Why indoor games are a bridge too far

WHY do rational, sensible people like golfers turn to bridge? Now, I am aware some people will begin constructing voodoo dolls out of playing cards with my image on them the moment I ask this very question, but honestly, why bridge?

I have been asked to play bridge many times and my answer is always the same – namely that I will consider it at the same time as I’m being measured for a Zimmer frame. Or, perhaps even later. I would be quite happy to drop down dead on a golf course, as long as I could have a nearest the pin or longest drive post at my head, depending on where I fall!

It is true that golf clubs are predominantly made up of an ageing population, and given the choice between a good round of golf or the prospect of a game of bridge, many ladies will be up the stairs quicker than you can say ‘one no trumps’!

Personally, I would rather endure Chinese water torture than be locked in a room full of women for hours on end. But I say this for two reasons. I am an outdoors person. I might just have played 18 holes, but when the weather is fine, committee
meetings are still torture for me.

I am paying attention for most of the time (honestly, lady captain) but I do spend long periods gazing out of the window and wishing I was out there instead of being cooped up inside. Perhaps I’ll suggest open air meetings with a picnic. Secondly, even lady golfers, when they get together, have bizarre conversations, during which I feel hopelessly out of my depth.

The last time I went to a friend’s house to watch the Solheim Cup, for example, the assembled party of ladies were discussing whether they plucked or shaved their toe hair! Talk about being out of your comfort zone. I hadn’t ever consciously been aware that toe hair even existed, never mind whether it needed eradicating or not. So, I think I’ll give the confines of the bridge room a miss for now, because at least if my golfing partner wishes to indulge in a spot of girl talk, I can pretend to take a greater interest in the contours of the green than usual!

However, I do have to admire their commitment. As a mine of useless information I can reliably inform you that the actor, Jack Lemmon, was born in the elevator of an apartment building in 1925, in Massachusetts, after his heavily pregnant mother was involved in a particularly thrilling game of bridge, and refused to leave the table in time to make it to the hospital. And, I thought I took my golf seriously!

I have no idea where I read this, but it seems perfectly apt: The man who would rather play golf than eat should marry the woman who would rather play bridge than cook. The other thing I have against bridge players is that they stole one of my friends – a very keen, talented golfer who could easily, in my opinion, have got down to single figures.

The potential was there, but unfortunately, the commitment to spending 20 minutes a week on the practice ground wasn’t, because she kept assuring me that she didn’t have the time. Then the card players lured her away, and now she is locked up in the mysterious confines of the bridge room day after day, night after night.

What a waste when the hallowed echelons of becoming a single-figure player were so easily within her grasp. Let’s have a little perspective here – what would you rather see on your headstone, ‘Single-figure Golfer’ or ‘Bid One Diamond’?

Actually, someone else has pointed out to me that she would love to improve but she has no time to practise because she works full time and has a family. I did have some sympathy for this and told one of my friends what she had said, where it was met with very short shrift: “I work full time and have a baby and still play off five. Half the county first team
work full time, and nearly all the second team do and many have families, and they all manage to play off low handicaps, so you can always make time if you want to!” And I thought I was outspoken!

Funnily enough, I have started to see the appeal of a bridge room in the future. As the shorts have been packed away for another year, the thought of slipping into a pair of sheepskin booties under the table, rather than struggling into waterproofs, does hold a certain attraction.

My own desire to go out and practise and work on my game has waned by approximately 50 percent over the last 10 years and it will no doubt continue to decline at a similar rate in the future. I will undoubtedly still be drawn to gazing outside through the windows, and envying the latest supple, talented and energetic supply of players out on the course.

But the one thing I guarantee I will not do is ask for the game to be watered down any further for me, thereby ruining it for future generations – I’ll be far too busy concentrating on trying to remember whether that was a spade or a club which somebody just put down!

PS Before all the bridge players start sharpening their pencils, I will freely admit I have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about, and since so many of you who clearly love it have frequently told me what a wonderful game it is, and how much I would enjoy it, I will give it a go. One day!