Three different sources for material on this page: old facebook postings (blue background), old bridge articles (green), new stuff (gold). They're all on this page and most have been featured at the bottom of the mcbruce.ca main page. You can scroll through and read them all if you have several hours, or pick and choose from this contents table, for which there is a link back here separating each piece from the next:
Many of these, especially the old bridge articles from the Matchpointer, were originally printed in a format that makes me cringe today: semi-condensed fonts at small sizes, carefully chosen to maximize the amount of reading material I could get onto a certain number of pages, to encourage people to take the free magazine home with them, rather than read it at the club and leave it there, so that a few weeks later, when they needed some bit of key info it would already be in their homes. The internet has changed all this, of course, we can recast the text with a decent-sized and spaced typeface, and need not worry about the space it takes, since everyone can easily scroll down when their screen space runs out.
This also gives me a chance to make minor touch-ups, small corrections, or occasionally write an introduction explaining interesting facets of an article. I'll try to limit this to the smallest of edits rather than a complete re-write to conform to current standards. One nice advantage for the bridge articles is that we can use better looking suit symbols that the monochrome ones I used on paper.
Remember that you have options for reading as well: on a computer you can use CTRL and (plus) to increase the size of the text, CTRL + (minus) to decrease it, and CTRL + (equals) to return it to the original size. The text will reset itself to the screen space you have, based on the size you choose. On a touchscreen device, there are options for doing this as well, but pinching and two-finger unpinching doesn't work; that simply magnifies the text off the right edge. Check your device for options.
Happy reading!
Sigmund Freud wrote The Interpretation Of Dreams in 1899, and it was not an immediate best-seller. The first printing of 600 copies took eight years to sell out, but Dr. Freud was so sure that his book was groundbreaking that he wrote an abridged version in 1901, which eventually found its way into the main book. Like most higher education texts, it is turgid reading, full of ten-dollar words and more common words whose generally-accepted meaning is altered slightly to help support a thesis one can barely make out through the fog of academic writing. I took a quick look at the Wikipedia entry after a recent dream (or dreams) and decided that my own simple interpretation was far better.
Oddly enough, I am not even sure that it was one dream or two. The structure of the episode is that something happened in one dream that was so shocking that it woke me up, because it seemed to refer to a previous dream. But as I woke up I realized that I had no conscious memory of actually dreaming the previous dream. My only connection to the previous dream was in the second dream.
The first dream was simple. Bad weather for a few days, foggy and rainy, and then a sunny day and I heard something on the fifth-floor balcony, which turned out to be two baby ducklings. How they got there was a mystery. I went out onto the balcony and looked around to see if there was a nearby duck who had dropped her children on my balcony to do something else, but there was no sign, and the poor things were shivering as much as I was, so I picked them up and brought them into the pets-forbidden apartment. Not really knowing what to do, I filled two storage tubs with room temperature water and placed the ducklings into them, and they swam around happily all day, never trying to escape and happily eating small bits of food I put onto the water.
But eventually it was time for bed and I was concerned that without my presence they might escape and cause all sorts of strange undefined trouble. So, I put one of the tubs into the space underneath the kitchen sink, and the other underneath the bathroom sink, closing the doors so they couldn't get too far even if they did escape. Off I went to bed, and the dream ended there.
The second dream, several weeks later, had me in the grocery store shopping, moving from the produce department to the meat department and seeing a sign advertising a sale on duck meat. The word "duck" in the sign recalled the first dream, two weeks ago, and the sudden realization that just as I had forgotten the first dream, I had also forgotten the two ducklings I had imprisoned in the space below the kitchen and bathroom sinks two full weeks ago, and I abandoned the cart, left the store, and walked back home zombie-like, in a state of horrific dread at what I would find, and in disbelief that I could have lived for two weeks while this happened around me.
I opened the apartment door and inhaled deeply, wondering if the air could possibly smell like death, which was surely the fate of the two poor creatures. But as I did so, I noticed the plastic tub I had used in the dream to get the first one swimming sitting on the counter beside the sink, and when I opened a high cupboard, the second tub was there. When I opened the doors to the space below the sinks, I found ... nothing. Schrödinger‘s ducklings? It was all a dream; a dream within a dream. But is there a meaning?
Wikipedia says this about Freud‘s theory: “Dreams, in Freud‘s view, are formed as the result of two mental processes. The first process involves unconscious forces that construct a wish that is expressed by the dream, and the second is the process of censorship that forcibly distorts the expression of the wish.” Fair enough, but I had already gotten that far within seconds of waking up. My interpretation of this dream within a dream was, unlike The Interpretation of Dreams, simple and direct:
This (not any prohibition in a rental contract) is why you can never have pets!
(This post is from June 11 2021, as the 2020 Euros, the championship tournament of European soccer which had been delayed by the pandemic, opened, but they opened with the same damn song at the December 2025 World Cup 2026 Draw just before giving some fool a fake peace prize....)
Earlier today in a post, I called the piece, sung by tenor Andrea Bocelli in this attached video (about halfway through) and at the opening ceremony today before the football tournament, “That Aria That We All Recognize But Almost Nobody Actually Knows Or Cares What Opera It Comes From.”
It‘s one of those classical pieces designed to bring everyone to tears, but when you discover its true meaning, the tears will be flowing for a different reason. The story behind it is completely insane. That‘s opera for you.
Now, sure, being the instrumentalist snob that I am, I tend to look down upon musical theatre and opera. My few experiences with it have made me believe that about as much care goes into the plot of a typical opera or musical as is written into a soft-porn feature. I went to see a student summer group do a performance of Brigadoon once, and while everyone enjoyed the singing and performing, my reaction was “now wait a second. You’re telling me that there’s a village in Scotland that only appears once a century? How do they get groceries?”
The aria is called Nessun Dorma, which means ‘none shall sleep,’ and comes from the opera ‘Turandot’, completed by another composer in 1926 after Puccini died in 1924, having written everything a little past the aria and with detailed notes for the ending. Turandot (silent final ‘t’ for no apparent reason other than the musical phrasing makes it impossible to do otherwise) is a Chinese princess, so beautiful that suitors are frequent, but Turandot is not interested: she has set rules that she will only marry a man who can answer her three secret riddles. Screw up on any of the three, and you die.
Now we know where Python got the Bridge of Death scene from, for Holy Grail...
The opera opens with a Mandarin announcing, as though it is a common occurrence, that another suitor has failed and will be put to death at moonrise. A crowd begins to form to watch the beheading, including the deposed and now blind king of Tartary (an ancient generic term for the space between China and Europe that today is home to the seven countries whose English name ends in STAN...), the king’s last loyal female servant Liu, and, just reunited completely by chance, his son the Tartary Prince.
How does the former royal family of a defeated nation get to the capital of their deposers without being noticed, especially with a Great Wall in the way, and in two different and separate routes so we can have a musical reuniting?
Don’t ask me.
The condemned, and calmly resigned to his fate, Prince of Persia is led out to be put to death and the crowd, held back by cruel guards like pro-democracy protesters in Tiananmen Square, shouts for mercy but Princess Turandot appears, ignores the crowd’s pleadings, and gives the signal for the beheading to proceed, and (I find myself wondering about the special effects involved here, actually) the Prince of Persia is beheaded to the shock of all.
The Tartary Prince, though, not so much. He is smitten with the beautiful princess and, despite being deposed royalty in the conquerors capitol, does not appear to be concerned with his own survival probabilities. He advances toward the onstage gong to bang it three times to signify his willingness to attempt to solve the secret riddles. Love at first sight!
Now, at this point, after beheadings and gongs and Oriental princesses who coldly, publicly, and serially kill their suitors, you are probably wondering how politically incorrect this can possibly get. Well, strap yourself in. We have an Italian opera set in Peking, which is what Beijing was called then, but first staged in Italy by Italians. I don’t even want to know what was done in the makeup room.
The Prince is blocked from the gong by three government ministers. They have cringe-worthy-by-today’s-standards names that I swear I am not making up, too: Ping, Pang, and Pong. The three P’s block the Tartary Prince from the gong, urging him not to throw away his life. He ignores and eludes them and whacks the gong to end Act I with a bang. Three bangs.
Act II, after the three P’s entertain us with a delightful trio about their main function — preparing suitors for slaughter — peaks when the Tartary Prince refuses to withdraw and somehow successfully answers the three riddles, then offers Turandot a way out just before the second intermisson. Guess my name by sunrise, he says, and I shall not only withdraw, but I shall follow the Prince of Persia’s path tomorrow at sunup.
And not a single audience member, buying pretzels or beer at the interval, asks the key question: “the army invaded your country and deposed you and never even asked the name of the crown prince?”
Act III begins with the ice princess, through messengers, threatening to kill everyone in Peking unless someone provides her with the name of the Tartary Prince, much like Don Ciccio’s men going through the Sicilian town of Corleone warning that anyone hiding the boy Andolini will meet a bad end, except that the ice princess is actually going to kill the entire population if she doesn’t get what she wants. Ping, Pang and Pong have a better idea, abducting the deposed king and his servant Liu, and demanding the answer while threatening torture. The outcome of this is more violent than the ending of Hamlet and quite ridiculous, but maybe if Puccini had lived to complete it himself he might have made it more believable... I just don’t see how.
The aria comes early on in the third act, as night begins to fade into day and the Prince realizes that he is about to win. Exactly what he is about to win is somewhat dubious to anyone with half a brain, but it is apparently worth a triumphant high note or two as the orchestra swells and the sunlight begins to appear in the backdrop. The aria is really nothing special musically beyond that, a little chromatic at the start but a simple tune in D major by the end, propped up by strings, a chorus lamenting their impending death because the singers in the chorus don’t know his name either, and big ending notes by the star of the show, a colossal anti-climax considering what is to come before the real ending. Most of the famous singers who have sung it are about five decades older than the character who is supposed to sing it. But it is pretty stirring, and I hope you watched the video attached before reading the whackiness behind it. Sorry for spoiling it...not.
Opera. It‘s phaughcking certifiable.
It was 1925 and bridge was a modified form of whist beginning to be popular among card players. In the past 50 years, the old game of whist had been modernized. First was the introduction of the face-up dummy hand so the three remaining players could see half the deck and know that any missing card was in one of two, not three, possible hands. This form was called bridge-whist and was gaining popularity on whist by the end of the 19th century. Next was the creation of the auction, allowing all four players to bid for the right to name the trump suit. This version, called auction bridge, took over for bridge-whist by World War I.
In the same time period, the late 19th century, duplicate whist was invented and perfected from the original form of teams-of-four to the pairs competitions we know today. Both John Templeton Mitchell and Edwin Cull Howell, real people who devised the movements we still play today, were alive in this period, popularizing duplicate even before it was duplicate bridge. The duplicate concept works very well for single deals, where there are a finite number of decisions by which to measure pairs, after which a new deal begins with no scores carrying over from one deal to the next. Duplicate has been tried in other games and found unsuitable. For example, a duplicate backgammon tournament, where dice rolls, announced from a main table, are the same for the players at many tables, quickly diverges based on different choices at key decision points into many very different games. After about 20 moves from each side, a roll may lead to an obvious play at some tables and a very close decision at others. Bridge seems to be unique in that the scope of a single deal is not large enough to split results up so much that the scores are meaningless. By the mid-1920s, auction bridge duplicate games were played everywhere.
