpy, just perplexed by the passage of time and the hands we are dealt. I've seen it many a time: clubs up the wazoo, the bid 7 spades, not a clue how to stop it.

I watch the women gather after lunch, permed blue-hair great-grannies or long-locked left-over hippies, sitting around tables with a lonely man or two interspersed. They curse under their breath then focus on making the rubber, adding the numbers, vulnerable or doubled: 5 diamonds, 2 clubs, 3 no-trump.

I won't play their game. I stick to scrabble or mahjong, even cribbage. Like most men I'm an amateur in the capture of hearts.

© Kåre Enga [168.218] November 13, 2011

Earlier version:

Bridge players

I look at the reflection, wonder when the hair thinned to balding, the beard bleached to white. I'm no Santa, but I could be. I'm no bridge player either. I just can't handle the drama: too many suits, too few colors, too much strategy that makes my brain hurt. The King of Hearts always plays second fiddle to someone's Ace ...or worse, the deuce of trumps.

I hope I don't seem grumpy, just perplexed by the passage of time and the hands we are dealt. I've seen it many a time: clubs up the wazoo, the bid 7 spades, not a clue how to stop it.

I watch the women gather after lunch, permed blue-hair great-grannies or long-locked left-over hippies, sitting around tables with a lonely man or two interspersed. The focus on making the rubber, adding the numbers, vulnerable or doubled: 5 diamonds, 2 clubs, 3 no-trump.

I won't play their game. I stick to rummy or spades, even cribbage. Like most men I'm an amateur in the capture of hearts.

© Kåre Enga

[168.218] #17 November 13, 2011

Note to self, earlier version:

I look at the reflection, wonder when the hair thinned to balding, the beard bleached to white. I'm no Santa, but I could be. I'm no bridge player either. I just can't. Too many suits, too few colors, too much strategy that makes my brain hurt. The King of Hearts always plays second fiddle to someone's Ace ...or worse, the deuce of trumps.

I'm not grumpy I hope, just perplexed by the passage of time and the hands we are dealt. I've seen it many a time: clubs up the wazoo, the bid 7 spades, not a clue how to stop it.

I watch the women gather after lunch, permed blue hair or long-locked left-over hippies, sitting around tables with a lonely man or two interspersed. The focus on making the rubber, adding the numbers, vulnerable or doubled: 5 diamonds, 2 clubs, 3 no-trump.

I won't play their game. I stick to rummy or spades, even cribbage. Like all men I'm an amateur in the capture of hearts.