Eugene Register-Guard – Nov 5, 1974 by Alfred Sheinwold
Every bridge tournament has its Wailing Wall, usually strategically located near the bar, where the unlucky players bemoan their fate and nerve themselves to another session. If you go to the next national tournament in San Antonio the first week of December you will hear tales that would move a stone to tears.
“Let me tell you what my idiot partner did on this hand,” said an unlucky expert between sessions at a recent national tournament. The opening lead was the king of clubs, and the idiot played the seven. Ten cold tricks weren’t enough for him.
I clicked my tongue sympathetically and asked the obvious question. ‘They switched to hearts and took the next four tricks?”
“Worse”, groaned my companion. “The leader continued clubs, and my idiot partner got two clubs out of his silly play. Now he ran off the six diamonds, saving all the spades. The palooka that led a second club was also foolish enough to throw away a spade.”
“Your partner took the rest then,” I observed “You must have scored a top for making six. What are you crying about?”
“He’s been crowing about that hand all afternoon” complained the unlucky expert. “He keeps telling me I need courage to be at good player. If I don’t have another drink I’ll kill him before the session is halfway door.
I walked away quickly before my own tears started to flow. But I’ve often wondered since: If a man killed his partner in such a case, could a jury call it justifiable homicide?