But there was one crucial improvement to be made to turn the game into the one we play today. Auction bridge (the non-duplicate kind) had always been played as a best-of-three contest between two pairs, the first pair winning two games winning the rubber, but in the auction days a game was only 30 points, with notrump-spades-hearts-diamonds-clubs scoring 10-9-8-7-6 per trick (after six). This set the tiers we have today, with 3NT, 4 of a major, or 5 of a minor needed for game in one hand. However, in auction bridge there was no need to actually bid that high: if you played in Three Spades and made 12 tricks, you would score 54 points towards game, and also earn a slam bonus. This led to a period of play where there was a great emphasis on plays to turn eleven tricks into twelve by trump coups or endplays or other expert techniques, since it paid so well. From our point of view today, this sounds crazy, letting a side win the auction at the two or three level and because they make a bunch of overtricks they get a slam bonus. But in the early twenties, it was part of the game and efforts to remove this element were mostly unsuccessful. The only auctions that actually got to the five level were great battles between two pairs to choose a trump suit.
Then came Harold Vanderbilt and the 1925 Halloween cruise through the Panama Canal, 100 years ago this week. Vanderbilt proposed a improved scoring system as well as a new rule: overtricks don’t count towards game and slam bonuses only score if you bid to that level. To offset the extra risk, Vanderbilt pumped enough oomph into the bonuses for game and slam to make the odds better for punters. In auction bridge scoring, winning the rubber was worth the same as beating a contract five tricks undoubled. Now it was worth twice that, and even more if you won two games to none! An auction bridge small slam bonus was worth the same as beating the opponents a trick; now it was worth seven to ten times as much, with the value of the game added as a further bonus. The race to 100 to complete a game was now tallied seperately from all bonuses, including overtricks, and you needed to bid to a level that would get you the game points you needed. Vanderbilt also invented the idea of vulnerability, if not the name itself (it was coined by a kibitzer whose name nobody remembered, probably because she wanted to change half of Vanderbilt's rules to make it even wilder!). Being vulnerable discouraged the side who won the first game from overbidding to stop the other side from catching up.
This new version of a familiar game took off like the Rubik’s Cube craze of the early 1980s; before long, everyone was playing the new game of Contract Bridge, and five years later when the Great Depression arrived, a deck of cards kept the game on everyone’s kitchen table and an industry of books and newspaper articles kept people interested in the new game’s mysteries and secrets, just as the bookshelves in 1981 were filled with books on how to solve the colourful 3x3x3 monster from Hungary. Contract Bridge was The Game within a decade of Vanderbilt’s cruise. By 1935, bridge had taken off: decks of cards included a card showing the Contract Bridge scoring table, a weeks-long match in New York between two rival groups of experts had been front-page news and even had radio coverage, a number of international matches were played between American and European teams, and a man had even been shot dead by his wife as a result of a poorly-played hand! The ACBL began in 1937 and has organized club and tournament play as well as supporting the promotion and education of the game since.
The game itself is almost completely unchanged from the scoring and rules that Vanderbilt typed up on ship and gave a dozen copies to friends. What's changed since? Not much. A few small scoring changes, a gradual development and refinement of rules and tournament procedures, a long trail of tried, discarded, and kept conventions and systems, and since the late 1970s the gradual introduction of new equipment and new events: computer scoring, bid-boxes, stratified and bracketed events, wireless table-top scoring units, and now online play. But it is still the same game they played on the ship in 1925.
What’s lost is the mystery; the fun of learning. Today’s new player learns conventions that took decades to perfect, all in an afternoon, but often skips or forgets the advanced stuff to go on excitedly to the next convention. Players in 1930 did not even suspect that it might be a good idea to try to find a 4-4 major suit fit after a 1NT opener, or have a 4NT bid that asked partner how many aces they held. It took years of experimentation to even see the need for such conventions, and more time to develop them. A few conventions were held over from earlier forms of the game: takeout doubles from bridge-whist and defensive signals from original whist. Stayman and Blackwood are the two next most popular conventions, and they were not fully accepted by the masses until the 1940s.
Duplicate bridge, for all of its fascination, has some answering to do as well. It is great that we have this form of the game that allows masses of people to play at the same time with the same set of deals, knowing that their score for the day will be based only on comparison with scores that others got holding the same cards. But part of the charm and a lot of interesting strategy from the original form, rubber bridge, has been irretrievably lost. Partscore bidding strategy is a lost art: with 60 below the line, partner’s raise from 1♥︎ to 2♥︎ may be a stretch for game, and 1♥︎ - 3♥︎ must be either pre-emptive or a slam try. Our strong preference for matchpoints and overtricks has blinded us to the strategies of ensuring that the contract gets made, and quite often those old strategies lose. It cannot be good that pairs and teams are two forms of the game that to many players seem as different as rugby league and rugby union. (Not that I've ever been able to understand either...)
So, I have a suggestion: a new form of Contract Bridge that will restore the mystery as players learn its strategies. It’s time to continue to evolve the game, instead of the technology or the rules, and see if we can get some new players trying the latest version. Here are three simple improvements that would keep existing players playing, and maybe draw some interested new ones, while forcing the authorities and experts to figure out new strategies to take full advantage, some of which would fall victim to other new strategies laying in wait! We need not make the change immediately, we can run both flavours simultaneously and see which ones players prefer. But let’s give these a fair try and not pre-judge merely because it is different. It’s different because we need to be shaken up before we dwindle away!
There are two new simple rules and one restored rule; one of them concerns matchpoints only and doesn’t apply to other forms of scoring. I don't have a yacht and rich friends to invite to try it out, but I can post this online and let you give it a try. Here are the McBridge rules:
McBRIDGE NEW RULE #1: Re-introduction of partscore bidding to duplicate. Partscores still do not carry over from one deal to the next, but they are now part of the starting position for each deal. One card of a special 36-card partscore deck will be added to each board after machine shuffling or manual dealing. If someone pre-makes the boards, they can add the correct cards to each board when done and the computer can assign the partscore cards to each deal randomly. If the players shuffle and deal, the Director comes around with a shuffled partscore deck and inserts one card into one of the slots as the hand is dealt. Some cards will go into boards that have no part in the game, and thus the number of partscore deals will be higher some sessions and lower in others. When players pull their cards from the board, the player who picks up this special fourteenth card, puts it face up on top of the board, so all can see the true conditions for the deal:
Suddenly, game and slam bidding changes on the approximately 44% of hands that have partscores involved. Most hands will still be love all, as they are in rubber bridge, but the added variety will be an extra challenge whenever it comes up. Players and system makers have to work out how best to take advantage of this ever-changing condition, just as rubber bridge players have for years. When you have 60 on, two clubs is game. What’s three clubs? A lot of former partscore hands are going to have potential for game with partscores added in.
Why forty and sixty? Partscores can be anything from 20 to 90, but 40 and 60 are the most common and the next most common, 70 and 30, are virtually the same. One important factor is that if one side begins a deal with a partscore and the other side bids and makes a partscore, the 50 point bonus for having a partscore now belongs to both sides and they cancel out, so your 2NT making is only worth 70, not 120: but it will be worth 70 at every other table on this deal, so there is no disadvantage.
We’ll need a small upgrade to the BridgeMates and other scoring systems, so that when North enters the board number, they also enter the partscore conditions, and the machine checks to ensure that the choice matches previous choices, correcting if needed. I’m sure the BridgeMate people could do this in a few days and have a tested update ready to go. ACBLscore, which has been around for four decades of computer advance, might be a little more difficult to update, but it should be possible. We’ll also need a way to deal the partscore cards the same way to multiple copies of the same deal set at large tournaments. Not hard. We’ll figure it out.
The partscore deck is designed so that you can adjust it to your liking. Most games these days have only boards 1-28 in play, or even fewer. If players think there are too many partscore hands, you can get them started by taking out one of the two partscore cards of each type, leaving 28 cards, enough for most duplicate games these days. If players love the partscore battles and want to get even more practice at them, you can take out eight of the ‘no partscores’ cards and deal the remaining 28 cards into boards 1-28.
One interesting feature of this change is that your local money bridge professional, who has a home game where he dominates his clients and marks by his superior judgment of partscore situations, can no longer shun duplicate bridge because it’s “not his form of the game.” For every ACBL member hooked by duplicate there are ten bridge players out there who claim they don’t like duplicate, and no partscores is usually part of the reason why. No more excuses, Mr. Local Money Bridge Ace! Come in and play; you were right all along: partscores are fun!
MCBRIDGE NEW RULE #2: McPoints! This alternative to matchpoints reduces the outsized effect of overtricks when matchpointing boards. This rule applies only to matchpoint scoring. Currently pairs get one matchpoint for a score beaten, and a half-matchpoint for a score tied. Whether the difference between the two raw scores compared is 10 or 1000 is irrelevant. This rule would change that slightly, so that:
To earn a full McPoint, you must beat another pair’s score by 50 or more. You get something for overtricks, just not as much. Here are a few examples from a recent regional open pairs:
| NS Score | Frequency | NS MP% | NS McP% |
| +150 | 3 | 96.15% | 87.31% |
| +130 | 1 | 88.46% | 70.38% |
| +120 | 4 | 78.85% | 61.54% |
| +110 | 12 | 48.08% | 52.69% |
| +100 | 1 | 23.08% | 43.85% |
| +90 | 2 | 17.31% | 36.15% |
| -100 | 2 | 9.62% | 9.62% |
| -200 | 2 | 1.92% | 1.92% |
| NS Score | Frequency | NS MP% | NS McP% |
| +150 | 1 | 100.00% | 100.00% |
| +50 | 5 | 88.46% | 88.46% |
| -100 | 1 | 76.32% | 75.38% |
| -110 | 1 | 73.08% | 74.62% |
| -300 | 1 | 69.23% | 69.23% |
| -420 | 8 | 51.92% | 43.46% |
| -430 | 3 | 30.77% | 36.92% |
| -450 | 4 | 17.31% | 23.46% |
| -460 | 2 | 5.77% | 16.54% |
| -490 | 1 | 0.00% | 3.08% |
| NS Score | Frequency | NS MP% | NS McP% |
| +500 | 1 | 100.00% | 100.00% |
| +100 | 5 | 88.46% | 86.92% |
| +90 | 1 | 76.92% | 84.62% |
| -50 | 2 | 71.15% | 71.15% |
| -100 | 9 | 50.00% | 46.54% |
| -110 | 1 | 30.77% | 40.38% |
| -120 | 1 | 26.92% | 34.23% |
| -140 | 2 | 21.15% | 20.77% |
| -150 | 3 | 11.54% | 13.85% |
| -170 | 1 | 3.85% | 7.31% |
| -180 | 1 | 0.00% | 4.62% |
| NS Score | Frequency | NS MP% | NS McP% |
| +710 | 3 | 96.15% | 85.38% |
| +680 | 14 | 63.46% | 58.85% |
| +650 | 9 | 19.23% | 29.23% |
| +620 | 1 | 0.00% | 6.92% |
It's not a huge change, but it takes the sharp edges off scores with small differences while keeping the full matchpoint for larger differences. It devalues overtricks a little, but also devalues the difference between 90-100-110-120-130 even more, while still keeping scores ranked properly. I’ve read a lot of bridge books and seen remarkably little on strategy to play the partscore that might score 10 points more than another strain, and overtricks are just as often due to unlucky opening leads as to declaring skill. It makes for a fairer score, in the same way that those new Victory Point Scales where every IMP counts remove the luck in Victory Point events, where on the old scales you could have two teams +45 IMPs on the day, but one might have been at the very top of the 13-7 range, while the other broke into 14-6 a few times for some crucial extra VPs.
To the casual player, this scoring change would have very little effect. To the experienced player, this method of matchpointing would bring us away from the crazier matchpoint techniques, like playing for the extra 10 points in notrump on hands that might go down five once in ten tries but gain you two matchpoints the other nine times. Now maybe you only gain one matchpoint and odds favour playing in the normal suit contract. Reducing the value of overtricks makes it a riskier gamble to try for them if your contract is jeopardized, which matchpoints has taught us to do without even thinking about it! Adding a good dollop of partscore-aided game bonuses to the mix will offset the contraction of matchpoints this scale produces, by making the game tier more accessible on more hands.
