Source: Around the World in 80 Hands By Zia Mahmood and David Burn
Have you noticed how even the best players make really dumb mistakes? For apparently no good reason? The more I watch bridge around the world the more I come to the conclusion that everybody (even me) commits the most ridiculous blunders from time to time. But why? What happens…that makes us go crazy for no apparent reason? Here are a couple of hands from recent games. See what you think. Put yourself in the seat of the culprit. You hold:
Your hand is not too exciting, and because this is the last quarter, you are silently wondering which of your kibitzers you could ask to get you a brandy, when the bidding starts:
1. Hold the brandy.
2. Trying to bid in an even tempo.
3. Oh my God, his gone bananas.
4. Hoping the female kibitzers don’t notice the stench of fear
Now you really wish that you had that brandy as LHO leads the 
8 and dummy comes down.
Not so bad, although it’s a shame about the lead. But how do you play it (diamonds are 2-2)? Easy!
I’m sure it didn’t take you too long to draw trumps, cash the ace of spades and play three rounds of clubs, hoping for LHO to have three clubs and a singleton heart. Well done, and you make the hand. But when a top, and I do mean really excellent player, played this hand, he went down. Why?
Well, to be fair, I haven’t told you that the previous hand had been a contract of 7NT, bid almost perfectly but for the fact that there were only twelve top tricks, the thirteenth needing to come from a guess or a complicated line of play.
The player in question spent a long time and even more effort in making the hand — that was the good news. The bad news was that he was still ‘high’ on the elation and couldn’t drive himself ‘down’ to concentrate on a relatively simple hand.
Conclusion: previous hands/occurrences have an enormous effect on later ones.
Remedy: install an imaginary switch in your mind and turn it on when you need to bring yourself back to reality.
How: how the hell do I know?
I’m not a doctor. If you think that the last example only brought you closer to your psychiatrist, try this one, which I call ‘The Twilight Zone Syndrome’. In out high-stakes New York IMP game, a lot depends on whom you cut as teammates. Literally thousands of dollars hang on whom you have in the other room. So, the other day when the opponents bid these hands:
I was already counting my winnings because our pair in the other room were not only experts, but well known for their aggressive style — no way they would end up in only two clubs. When the time came for comparison and they sheepishly said “Minus 1400” (a loss of fourteen IMPS instead of a pickup of ten IMPS if they had gone plus 600), I asked the perpetrator (as politely as I could with my hands on his throat) what had happened. West opened 1
(okay), North bid 1
and East bid 2 – (good!). South passed and West rebid 3. North passed, East bid 3
(great) South passed, and now West inexplicably bid 3NT. You would think that a top-class player might feel that four-card trump support and an undisclosed void in addition to a main suit with as many holes as the late Berlin Wall were sufficient to raise partner. But some unknown force made him bid 3NT.
Unlucky, crazy, something out of the Twilight Zone?
I don’t know, but wait, here comes RHO to the rescue — double! Thank you, Lord! Now that heart void looks even less solid a stopper than before, those ‘running’ clubs look like they need a wheelchair, and that ruffing value does mildly suggest a suit contract.
But what does our hero do? Pass! Secure with his balanced distribution and John Wayne mentality (“You can’t chase me out of town”…).
Meanwhile, the goddess of bridge, amused by the episode, benignly allows North to lead a spade, revealing dummy’s undeserved goodies, especially the A — a treasure. The spade queen wins the first trick, and now (with clubs breaking) West has eight tricks. “Cash them!” we scream silently.
But the ‘Twilight Zone Syndrome is too strong, that familiar music is still ringing and our hero is now greedily thinking,”If I cash my six club tricks and then play a diamond, LHO would never cover when he has the king, having counted my tricks; but if I play the jack of diamonds before the clubs, he will have to cover with the king. If he doesn’t, I can always go up ace and cash out.”
Brilliant thinking, you say, and accurate too, except in the T.Z. So, out comes the o J, deuce from LHO and… declarer runs it! Don’t ask me how he did it or why he did it In fact, don’t remind me of this hand or the 1400 or the Twilight Zone (dee dee didi, dee dee didi).
Remedy: commit suicide, and quickly before your teammates murder you.