McBRIDGE "NEW" RULE #3: Honors (or honours in non-American English) are back, baby! 100 extra for a hand (declarer’s. dummy’s or even one of the defenders’) with four of the top five in the trump suit or three aces in notrump, 150 for AKQJT in trumps or four aces in notrump, regardless of how the contract actually fares. If you go down but have honours you sum the two awards and might even come out on the plus side! Why on earth did we ever remove them? We had a little bonus that everyone holding a certain type of hand could claim as long as they manoeuvred the auction to the denomination that paid. Often getting partner to agree to this denomination cost more than it gained, so why remove that chuckle from the game? Opening 1NT with four aces is now a maximum, maybe even too strong for a 15-17 1NT, since you're getting a bonus of 150 points whatever the result! Pre-emptors will go wild when they have 100 honours (not realizing that down one more might cost 200 extra if doubled). If two partners with honours in their suit want to overbid by four levels trying to ensure that their suit gets honours credit, who are we to stop them with some stuffy rule? I suppose we removed this feature before matchpoint scoring was invented. When duplicates were scored by total points, players who, because of the movement, didn’t get to play the hand with honours, would be at a slight disadvantage. But now that we matchpoint (or McPoint), and every pair that plays a hand has a fair and equal chance to earn 100% on every hand, whether it includes honours or not, get it back in there! It's fun!
It might take ten or fifteen years for this new form of the game to be completely analyzed and proven strategies emerge, including perhaps some entirely new conventions, or subtle adjustments to old ones. And that’s fine. Those years will be filled with curious, inquiring players trying to find the key to success under the new rules, struggling to find strategies that work, instead of looking for new strategies in what is now a century-old game. Does anyone play whist anymore? Is that where we want bridge to go? We need to keep occasionally improving the old game, adding well-meaning tweaks to keep it fresh. A new gadget on the table to help score, or a new alert procedure, or updated Laws that make better sense, or some simplified online version to get new players intrigued, are all helpful, but they’re not getting the job done as an interesting new flavour might. It’s an old, old game we play now, with many new ones springing up every week to try to draw our players into them instead. The regulations of the quiet past are inadequate to the vibrant present. Our game is no longer new, so we must think anew and act anew. We must disenthrall ourselves, and then we shall save our pastime!
The Wikipedia article on Canada’s Indigenous Residential School Program is a good educational read. I don’t agree with those who want to cancel Canada Day because we’re now discovering unmarked burial grounds for children removed long term from their families on reservations by law in order to teach them English or French to help them assimilate, a program that was cruel and utterly ineffective, taking children at 5 or 6 and not returning them to their families for a full decade, at which point the parents and children were often unable to communicate in a shared language. During that decade in their lives that Indigenous children were sent to schools deliberately located far from their parents with visits discouraged, denied, or severely limited, they were abused in almost every way imaginable, housed in appalling conditions, and used for experiments or even malnourished deliberately to create a ‘control group’ that allowed other less unlucky kids to provide glowing comparative statistics for government reports. When they died, by the dozens, scores, and hundreds at any of five dozen residential schools across the huge country, they were buried and forgotten, records filed away and periodically tossed as the program went on for decades and decades. When (or if) they graduated, they faced a new hell, unable to go back to the reservation because they had been forbidden to use their language for a decade and could not communicate, and unable to get jobs in the cities because while they had learned English or French, they were far behind the educational levels of non-Indigenous job seekers, and faced racism as well. So for nearly a century in this country, we made it a law that children on reservations (often hidden when the government men would arrive) needed to be educated far away from Indigenous culture for most of their childhood, turning them into abused, confused, undereducated teens who could no longer even understand their parents, if they made it that far.
I find I have more curiosity about this now than I did before reading the Wikipedia article, and I’ll probably learn more from other sources. Patriotism sometimes means accepting that your country was very horribly wrong and understanding that progress in general is a great sum of good things we see and bad things we often don’t. We’re shocked at the recent discovery of bodies buried in unmarked mass graves on or near to the former sites of the residential schools, but we shouldn’t be: we spent seven years on a Truth and Reconciliation Commission and established a permanent library at the University of Manitoba to keep all the Commission’s records, findings, and new research. It’s been known for some time that many, many children went into these places and never came out: the only question is how many, with estimates from 3200 to 30,000 of the roughly 150,000 kids who attended the schools. That it is only now becoming an issue because ground-penetrating radar is being used to find the buried bodies only indicates that you can spend millions on a five-year Commission and educate nobody.
Canada Day celebrations today are subdued because of these grisly discoveries that are finally getting the story out. I don’t support canceling Canada Day, as some places have done, but it is right and fitting that we recognize this part of our history. One of the recommendations of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (sadly, very few of their recommendations have been completed or even begun) was to establish a national holiday of remembrance, which has been done: September 30 (young Indigenous children were taken to the schools annually around this time) is National Day for Truth and Recociliation, better known as Orange Shirt Day, named for a story told by a survivor who said that her grandmother bought her a new orange shirt to go to school in. Upon arrival, the shirt was taken from her and she never saw it again.
It’s going to rain most of Thursday, September 30, 2021 in Vancouver, and those of us not working will likely stay home. This might not be such a bad thing if you take a few minutes to learn something about the new Canadian holiday. Nobody is forcing you to do so, nor is anyone trying to use the holiday to cast blame on any living person or a group. That has already been done. Canada held a somber public commission to seek truths about the school system that educated native children, completed years ago. The reason we need a holiday is that the results of this commission need to be more well-known to all of us. I’m shocked that this all happened recently and I know so little about it.
It is more than the discoveries of mass unmarked graves near the sites of former residential schools and the remains that are trying to be matched to missing relatives. It’s as much a living, breathing issue today, long after the last residential school was closed, to the people who were sent to them, the effect it had on them and their relatives, and the culture, the ancient customs and languages and traditions of our native people.
Orange Shirt Day is not a day for arguments or justifications or blaming. It is a day that we all should take a moment or two or more to inform ourselves of the truths that have emerged after hearing the stories of the people who attended these schools. The past cannot be changed, but it can teach: by understanding we can avoid repeating the worst of it. Awareness is the key.
So read something factual. Watch a documentary on the subject. Compare what you find with your memories of your own education. Over one hundred years of history is a lot of stories but the broad outlines are easily found. When the words get hard to read or the images get hard to watch, a reminder: September 30 was chosen because this was the time of year that children were by law taken from their parents to be educated far away, for many years, no visitors allowed, many did not survive and those who did gained little from their minimal education. It’s part of our history and we must face it.
Checking out last week after 84 years was late-70s icon Chuck Mangione. He burst into uberfame in 1978 with superb qualifications, having grown up with jazz in the household in Rochester NY, playing with one of the last great bebop bands, and leaving that scene to form his own groups, while at the same time teaching and mentoring and building a jazz program at his local university. From this work came a next generation of studio musicians, many still recording today, and tribute concerts that were so popular the recordings became collectors items. Minor instrumental hits followed with his first quartet in the mid-1970s, and a new Mangione lineup in 1977 produced Feels So Good, the nine minute title track from this quintet's debut album, edited down to a three-minute single for AM radio that became a megahit in 1978. Suddenly, everyone noticed this strange-looking fellow with a goatee, long hair, brown felt fedora hat, and a unique-looking instrument called a flugelhorn that sounded like a trumpet dipped in love, who in every live concert would jump around to his music onstage as though hearing it for the first time. He wrote a Grammy-winning double album of music for a movie so bad that more copies of the album were sold than cinema tickets, and played at the closing ceremonies of the 1980 Winter Olympics.
More albums followed, but the music marketplace has only so much time for hybrid formats, and his fame dwindled. Instead, his peak output came to be mocked as too pop for jazz and too jazzy for pop, too simple for serious music and too instrumental to continue being popular. But to me, and a generation of young fans, learning music in high school programs in that period, he remained popular. We bought his earlier and later albums and wondered how these efforts missed while Feels So Good scored. (Answer: it was the short AM-radio version that hooked listeners with less of a musical attention span. Mangione described it later as 'major surgery,' killing the extended slow intro, two solo verses, and adding a quick fade-out that was barely audible in the long fade at the end of the original.) You'll have to excuse me for knowing little about his appearances on some prime time animated series as himself, since I view animated programming (as well as non-scripted "reality" TV) with the same illogical disdain that most listeners use to avoid smooth jazz.
Instead, I want to write about his music and innovations. Mangione composed almost all of the tracks appearing on his albums, and while composition in jazz is often little more than a 'lead sheet' of melody and chords for the backup band to create the accompaniment, Mangione clearly went much further than that. His melodies are unlike anything in jazz or pop, full of long notes held sometimes for multiple bars while the backup band (which often in a studio recording would feature Mangione on electric piano) would play something clearly composed and not made up in the studio. The melody of Feels So Good has a note that lasts more than 26 beats and another of just longer than 10, plus nine more spanning more than a four-bar measure; just as important is what's behind these long notes, which was just as carefully crafted. His writing for bass developed from disco-like ostinati in the early seventies (The Land of Make Believe bass line is two notes for about sixty bars at the start and doesn't change until the bridge) to letting the bass player open with the main tune in Fun And Games. His work at the Eastman School of Music and the benefit concerts that sprang from that turned him from a jazz composer of tunes and lead sheets into one who composed for everyone in the group and often toured with symphony orchestras.
Few of his compositions have much of a form other than a 48 or 64 bar melody, repeated four or five times with different soloists. He seldom settled into the AABA form of most pop music, with verse-chorus interrupted in the middle by a bridge, and a few of his best melodies could have used one. But his improvisational style was not oriented by 'licks,' the jazz term for a number of short well-known phraselets that classic jazz players combine over the chord progression to create a solo. Instead, Mangione and his band members reached higher, trying to make each solo into a counter-melody of its own, not relying at all on the jazz licks repertoire. It was a break with tradition that made him an outcast among jazz purists, but paved the way for the smooth jazz many listen to today, where the soloing style strives for new melodies and not virtuosic legacy lick combinations. It inspired me, and many other musicians turned on by Mangione's music, to try to do the same when I play, creating long melodic lines rather than learning the best licks of the 1940s in twelve keys and how to combine them. Part of the frustration at the short single version of Feels So Good is that it merges one half of two fine guitar solos by Grant Geissman from the original, a beautiful guitar version of the melody which takes the long notes and embellishes them with riffs, and a completely improvised solo that impresses guitar players a half-century later. Also gone from the original is the slow intro and the horn-sax conversational ending, as well as the amazing tenor solo by Chris Vidala. Major surgery indeed.
One of the most mysterious aspects of popular music since World War II has been how one single becomes far more popular than others in an artist's repertoire that are almost equally good. Whenever I discover some new artist from a hit song, I almost always find something I find even better than the chart toppers, in their albums and other output. You will find at least a dozen tracks just on the Mangione albums before and after Feels So Good, as well as the other tracks on the Feels So Good album itself, that are great listening even today. My musical memory is good enough to remember the tunes and solos even if I don't remember which went with which titles, so I've been rediscovering a lot of that in the days since the sad announcement. I also have a whole body of later work Mangione did after a hiatus in the mid-1980s and 90s to catch up on. Thanks to streaming music, most of this is available online for us to enjoy.
Unsurprising in the tributes online have been the widely held impression that Chuck Mangione's music came from a positive place, from the heart of a kind and giving man — one who recognized that his unique head start was something to pass to other musicians. His parents were grocery-store-owning jazz enthusiasts who hosted Dizzy Gillespie and Miles Davis and other jazz greats when they visited Rochester; later, the Mangione brothers sat in when the tour stop was Rochester and great feasts at the Mangione house followed. When race riots hit Rochester in 1964, the Mangione grocery was one of only a few businesses that stayed open despite the danger, realizing their essential nature to the community. After the peak of his fame, Mangione played many benefit concerts for various charities, including one hastily organized in 2009 after two members of his band were killed in a plane crash while flying to Buffalo to appear with him. Hundreds of online comments mention that he continued to visit high schools long after his fame had faded, inspiring many in smaller concerts and workshops. Dizzy Gillespie told him once that “it’s fine to play what you want to play, but to get paid you have to play what the people want.” Mangione waited until the people discovered what he wanted to play, was handsomely rewarded, and gave back as much as he could.
On September 16, 1983, a man named Stanislav Petrov was at work at his job at the Soviet Air Defence Forces bunker in Moscow, when the early detection system revealed that first one, then four more, American ICBMs were headed towards the USSR.
We may be alive today as a result of what Petrov didn’t do.
Had he simply followed established procedure, there is no way to tell what might have happened, but we can conclude it wasn’t going to be pleasant. Only three weeks before, a Korean airliner, straying over Soviet airspace after the crew forgot to flip an autopilot switch, was shot down without warning, killing hundreds. Even before that incident, the Soviet leadership was concerned about U.S. military build-up and began to suspect the possibility that Reagan was considering a first nuclear strike. Confirmation of even a handful of ICBMs headed toward the USSR would have resulted in a nuclear “all-in” within minutes, a catastrophe likely impossible to stop.
Instead, what Petrov did was to reason. It seemed inconceivable that an attack would come from only five missiles. The Soviet early detection equipment had proven faulty in the recent past (this time it was a meteorologic rarity causing the error). He chose to treat both the first missile, and the four that followed, as computer malfunctions until more evidence came in, even though waiting would severely limit the capability for a response.
The choice caused him considerable grief, for he faced questioning from his superiors about the incident afterwards. But it is possible that his choice saved us all.
(When I wrote this in 2012, Petrov was in his mid-70s and in retirement in Russia. A few times he had traveled to receive accolades and sometimes rather silly awards. If I prevented (or may have prevented) a nuclear war, a trophy and a $1,000 prize would seem a bit lame. To his final day, Petrov said he was simply doing his duty and that in the crucial moment he “did nothing.” He died in May 2017 but somehow news of his death did not reach the West until several months later.)
(Sometimes I get the urge to write something that is so powerful it almost types itself and little editing is required. This came out of my keyboard on Sept. 7, 2012, in response to a bridge forum thread where some non-ACBL types wondered about the curious idea we have to combine the system (convention) card with a player’s personal scorecard:)
Those of you without experience in ACBL club bridge probably have no way of adequately imagining the way these ACBL combined system and score card plastic doodads infiltrate the club scene, making a quick examination of the opponents’ bidding system at the start of a round nearly impossible.
The proper form for the experienced club player is to have one convention card for everyone you have ever played a session with in your life, and scoresheets on the inside part from every game for the past 2-3 presidential administrations. This means the things weigh about as much as a jockey at the race track, and eventually, after a long life, suddenly explode like George Costanza’s wallet. They appear to be designed so that you can add more pages to either the outer system card area, or the inner score card area, stretching the plastic little by little. But any notion of removing scorecards from the Clinton presidency, or system cards for your occasional game with players who died during the Florida recount, is simply not on. The plastic may stretch, but it does not snap back to original tension when paper is removed. Going from 150 pages to a svelte 20 means that every time you get up to move for a new round, half of your partners, or the scores you got with them, end up on the floor.
Luckily, at many regionals, part of the hospitality is designating one session during the week-long tournament where everyone playing will get a new convention card holder. This usually prompts people to do a bit of CCH editing and the host hotels and playing site must be sure to schedule a special visit from the garbage truck. The lengths people will go to ensure that they are playing when the free CCHs are handed out are terrifying. You can buy one at the booksellers location at any time for about 15% of the cost of an entry fee. Instead, people have been known to extend their stay an extra day, reschedule their flights, in order to be in a seat when the free ones come out. God help the poor caddy who doesn't have a proper selection of colours.
My role at Pacific Northwest regionals in the past few years has been in producing Daily Bulletins, and I go to great lengths to discover everything I can about each site that may interest the players or be generally useful, like where to park your car if you want it towed away. But I never print the session the free convention card holders are coming out. I’d be lynched if I got it wrong, or it was changed at the last minute. I do my best not to even find out, to avoid having to lie when players ask.
Luckily, our District is getting smart and not giving them out except at the largest Regionals. Instead, in a cost-cutting measure, they give out little fuzzy stickers with the tournament city’s name and some sort of iconic symbol to stick onto the plastic, so that a year later you’ll remember how much fun you had and come back. The stickers are even more popular than the convention card holders! Trouble is, people start collecting the stickers like stamps on a passport, and soon there is only about a 15% chance the information you want will not be under a peach or a skunk or a watermelon or something even more inane.
Last summer we lost a very popular nonagenarian who played every day, with everyone, almost right up until the end of her life. A beautiful memorial gathering was held at her house on a bright shiny Sunday afternoon, and among the tables of photographs and mementos was a display of the convention cards in her last convention card holder (or maybe the last two or three). I’m told these were deployed, overlapping with only the names at the top visible, over several bridge-sized tables. Her surviving relatives encouraged and pleaded with the bridge people who came to pay their respects to feel free to take home the ones bearing their own name.
So the concept of a start-of-round quick look at the opponents system card, in ACBL club bridge (and a major portion of tournament bridge as well), is viewed with about the same attitude as would follow from an attempt to peddle real estate, interest someone in life insurance, or sell illegal drugs. Often your opponent will be writing scores from the last round, trying to steer the pencil around the fuzzy tiger or the furry football. There is no way the 247 sheets of paper will both stay in the plastic and fold over, so if you hold it up to try and see what partnership agreements lie hidden under the twenty-seven colourful stickers, you will be simultaneously displaying the opponents’ scores to your partner, and there is not a chance in hell you want partner influenced by anything they may have done.
(Bill James is a baseball writer and began the current wave of advanced stats in the 1970s. A lede is the opening sentence of an article.)
“There are three stages in the history of baseball. In the first stage, which ended about 1920, if you stood up in the front row and bellowed, “Hey, Cobb, I hear your mudder used to work bachelor parties,” Ty Cobb would come over to your seat and personally introduce you to his knuckles. In the third stage, which began about 1983, if you stand up and scream, “Hey, Pujols, I hear your mommy used to work bachelor parties,” three men with walkie-talkies will immediately surround you and escort you off the premises. But in the intermediate stage, you could take off your shirt, stand on your seat, and yell any goddamned idiotic thing you wanted to, and nobody would do anything except the beer vendors, who would come by your seat every inning to sell you as many cold ones as you wanted to buy.”
This essay makes no sense.
I am about to try to convince you that we’re doomed as a species and have already been successfully invaded by alien forces who are working to slowly reduce our resistance and erode our intelligence, by giving us nice things like television and computers and cellphones to get hooked on. That the younger people who will replace us in a few decades, having embraced these new technologies even more than we have, are already mentally a step below where we were in our prime, and that this means that those who follow them will be further along the line to a level of mental laziness and apathy we cannot even begin to imagine. My main evidence is a YouTube video of people reacting to a comedy film that is a half century old, in which the opening credits have subtitles and gags which had audiences laughing before any actual acting appeared on the screen. Today’s generation barely gets the jokes because subtitles are words on a screen that must be read. And reading is a chore.
To make my point I am going to use words that will have to be read. That’s why this essay makes no sense. To illustrate that we don’t read anymore, I need you to read. Good luck with that...
The film is the 1975 feature Monty Python and the Holy Grail, a zany sendup of the Arthurian legend which begins with credits over some dramatic and suspenseful music. The YouTube video is called “HILARIOUS ‘Opening Credits’ Reactions - Monty Python and the Holy Grail Movie Reaction Compilation” and is nearly a half-hour long: the link is here if you want to take a look, rather than spending less time reading my synopsis of it. Short version: it’s a mash-up of twenty-eight different reactions to the first five minutes of the movie, going from one to the next as each reactor, sometimes one person, sometimes two, sees the joke for the first time.
Are you surprised that someone has searched YouTube and found more than two dozen reactions to a segment of film that I saw so many times in my youth it is burned into my brain? Don’t be. Reaction videos are a major sub-genre of the YouTube alternate reality. We’re losing the ability and the desire to read or write but certainly not the motivation to make a video and post it online. All 28 of the listed reactors have expensive microphones and elaborate setups to make their reaction videos, and the compiler must have a computer with almost unlimited storage to work with all of these large video files and prepare the compilation.
Another shock: that there is a generation or two now who don’t know much about Monty Python. The six members of the troupe created a sketch show, Monty Python's Flying Circus, which aired in Britain from 1969-1974. MPFC was so different and groundbreaking it became must-watch TV when it was picked up by PBS(!) and broadcast in America a few years later. Lacking VCRs, which few had until the 1980s, we would have to discuss each episode with friends the day after broadcast and remember what we had missed but lay dormant in our memories, awaiting activation by others’ accounts. One of many of the Pythonic innovations was to occasionally play around with the credits: the famous ‘Spam’ sketch where every item at the breakfast cafe has the tinned ham as an ingredient, sometimes repeated multiple times (“I’m having Spam Spam Spam Spam Eggs Baked Beans and Spam!”) was followed later by credits where the word Spam was inserted hundreds of times into the familiar text. Some episodes of Flying Circus have the credits roll ten minutes from the end, with extra material to fill the time; one rolls the end credits with more than twenty minutes to go.
So when captive audiences sat down in 1975 to the second Python movie (the first was a re-filming of the best sketches from the TV series, a compilation in itself), heard ominous opening chords and saw a black title card announcing in white text “Monty Python and the Holy Grail,” few were surprised when a few seconds later a subtitle appeared below saying “Mønti Pythøn ik den Hølie Grälen.” It was a coded message: yes, it’s boring opening credits, but watch the subtitles!
Our army of reactors fails spectacularly here, watching the film in the comfort of their expensive home theatre setups with cameras trained on them as they get it all wrong. Some miss the subtitles entirely, expecting the main text to have the real jokes. Others discover the subtitles and think they have accidentally enabled subtitles on their playback apps, and frantically start checking their settings, agonizingly slowly coming to the discovery that they’re missing the best part and hastily backing up to see it again. A few don’t even bother and assume they’ll get it from the context. But as the subtitles morph into ads for Swedish holidays and seeing the majestic ‘møøse,’ our reactors are visibly perturbed at the text they need to read to get the jokes. (Most miss the line away from the subtitles that says “The characters and incidents portrayed and the names used are fictitious and any similarity to the names, characters, or history of any person is entirely accidental and unintentional,” which makes no sense at all when the boys are playing King Arthur and Sir Lancelot and other historical figures, until you read the next bit: “Signed RICHARD M. NIXON.”)
To the reaction team, being forced to read jokes seems to be such hard work, especially when the text is disguised by weird Swedish letters and spellings and you have to translate too. You can’t just laugh at the jokes in a reaction video, you have to read them aloud to communicate to the viewer what’s funny, and for some this exposes the literacy gap, for what they read and what’s on the screen seldom matches exactly. If you’ve ever tried to tell a joke to a person who seldom gets jokes, this is the general effect.
Halfway through, the subtitles suddenly turn into a lengthy, multiple-line run-on sentence and the music shuts down like a cacophony of fading sirens and our reactors feel betrayed, not having had time to read the lengthy message in the subtitles which begins “a møøse bit my sister!” Then after a few seconds of nothing, a notice appears: “We apologise for the fault in the subtitles. Those responsible have been sacked.” And despite being sacked, another subtitle appears: “Mynd you, møøse bites Kan be pretty nasti ...”, followed by “We apologise again for the fault in the subtitles. Those responsible for sacking the people who have just been sacked, have been sacked,” but the confused reactors are still getting it through their heads that ‘sacked’ means ‘fired.’
Remember above where I said that there were twenty-eight different individuals or pairs that made up the guild of reactors used in this compilation? Here is where the compilation makers went way off track, for apparently we absolutely need to see all twenty-eight reactions to each ten-second snippet before going on to the next. So it takes almost five minutes to get through all the reactions to a few seconds of actual footage, and the video proceeds at a pace a sloth would find a bit slow. A little picking and choosing would have been far better, especially since some of the reactors are painfully obtuse and unsure of what’s going on.
Now the credits continue without the subtitles, but with møøse references and wild Swedish names tossed into the main script alongside the actual credits (which probably got the people in the credits considerably more views, ironically): “Møøse Trained by TUTTE HERMSGERVØRDENBRØTBØRDA,” “Special Møøse effects,” “Møøse choreographed by,” “Antler-care by,” “Møøse’s noses wiped by,” and even “Large møøse on the left hand side of the screen in the third scene from the end, given a thorough grounding in Latin, French and "O" Level Geography by” ... and our reactors are exhausted already, before scene one has even begun.
And as viewers watching all this, so are we. Whatever is behind this need to share one’s impressions of a film by watching it while talking into a camera, especially a film that you know the laughs are going to be one after another? Interrupting to give your reaction to one funny moment is just going to ensure that you miss the next one. Siskel and Ebert never did anything like this. They watched a movie, good or bad, to the end, decided what they liked or didn’t, wrote a summary of their views, and added clips to support their opinions. The idea of doing a play-by-play as though the film were a hockey game would seem insane to them and that's the impression I get today.
But that’s where we are in 2025. Why organize your thoughts into a few simple conclusions when you can just spew raw reactions from start to finish onto YouTube and maybe even get added to someone’s compilation for extra fame and hits? Too hard; today’s mantra is “Don’t make me think!” YouTube began only twenty years ago, when most of the reactors mentioned above were children. What level of mindless automation will we have sunk to in one or two more generations? Newspapers are on the way out and podcasts are taking their place in the journalism world, the notion of physically printing something for people to choose to read is fading away, and most print shops focus on signs and ads. Will an essay like this soon be on a par with a Papal Bull that requires expertise in Latin to understand?
And when we have completely replaced reading with viewing, and writing with video-editing, what then? What new ways of getting information into the brain without taxing our ever-dwindling powers of thought will follow? Giving us more and more choice in our viewing habits has the unconscious effect of shielding us from anything outside our small sphere of interest. Already I sense in my job a widening gap in the ability of people to follow simple directions or listen to clear instructions, and a tendency to assume what those directions or instructions will be, rather than listening to find out what they actually are. Two films later in the Python collection, there is a much more elaborate gag where a separate short feature preceding the film suddenly becomes part of the main film more than an hour later. This I suspect would fly right past our exhausted reactors, who would doubt that it was the same characters from the preceding short feature, or probably wouldn’t even notice.
Ed Murrow feared the effect of television, reminding his co-workers that “your voice, amplified to the degree where it reaches from one end of the country to the other, does not confer upon you greater wisdom than when your voice reached only from one end of the bar to the other,” and worried that television “... can teach, it can illuminate; yes, and even it can inspire. But it can do so only to the extent that humans are determined to use it to those ends. Otherwise it's nothing but wires and lights in a box.” We’ve swapped most of the wires for long-lasting batteries, but kept the lights and made it all portable so it can go anywhere with us. If you’re willing to do some work and thinking, it can inspire better than anything Murrow ever dreamed of. But are we willing? The end of the road Murrow saw glimpses of in 1958 are clearer now, and behind the last bit of haze may be a cliff.
All of this is adequately summed up by Python member Eric Idle’s ‘Galaxy Song,’ which spends two and a half verses explaining the numeric details of the size of the universe and the speed of the galaxy’s rotation around galactic central point to an awed housewife, before concluding “So remember when you’re feeling very small and insecure, how amazingly unlikely is your birth. And pray that there’s intelligent life somewhere out in space, because there’s bugger all down here on Earth!”
(May 6, 2025)
If you turned on the Olympics today and saw a track and field race where the competitors went four laps around the track like this:
This would be utterly stupid, wouldn’t it. Entertaining maybe, but ridiculous.
So why is it OK in swimming?
Not only do we have ‘medley’ events where four different ‘strokes’ are used, we also have four different races at each distance, one each for breaststroke, butterfly, backstroke, and freestyle. This is why swimmers win so many medals: there are dozens of events for anyone with the talent to dominate.
As far as I know, nobody has ever escaped a shark by employing the breaststroke. Nobody has ever scaled large waves to get back to the ship by using the butterfly. The backstroke is useful only for night swimming if you want to view constellations. Swimming is about maximizing your speed while moving through water under your own power. Why limit the swimmers to certain propulsion techniques that slow them down? If the only answer is ‘to increase the medal count,’ that is as silly as the race I imagined above.
(Thanks to the restoring of old Matchpointer issues by Tom Anderson at this page, I found this one in the November 2000 Matchpointer, back in the days when we were still printing it and I was both the editor and the Unit President in a very shorthanded Unit Board. Before reading this, you might want to view this exchange from CBC News of October 13, 1970, in which CBC reporter Tim Ralfe and other reporters asked Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau about the measures he had imposed in Quebec following the kidnapping of a British diplomat and the Quebec Minister of Labour by Quebec separatist activists. My issue—clubs not reporting their events and blaming me for not actively getting it from them as I had previously tried to do—was not even close to similar, but it did not stop me from using the thirty-year old transcript to make a subtle point that most probably missed....)
Sir, what is it with the club ads this issue?
Haven’t you noticed?
Yes, I’ve noticed them. I wondered why you decided to make them smaller.
What’s your worry?
I’m worried about the Matchpotnter not properly advertising club events.
Why? Is there something missing? Are you aware of an event that isn’t mentioned?
Well, friends of mine, club managers, say that there are a few not mentioned.
Yes? Did your friends mention those events to me, or to the Club Liaison, Mr. Friedman?
Well, they’ve never had to before.
Aha...
You have said before that you would do what you could to find out what was going on at all clubs.
Sure. That’s what you’re complaining about, isn’t it?
Well yes, but surely you’ve done a lot less this time than you have for previous issues.
Yes, but let me ask you what your own logic is. I have a phone, an answering machine, e-mail, and a highly visible Club Liason who plays at most of the clubs I don’t play at. In addition to my duties as Unit President, I should spend lots of time going after data from people who cannot read a deadline? Mr. Friedman, who is collecting this information voluntarily, should? That seems to be your position.
But surely you can simply make a list of the items you need, the people you haven't heard from, and pass that on to the Club Liaison.
I've done that before too. But that too takes time, and gives an unfair disadvantage to those few who get their data in on time—they do the work and others get it done for them. Is that just?
I explained it badly, I think, but what you’re talking about to me is choices. And my choice is to have a Matchpointer that is informative and complete, which means that you don’t have club ads that ignore a club’s special events and you don’t list half of the club information as “unreported.”
That’s my choice too. Correct.
And one of the things I have to give up for that choice is the fact that volunteers like you have to work a lot harder.
Sure, but this isn’t my choice any more. You know, I think it is more important to emphasize that club ads are free and the Unit could make back almost a quarter of the printing costs by charging for that space. But we don’t, because, when used correctly, the club ad space does what the Matchpointer is supposed to do: promote bridge. But I think part of my duty as editor is to ensure that this gift to clubs is used correctly, and when it gets to the point where many club managers need to be reminded of a deadline that is clearly printed every issue, this renders our hard work meaningless. Now, you don’t agree to this but I am sure that with hindsight, you would probably have found it preferable if all the information was submitted, which is not the case, because I’ve gone out and obtained it before and this time I didn’t. But even with your hindsight I don’t see how you can deny that a club should be responsible for submitting its results.
No, I still go back to the choice you have to make in the kind of Matchpointer that you want to produce.
Yes, well, there are a lot of bleeding hearts around who just don’t like to have to do their small duty to promote bridge, leaving it to others who get overloaded. All I can say is, go on and bleed, but it is more important to make sure that when an opportunity for club promotion is presented, that club managers take advantage of it by letting us know of their winners instead of just waiting for us to find out...
At any cost? How far would you go with that? How far would you extend that?
Well: just watch me.
368 days ago, a chartered plane crashed in Russia shortly after takeoff, killing 44 people, including an entire hockey team in the top Russian league, probably the second best league in the world after the NHL. The investigation has revealed that the plane was unable to gain sufficient speed for takeoff because while one pilot was accelerating, the other had his foot to the floor on the brake pedal! The cockpit voice recorder revealed that during the takeoff attempt, the pilots were frantically changing settings that should have been set before the takeoff roll even began. Research into the pilots’ backgrounds showed that at least one had insufficient experience on this type of aircraft. And it was recently revealed that both pilots, possibly under pressure from the now-banned, then-suspect airline, falsified documents in order to give the flight a green light and make money for the airline.
Remember this the next time your friendly neighborhood conservative tells you that deregulation is the magic answer to the economy’s woes. Regulations keep people alive and prevent workers from unfair personal calamities. Today’s laissez-faire capitalism advocates want less—way less—regulations. They believe that without regulations businesses can still ultimately be trusted to spend the money and make the effort to avert the catastrophes that the regulations are designed to prevent, because not doing so will cause them to fail. This is the 21st-century mirror-image of Marx saying that the state would eventually wither away, but just as ridiculous.
There are businesses that will not cut corners and take the long view, instead of relentlessly demanding growth at any cost. But removing regulations does not help them. It simply sentences them to a long struggle as their competitors gain on them by offering the same goods and services for lower prices, cheating fate all the way to the bank and disappearing with the profits when the shortcuts lead to a catastrophe ... which taints every business in the sector, including those who play by the rules.
I have no doubt there are some regulations in business that can be eased, modified or even scrapped, as long as it is done slowly, with the safety of the public and workers in mind. What is alarming is politicians who advocate immediate repeal of all or most rules without delay. What attitude could possibly scream more clearly that such a politician is a shill for the shady?
You remember this Billy Joel song, right?
Well we’re living here in Allentown
And they’re closing all the factories down
Out in Bethlehem they’re killing time
Filling out forms
Standing in line.
Well our fathers fought the Second World War
Spent their weekends on the Jersey Shore
Met our mothers at the USO
Asked them to dance
Danced with them slow
And we’re living here in Allentown.
But the restlessness was handed down
And it’s getting very hard to staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay
I have just discovered that for thirty years I have been under the impression that the second line of the second verse is different than what I thought Billy was singing. Misheard lyrics are always pretty funny, but this one has me wondering how I could go without questioning it for so long. Here it is:
Well we’re waiting here in Allentown
For the Pennsylvania ???????????
Well, what is it? I’ve heard this song probably a hundred times or more since it came out in 1982. Here’s what follows, if that’s any help:
Well we’re waiting here in Allentown
For the Pennsylvania ???????????
For the promises our teachers gave
If we worked hard
If we behaved.
So the graduations hang on the wall
But they never really helped us at all
No they never taught us what was real
Iron and coke,
Chromium steel.
It’s a great song about the non-permanence of industry and the social costs of progress. Like so many Billy Joel tunes, it seems simple but is carefully constructed to sound that way, like Mozart’s music. But boy did I have that line wrong in my memory. The actual line:
Well we’re waiting here in Allentown
For the Pennsylvania we never found
What I thought he sang (and, to quote another great Billy Joel tune — Don’t Ask Me Why):
Well we’re waiting here in Allentown
For the Pennsylvania Pinochle crowd
No kidding. Thirty years. Good thing I didn’t try to karaoke this.
Pretty nice rhythmical fit my version has. Doesn’t fit with the rest of the verse too well though.
(This was written and posted online on the morning of August 5, 2025, after a week of speculation that the Vancouver Whitecaps and general manager Axel Schuster had managed to sign Thomas Müller, a star for Bayern Munich for most of two decades, who scored the opening goal for Germany in the infamous 2014 7-1 World Cup semifinal rout of Brazil, and a unique player whose playing style coined a name for a new position, the Raumdeuter, which means approximately “spacefinder”. A week had gone by with hints from several sources but neither confirmation nor denial. Major League Soccer has strange rules indeed, covering Designated Players (DPs) that do not count against the salary cap, Targeted Allocation Money, and discovery rights which apparently the Whitecaps are currently buying from Cincinnati.)
Well we’re waiting in Vancouver-town
For a Munich jet to finally touch down
It’s been in the news for one whole week
First it seemed daft, now we believe
So we’re waiting for the news to be good
But it’s taking longer than it should
Regulations of the MLS
DPs and TAM, discovery mess
And we’re hoping in Vancouver-town
Where the pessimism’s handed down
And it’s getting very hard to wa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ait
...
We’re projecting in Vancouver-town
Will the Raumdeuter fit in with our crowd?
What the hell is Axel waiting for?
Give us some news! Waiting’s a bore...
And the trophies are still up on the wall
In MLS they never helped us at all
Older fans remember good old days
Willie and Ball, trophies to raise
We’re still waiting here in Vancouver-town
Now our rivals’ signings making us frown
And the wait is getting hard to ta-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ke
...
Every squad has had a pretty good shot
To get at least as far as last year’s Caps got
With every forward step we fall on our face
These days we're always put right back in our place
...
Well we’re waiting in Vancouver-town
But that airport welcome’s not goin’ down
And my optimism’s gone awa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-y
...
And it’s getting very hard to wa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-it
But we’re waiting in Vancouver-town
(On August 6, a day after this hit the internet, the Whitecaps announced the transfer.)
Could it be that people trust clarity and distrust bafflegab?
(This one required special treatment to fit into the very full October 1995 Matchpointer which is here. I didn't want to take an editing scalpel to the text itself, since I had a feeling this was one of my better efforts, but the space left over for it was not quite big enough. Eventually I got it onto page 16 and most of 17, by reducing the already small font size a half-point and going to three columns, making it nearly necessary to use a magnifying glass to read! A few months later I lifted the text and used it as a response to a Usenet thread and David Stevenson, a tournament director in England, asked if he could reprint it on his website, and I agreed and sent him several more articles. Soon I would occasionally get requests from various places to reprint the article in a tournament bulletin: in India, Africa, South America, and Asia! I often quote a favorite line from Canadian humorist Stephen Leacock that my little article has travelled to every quarter of the globe, and at times into every eighth or sixteenth of it! In 2024, directing at the Toronto NABC, a player read my nametag and told me how much he enjoyed the article I had written 29 years earlier.
Thirty years later, most of it is still relevant, although few clubs these days use travelers, and many use time-clock screens so everyone can see how many minutes are left in a round. There is a sequel out there somewhere, written after I began directing games, which was far less popular than this original, written when I was a player.)
The biggest irritant in duplicate bridge, claimed a survey not too long ago, is not table rudeness, or complicated systems, or even anything to do with smoking. It is slow play. Many experienced local players who used to play frequently are seldom seen at clubs these days. Is it because they play rubber at home? because they’ve lost interest? because they feel no need to beat inferiors? because they’ve lost touch with the latest conventions? No. It is because they haven’t the patience to play club bridge anymore, because it’s too damn slow.
As a result, many club games are getting smaller. Once you lose the top end of your player base, the remaining members of your game don’t attend with anywhere near the frequency of the bridge-crazy addicts, and attendance goes slowly down. You can point to a lot of reasons attendance is off, but the number one turn-off of this game is following a pair who is slow every round, or waiting for the North-South pair at the next table to complete the round and hand you the boards.
And what do you read about slow piay, and how to prevent it? They tell us to play quickly, don’t conduct post mortems, don’t waste time smoking or getting coffee or talking to friends between rounds, claim when you can, and all sorts of obvious things like that. Sort of like advising a pitcher to throw strikes and don’t give up a hit, or a goalie to keep the puck from entering the net. The real keys to playing fast are in forming habits that serve to keep the game moving, and staying alert at the table.
To play fast you don’t need to play “fast”; you just need to play slow less often.
Suppose the auction goes 1NT (15-17) on your right, you pass an eleven count, LHO makes a transfer. You should see that there is a great chance for you to be on opening lead eventually, and you should start figuring out what your best lead might be against notrump, or against the suit about to be bid by RHO. Once the auction is over, you can immediately place a card on the table. After your lead is turned face up, you can write the contract on your convention card as declarer studies dummy.
You scoff. “That might save five seconds,” you say. “Over the course of the night that might save a minute or two at most.” Point taken. But how often have you seen one or more of these:
These events don’t cost five seconds; they cost minutes. But if you get into the habit of keeping the game moving, it will speed up the game a little bit, by getting opening leads onto the table quicker and saving time figuring the best defense because you need to go over the bidding again in your mind before leading to trick three; and, it will speed up the game a lot, because players who are really at the table almost never ask “is it my lead,” or make a fourth pass, or forget what happened on the previous board.
So let’s go over the ground and look at a single deal and how time wasted can be extra time saved:
Arriving at the table: this is where most of the time goes. The smoking ban in effect now at most clubs forces smokers to go outside or to a special room to smoke, where you can’t hear the round being called. Many clubs have washrooms, or coffee and other refreshments that are far away from the tables. Some clubs even have less washroom space than they need and lineups result. None of these is any excuse for arriving at the table late. The only excuse for arriving at the table late is that you were still playing boards when the round was called. Even this is not an excuse if you finished the boards late and then went to get a leisurely refreshment while your next opponents were waiting (although we will make an exception for biological urgency, provided you follow it up with bridge urgency to make up for the lost time).
Greeting the opponents: too many of us don’t. But some of us greet with such profusion that by the time the first bid is finally made, other tables have played six tricks already. The happy medium is to greet and pull cards from the slot simultaneously. This keeps everybody happy. If someone wants to tell a story, fine, but don’t let it hold up the bidding. Correct form is “...so Freddie went up to the officer and said ‘Sir, I respectfully — redouble — I respectfully submit that...’ ” If you are not confident in simultaneously bidding and being the jovial raconteur, simply mention that you have a funny story to tell after the round, and almost certainly you'll have time — trust me.
Sorting cards: even with my bizarre method of card sorting, I take about the same amount of time as everyone else. What isn’t cricket is when somebody has to say “still sorting” because the dealer has passed his 2-count without sorting. This slows things down for everyone, since there is the awkward knowledge that the dealer passed quickly. The time gained by the quick pass is swiftly lost by the other players as they try to ignore this unauthorized information. Sort your good hands and your bad ones. We also need to recognize that some players have genuine trouble in sorting their cards and need a few extra seconds. Rushing them inevitably causes more timewasting later.
Bidding: Take a few seconds before sorting to check the dealer and vulnerability on each board. Reduce the essential information to two words: “We/They/Both/None” for vulnerability and “1st/2nd/3rd/4th” for the seat you are in. If you’re East on Board 15, you simply remember “They; 4th.” (If those new boards with the green hands and the funny vulnerability stickers confuse you, you won’t be confused when you make it a habit to look for this information every deal.) Why? Because the number one timing problem in bidding consists of players not realizing it is their turn. Either the dealer hasn’t seen that he is the dealer, or the player due to make the next bid is waiting for LHO to say something. If you are next to call and are thinking for more than a few seconds, it’s a good idea to give some indication that you know it is your bid, to put minds at rest.
Before the opening lead: Once the bidding is over, somebody should say aloud the contract and declarer (“...so, Six Hearts Redoubled, by East...”) and the players should write the contract down now on the backs of their convention cards — except the player on opening lead, who should open the proceedings before writing the contract down.
The play: The opening leader should have the contract written down by the time the thirteen cards in dummy appear. At this point, no matter how obvious the play to the first trick, declarer should think for a half-minute or so before playing. Opening leader’s partner may also wish to take some time, either before or after he plays his card. Time taken at the first trick is not time wasting; this is virtually always a time of planning and deep thought. Later in the hand, however, there are all sorts of needless irritating time wasting tactics that happen frequently:
The solution to all of these is to stay ahead of what’s happening. Don’t detach a card until you’re sure you want to play it. Don’t lead up to dummy without some idea of what card you’ll be playing in the likely circumstances. Don’t take on too many defensive gadgets at once: the proper way to leam how to signal is to start slow and add things little by little. The ceiling won’t help you.
Claiming: Many players have run into the Laws while trying to claim and have decided apparently to never try it again. This costs us all time. If you fear claiming because there’s a trump out and you might muff the claim statement, just play a few more tricks until all you need to do is show your cards. If on defense you can see that dummy is good (and you know that partner cannot win another trick), concede. It saves time.
Irregularities: There's nothing sillier than players debating over whether the director should be called after an irregularity occurs. Call him. You may have heard that you can’t call the director if you’re dummy. Call him anyway. Don’t waste time dillying over whether the irregularity means anything. Keep calling until your call is acknowledged. (There are players who think that you can summon a director by waving, as though they’re bidding another fifty in a silent auction. You can’t. Yell at him. Even if he’s on the phone.)
After trick thirteen: Whoever is closest to North’s convention card is responsible for seeing that North grabs the traveller first, before he enters the score on his own scoresheet. If North tries to enter the score on his convention card first, I suggest slapping your hand down on it. If North wishes to blab on, I suggest one of East or West take the scoresheet themselves and open it up for him. There is so much opportunity for time to be lost here that all four players should be especially vigilant. Get the job done before discussing the hand at length. Don’t let anyone have an extended look at the scoresheet while there are still boards to play. A glimpse or two, or a quick (and quiet) recap of the most popular scores by North, fine. A comprehensive analysis of who bid the slam against whom, by counting tables to figure out who is pair 13, is not at all proper.
At all times: Be aware of how much time you have before the round is to be called. Directors could do a lot more to help players in this respect. Few directors anymore say “you should be on your last board,” or something like that. It’s better for a director to announce when a round is half-over, so that players can speed up if necessary.
The Golden Rule: There is one misapprehension that almost all players share with regards to slow play, and that is the fault principle. Too many players adamantly refuse to speed up their game (which as we’ve seen, does not necessarily mean to play fast, but just to avoid playing slowly) after a pair arrives late, since they feel that they were not responsible for the original delay. This sort of thing happens:
Round One: Played 3NT and needed to engineer a difficult endplay to make it, then a difficult defense for the needed 800 against our vulnerable game. Left the table three minutes into the next round.
Round Two: Got to table to find no opponents, they were fetched from the smoking area outside five minutes into the round, and sat down saying “what took you so long?” Three times during the round we tried to speed this pair up, but they insisted on postmorteming the first board, and South took two minutes before being reminded it was his lead on the second. Left five minutes late, with opponents behind us waiting.
Round Three: Asked North, explaining system to South, to fill in the scoreslip after the first board and he exploded. “Not my fault you guys arrived late; you’ll have to play quicker. Bloody slow players.’ Continued post-mortem. Director announced an early break, “because of a certain East-West pair.”
Do you think the East-West pair is going to be back next week? Probably not, but the two North-South pairs will. Notice that the East-West pair had a few tough hands and got behind, tried to catch up, and were denied the opportunity. Don’t blame the director: no director can monitor every table to find out who’s at fault when a pair gets behind. By this time, it probably looks to the director like the East-West pair is slow.
The Golden Rule is that there is only one person responsible for slow play: YOU. I don’t care what the circumstances are, I don’t care if you’ve never been late getting to a table in your life: if you make no effort to get caught up, you are guilty. If your attitude is “I won't help because it isn’t my fault,” you are hurting the game more than any slow pair ever could.
Fast players don't play “fast.” They just slow the game down less often. As a result, they have more time to think. What we need to do is look for the ways we all slow down the game and get rid of them, filling them with awareness and pauses for thought.
Slow players don't play “slow.” They lose the thread and take time doing a whole slew of unnecessary things that slow the game down. It takes only one player to cause delays. Don’t let that person be you. Keep the game moving: hurry up — and think!
Get ready: it’s the 2015 McBruce Best Picture Ladder Competition. Thursday morning’s Oscar nominations show that I have seen ONE of the eight pictures nominated; I hope to make that five by Monday evening. The one that I have seen, The The Grand Budapest Hotel, seems Oscar-worthy, but let’s see if it survives the weekend. Will I see something better?
(It may well be that none of the films I plan to see wins, since Boyhood is no longer playing in theatres or on Netflix. Movies longer than 140-150 minutes are tough to see without a pause button...)
Tonight’s challenger: Selma. Result: winning tie for Selma.
Shamefully, all I knew about Selma as I sat down was that it was the scene of an event in the civil rights movement. I had no idea which event. The film does a fine job of educating ignoramuses like me in the history, the context, and the politics. Like so many good biopics, it encouraged me to look further after seeing it, and like so few biopics, I found little in the online material that was deliberately ignored, overstated, or made up in the film.
Not knowing the details going in made the movie better, I think. I did not see the church bombing coming at all, as someone familiar with the campaign would have. The early scene of Oprah Winfrey attempting to register to vote and having to recite from memory the preamble to the Constitution, then state how many county judges there were in Alabama, then be denied because she could not “name them,” was brilliantly written to frame the reason for the struggle, and told more than the first scene of Dr. King and LBJ about what was at stake.
Two small quibbles: during the first march out of Selma (Bloody Sunday) the leaders were told to turn on CBS and the implication (not directly shown) was that the film was being shown live. I could be wrong here, but I do not believe that was possible in 1965, although possibly the reporter on the phone describing the scene was live audio. My other quibble was from my own lack of knowledge: I wondered how a crowd of thousands could walk 54 miles from Selma to Montgomery in a single day and get there before dusk: the film did not clarify that the final march actually took several days, with part of the route severely limited to 300 people only, by the court order allowing them to proceed.
Is LBJ portrayed unfairly? Perhaps so, but I don’t believe he is ever shown as against the cause, just against the timing and the tactics, which certainly forced his hand on voting rights before he was ready. He wanted to focus on poverty first, King wanted voting rights first. We can debate forever about who was right. King’s win, as he laments in the film, did not come without considerable bloodshed and death.
This film is as much an achievement in its genre as Grand Budapest is in its, and Selma wins only because while I love my whimsical humour, I am endlessly fascinated by history, especially when the lens is as focused as it is here. It would have been Hollywood-normal to make a 210 minute epic about the entire civil rights movement. 127 minutes focused on one campaign within the movement is a much more intense and interesting film. (The rap in the overrated nominated song over the closing credits is misplaced in a movie about the 1960s, but soon gives way to actual audio of the songs sung during the march. Good choice.)
As for the Academy giving only two nominations, I think this is less a racism issue than a simple function of date of release. You don’t get breaks in nominations when your 2014 movie cannot be seen by 90% of the people who see movies until 2015. Best Picture, OK, but for acting and directing awards we need time to consider and compare before Jan 15, when the nominations are announced. But really, Academy: Steve Carell? I didn’t see the movie, but — Steve Carell? (Tomorrow: The Imitation Game)
Best Picture 2015 Ladder Part 2: The Imitation Game tries to climb past The Grand Budapest Hotel and Selma, and on the opening step, the first rung on the ladder rots and breaks.
Result: Selma keeps the lead, Grand Budapest only slightly behind.
The Imitation Game begins with the admonition that it is based on the Andrew Hodges biography I read not long after it was written twenty years ago. Based on. You know what’s coming when you see that. It took two minutes on Wikipedia to confirm that the darts I was tossing at the film’s connection to reality were already well known, and there were more that I had not even realized. Among them:
Now, many audiences will not know that this one man’s work at a secret location in WWII likely helped the Allies win two years earlier than they would have. But the fact stands alone by itself without needing ornamentation and oversimplification. Excellent dramas have been made about Turing’s life and work in the past, including the historical fiction Enigma, which is set at Bletchley Park without Turing, and a 1996 TV movie with Derek Jacobi as Turing. Netflix has a 2012 TV film called Codebreaker which I have not yet seen, also about Turing. The Imitation Game, sadly, is less of a biopic and more of a fairy tale.
Pun not intended. In fact, one of the criticisms fired at the film is the lack of a sex scene to confirm that Turing is gay. Apparently having the main character say “I’m sorry but I must break off our engagement because I’m a homosexual” is not enough to get that message across. They got that one right, if nothing else. But the rest of Turing’s life and achievements have been treated as shoddily as they were in the 1950s, once the war ended.
Best Picture 2015 Ladder Part 3: We have a new leader!
Current standings:
Boyhood: unseen overwhelming frontrunner, out of theatres
Selma: best I’ve seen, LBJ criticisms overblown
The Grand Budapest Hotel: very close second among those I’ve seen
The Imitation Game: spoiled by ridiculous flights of non-history
The Theory Of Everything: read on
Birdman: coming later
American Sniper: coming later still
Whiplash: tomorrow
Mostly, we get what we put in when we see a film, hear a concert, even eat a meal. I doubt I am alone in remembering that the best meals of my life also happened when I was hungry. No concert is likely to captivate you if you don’t like the genre. There’s no sense going to a horror film if you have formed the idea that they suck. Anytime we judge some performing art, from cinema to music to cooking, we need some frame of reference to help us appreciate it.
But occasionally, forcing yourself to attend something surprises you. You expect one thing and get quite another. Such was the case with The Theory Of Everything, a biopic about the life of Stephen Hawking. Hawking the person, not so much Hawking the scientist.
And here is what I thought going in: enough already. Do we absolutely have to have a film or three every year where the main character has some obvious defect that serves as bait for an actor to claim a statue? From Shine (mental breakdown by piano prodigy) to The Last King of Scotland (the defect here is Idi Amin) to The King’s Speech (monarch with public speaking phobia) to dozens more, there always seems to be a Best Actor or Best Actress nomination for impersonation more than acting. Surely this was the case here. Hawking is a public enough figure that any decent actor can mimic him in a wheelchair quite easily. I vowed going in that I would not be swayed by this.
And I wasn’t. It’s a beautiful film, capturing the 60s at Cambridge nicely and the main character in fact is not Hawking, but his first wife Jane. And as this became slowly clear, something else happened with my pre-conceived notions. I had some memory of an article stating that Hawking had left the wife that had taken care of him for so many years, without remembering any further details, and there was this nagging thought in my head that this was about to get suddenly ugly and emotional.
Well, yes and no. I can’t bring myself to spoil it for you, but suffice it to say that their breakup is portrayed in a way that you can see it coming, can see that it is probably best for both, and ends surprisingly well. My usual check of facts afterward reveals that what is depicted in the film is geniune and what is left out is some unneeded ugliness that happened later.
The scenes where Hawking deteriorates, losing motor functions little by little, accepting the wheelchair, accepting the extra help he wanted to avoid, accepting the loss of his voice and embracing the communication options left to him (which was incredibly primitive at first, before the computer voice he has kept to this day was invented for him), accepting the breakup of his marriage, all are beautifully done even when looked at critically and not scoring points for the impersonation of well-known (and even little-known) Hawking mannerisms.
It is powerful in its simplicity, the way it focusses more on how a couple solved the problems resulting from Hawking’s disability, than on the details of Hawking’s scientific work. Better than Selma? Yes, slightly. The accolades for the score I do not understand: this is far closer to Philip (‘de da de da de da de da de da de do dee dee de da de da de da de da de da de da’) Glass than John Williams’s symphonic melodic themes. Has a sort of “Dallas Buyers Club” feel to it, after the early scene from 1964 or so where Hawking is given two years to live.
So, we have a new leader in what probably is a race for second place, unless Netflix gets Boyhood soon. The online betting has Boyhood at even odds with the others ranging from about 18-1 to 50-1.
(Next up: Birdman.)
Best Picture 2015 Ladder Part 4: Dazed and Confused
Current standings:
Boyhood: unseen overwhelming frontrunner, out of theatres, no stream yet
The Theory Of Everything: best of three very good films I’ve seen
Selma: close second best I’ve seen, LBJ criticisms overblown
The Grand Budapest Hotel: very close third among those I’ve seen
The Imitation Game: spoiled by ridiculous flights of non-history
Birdman: read on
American Sniper: coming later
Whiplash: tomorrow
Actors are crazy. Beyond that, this is a well-filmed story that doesn’t seem to have any idea where it wants to go, except that it will never go where we expect and never explain itself. I guess that’s what actors strive to do.
Almost the whole thing is shot with mobile cameras following the action in an absurdly crowded community of dressing rooms backstage in a Broadway theatre. There are perhaps a dozen scenes in the whole film, each one moving from place to place on mobile cameras for 10-12 minutes before turning to the sky or some other spot until the next scene is set. It’s as though Hitchcock’s Rope were some baseline that the filmmakers were trying to exceed with modern technology.
The film opens with Michael Keaton in his tighty whiteys four feet above the floor of his dressing room, floating crosslegged and concentrating. A voice keeps talking to him. When the action begins, we are presented with clues about what’s going on, but just why Keaton’s character can hover in midair and make things move without touching them is not explained. Perhaps I simply lack the imagination needed to work it out. Perhaps I might have gotten it had the action not been utterly frenetic from start to finish, giving me no time to think about it. Or maybe I’m not meant to think about it.
Whatever. The point is I was confused from about 30 minutes in, and the remaining 90 answered little and presented more questions. Many of the plot strands seemed to be thrown in there for no apparent reason but to keep the pace going. The substitution of the real gun for the fake gun was about the only thing that did not surprise me. Why this happened was, as you’ll guess by now, not explained. And having a coda to the movie with the character that the gun shoots suffering no actual injury once the bandages are removed had me shaking my head enough not to care about what the final outcome (given two possible interpretations in the final scene) was.
If this review sounds confusing, it was meant to be. Even The Imitation Game beats this one.
(Next up: American Sniper)
Best Picture 2015 Ladder Part 5: Best Picture Nominees Sponsored By The NRA And The RNC
Current standings:
Boyhood: unseen overwhelming frontrunner, out of theatres, no stream yet
The Theory Of Everything: best of three very good films I’ve seen
Selma: close second best I’ve seen, LBJ criticisms overblown
The Grand Budapest Hotel: very close third among those I’ve seen
The Imitation Game: spoiled by ridiculous flights of non-history
Birdman: would be better if it made an attempt to explain the weirdness
American Sniper: read on
Whiplash: tomorrow
This film deserves to be spoiled, but I’m warning you so you can skip the review and go see it if you are that type. I’m not. This film grated at my sensibilities like a major league wedgie. It not only glorifies war, it glorifies pro-war jingoism and the whole “if your not with us, you’re with the terrorists” take. It glorifies the psychological tactics the U.S. military uses during basic training to make their graduates not merely ready to fight, but hoping to fight, again and again and again. Here’s the climax:
Sniper Chris Kyle has completed one tour in Iraq as a legend, and has voluntarily returned for three more. The last quest is an enemy sniper, apparently a Syrian Olympic medalist, who is killing U.S. soldiers and engineers in an unnamed Iraqi city. Kyle and a half dozen others decide to occupy the roof of a building near the city center and use airborne reconnaissance to try to locate the sniper. They do so when he shoots an engineer, and Kyle kills the sniper with a shot that is well outside the range of his weapon; this bullet of course takes half a minute to travel 2000 yards in slow motion, and somehoe hits the sniper square in the face.
The death of the sniper, until now working alone without help, is somehow instantly relayed to every Iraqi fighter in the area, who immediately know exactly where Kyle and his team are holed up, as well as the vital fact that American forces, through brilliant planning, are twenty minutes away. A huge firefight ensues, with the six Americans facing bullets from the street, adjacent rooftops, and fighters coming up the stairs of their own building. And in the midst of this firefight, what do you think Kyle does?
He calls his wife. This isn’t even the first time that he’s done this in the middle of a combat operation, he’s done it once before while being fired upon, and another time while inside a sniper’s perch protecting Marines from suspicious-looking Iraqis. I was left to wonder if this was a selling point when looking for volunteers. The only military in the world where you can call your wife when the chips are down and it looks like you’re about to die!
Along the way, we see what the Iraq war did to its citizens: forced evacuations from homes, coerced cooperation often leading to brutal reprisals, and a general feeling by military people that all Iraqis are inferior, with all the namecalling that can go into a movie. From time to time we get some throwaway line justifying the terror the military instills in Iraqis, like “if we don’t do this here and now, these bastards’ll be in San Diego or Detroit next week.” A friend’s funeral features a letter written by the dead solider by his weeping mother about his concerns about what he was doing; Kyle’s reaction later is that “he was a dead man once he wrote that letter.” The final thirty minutes of the movie deal with Kyle’s personality change and slow recovery after leaving the military, leaving the Iraqi people’s suffering as though it never happened.
I think that this film takes the concept of “support the troops,” “thank you for your service” just way too far. We need to convince Johnny Jingo that it is not a contradiction to support the military and at the same time disapprove of the war. Just because something unpleasant needs to be done is no reason to glorify the hell out of the very worst aspects of it. The film is based on a true story, a real person without a happy ending. Kyle and a close friend were killed in 2013 by a Marine veteran that Kyle had taken to a shooting range, which was a common part of Kyle’s recovery from his post-war stress. To a Johnny Jingo, this is a tragedy because Kyle was a “true American hero.” I don’t deny that this is a tragedy, nor that Kyle was a successful soldier, but can only shake my head at the mixture of the gun culture, the military mindset that supports it, and the appalling mistreatment of returning veterans with serious problems following a horrific war that should never have been fought.
So that’s six of the eight nominees seen. Whiplash tomorrow evening, and then I’ll start looking for Boyhood. One odd bit of trivia: Arnold the former Governator of Kawlee-Phone-Ya, is in the previews for a summer 2015 release of the new Terminator movie. Whenever I see this preview, a bad movie is sure to follow. When I see other previews, I know what’s coming will be fairly good.
(Tomorrow: Whiplash)
Best Picture 2015 Ladder Part 6: “He’s Fleein’ The Interview!” Marge Gunderson Fargo edition.
On the SkyTrain to see Whiplash tonight, I was thinking about the fact that I’ve seen six of the eight Best Picture Nominees with a total of about thirty or forty people. Tonight would likely be different, since it was a 7pm start. I also thought of a way to give each film a rating in a universal system that would make some sort of sense, but didn’t complete that thought before arriving at Broadway Station.
There was a lineup of about 30 people and apparently no ticket machines at the Rio. I snuck up to the front of the line and saw closed doors. It looked like there was no alternative but to line up for tickets. 6:42 and I am behind 30 others. 6:45 and the same person is still buying a ticket? There only one goddamn show here! 6:46 and she’s done. The next person took four more minutes. There were 26 people ahead of me in the line. I left.
Perhaps I’m wrong about the Rio, a theatre I have never been to. But the impression was like the Seinfeld Soup Nazi: the soup is so good you stand in line and follow the orders. Whiplash is a sixty to one shot in Vegas betting. The soup here is just not going to be that good.
But I now have a 0-10 system for judging movies. A maximum of four points for your answer to the simple question “would I watch it again?” (Not tomorrow in another theatre, but two years from now when it hits basic cable or Netflix.) A maximum of six points for “ABC”: authenticity, believability and consistency, the factors that separate most Best Picture nominees from Terminator 7 or whatever. Both of these need to be absolutely perfect to get all the marks: 4 out of 4 for “would I watch it again?” would be for an answer like “many times on Netflix once it appears and quite often on TV when I come across it, even decades after its release.” 6 out of 6 for ABC depends on what type of film it is: a fantasy film needs to be consistent to its world and not seem to make up new rules as it goes along, a fictional film needs a plot that could happen in the real world, a science fiction film must obey science, a film with prior source material must stick to that source material as much as feasible, and a historical film or biopic must stick to the truth; anything less than this loses points.
Because it is virtually impossible to get 10 out of 10, I add or subtract a maximum of 2 points for extra features that stood out above (or below) the norm: acting, writing, filming techniques, music, etc. Scores so far:
American Sniper: 1 out of 10 (0.5/4, 1.5/6, -1). The only reason I would watch this again would be in a group so I could point out to friends how horrible it is. It does at least try to portray the horrors and dangers of Iraq and PTSD, but is not very convincing, and the source material (already quite suspect after losing a court challenge based on the truthiness of one of the stories told) is mashed together in a way that makes it all worse. I cannot think of a worse Best Picture nominee that I have seen, ever.
Birdman: 5.5 out of 10 (1.5/4, 3/6, +1). Watch it again? Maybe, to see if I can understand the plot a bit better. Not sure that’s possible. I did like the consistency of having all the action take place in real time and in one location, but the overall message was obscure and confusing. The homage to Hitchcock’s pioneering long take techniques in Rope is impressive.
The Imitation Game: 6 out of 10 (2/4, 3/6, +1). I’ll probably view it again when I get a chance, but not with a lot of enthusiasm. There’s too much nonsense in the climactic scenes and it is difficult to figure out what’s going on in the post-war narrative. Cumberbatch’s performance is a standout and the recreation of the war period is as well.
The Grand Budapest Hotel: 8 out of ten (3/4, 3.5/6, +1.5). I watched this again as soon as it appeared on Netflix and probably will again. The plot is consistently unbelievable, but as I understand it quite faithful to the source material (the whimsical writings of Austrian author Stefan Zweig) it borrows from. Bonus points for the outstanding sets and costumes and the unique way the three time periods in the story are separated by different aspect ratios onscreen.
Selma: 8.5 out of 10 (2.5/4, 5/6, +1). I will probably watch it again at some point, and as I’ve stated, for a biopic it does compare surprisingly well with the factual history. One improvement might have been to be more clear about the glacial pace with which all this happened: the movie feels like it took place over a week or two; it actually took months and months. It was LBJ’s successor who taped everything that happened in the Oval Office, so we’ll never really know whether his role was accurately portrayed, but the anecdotal evidence is that LBJ, in private at least, was indeed blunt and not concerned with who he might offend. So there’s that.
The Theory Of Everything: 9 out of 10 (3/4, 5.5/6, +0.5). Will definitely rewatch this one. Even Hawking says that watching the film makes him recall his earlier years as though he were watching himself. The well-known Hawking voice, unchanged since the very first version even though more natural sounding voices are available, was not originally available for the film, until Hawking saw the finished product with a poor imitation, and allowed the film makers to dub in his actual voice. As I’ve stated in the review I wrote, I’m wary of this being another Best Actor award for imitating a disability, but there is an incredible range of portrayal here, from able-bodied to the depths of despair.
The two I’ve missed are the clear frontrunners for Best Picture (Boyhood) and Best Supporting Actor (J.K. Simmons in Whiplash). I hope I get to see these two at some point, but I also hope that Boyhood lives up to the hype: filming a story over 12 years is merely a gimmick and I hope there is more to it than just that. Simmons is virtually always good and I suppose it might have been worth it to stay in the lineup tonight. If I seemed to have a chance to get in before it began I would have.
Perhaps the best thing I can say about seeing most of the nominated films is that it didn’t rain. I certainly expected more from the group than to get three very good films, two that were seriously flawed and one that was just awful. If I get a chance to see either of the other two I shall update this when I do. I continue to wonder if theatres are on the verge of collapse. We now seem to get better attendance at bridge games. Service is lousy; you can get away with walking in after 10 minutes without trouble, or chatting incessantly and nobody does a thing. Concessions are ridiculously overpriced. Even the crowd at the Rio tonight was not likely to exceed 100; unless somehow there were already 70 inside when I arrived. One positive is that the onscreen ads seem to be dying out as the advertisers realize the absurdly small crowds they are playing to. But, we might be coming to the end of theatres within the next five to ten years. Why bother?
Best Picture 2015 Ladder Part 6: The Future
Current standings:
The Theory Of Everything: best of three very good films I’ve seen
Selma: close second best I’ve seen, LBJ criticisms overblown
The Grand Budapest Hotel: very close third among those I’ve seen
The Imitation Game: spoiled by ridiculous flights of non-history
Birdman: would be better if it made an attempt to explain the weirdness
American Sniper: the worst Best Picture nominee I can remember
Boyhood: read on
Whiplash: late February via Redbox or Netflix
My thoughts going into Boyhood were: show me something beyond what I’ve heard. It’s well-known that this film was shot over 12 years, with the main character portrayed by a child actor who grows into a young adult. For the film to be a 2 to 5 favorite in the betting line for Best Picture, with three fine films on the nominee list, it seemed like there just had to be more than that, impressive as that is.
And despite giving this film advantages no other film got in my series of viewings (see below), I just didn’t see what I hoped to see. This is an average story about middle-class people (yes, they do actually exist) in Texas, told over twelve years, with the actors themselves contributing plot elements from their life experiences into a general theme of “life goes on, people grow.” Or maybe it’s a larger look at “things get better.” Or something. I wasn’t sure.
Maybe it’s another constant in the film that irked me from the start: condescending platitudes like “my how you’ve grown” (from relatives who have not seen me in years) and “we’re so proud of you” (from relatives who have spent the last hour catching up and finding out what to be proud of) have irked me since I was about seven, and this movie is chock full of them, except that these days they are a bit subtler since everyone’s life history is on Facebook. Neither of the two kids portrayed in the film are ever treated as equals or even potential future equals by the adults around them. It’s two and a half hours of “you’re not ready for this yet, so I’ll sugar coat it” and arguments among the adults about how best to do that. Parenting, as presented in this film, seems to be a constant selfish struggle to cleanse your children of anything they learn from another adult that might possibly be harmful, and a wilfull ignorance from the main parent that anything they impart could possibly have a negative impact.
Perhaps it’s fitting that in a year where the Oscar nominations seem to be mostly white, a movie with virtually no black people in it is probably going to win Best Picture by default. Had this film been about the children of a single mom who was African-American, it would be far more interesting and probably pack a lot more of an emotional whallop. I would guess that many black people watching this film would shake their heads and say ”you call that a difficult childhood?”
Not sure I agree with the director’s decision to cut abruptly from one scene to a new scene that takes place a year later. The children change so much after a year that at times there is confusion about which child is the main character, and doubt about whether the same actor is playing the part. Plus, the effect is blurred by the time-stamps in the movie: a newsreel about Fallujah, a scene of the kids’ father (long since separated from the mother) taking them on campaign work for Obama (and stealing a McCain sign just in case someone mistakes it for 2012 instead of 2008). I think a better edit would have been to stamp the year on the screen and cut out all the in-plot references. Several scenes seemed to be in the film for no apparent reason, never touched on again: for example, there is a bullying scene in the high-school bathroom that had nothing leading up to it and nothing coming from it.
It’s a good film with a very interesting gimmick. I have to give it 5 out of 6 for authenticity, believability, and consistency. Would I watch it again? Probably not. I kept looking for some profound theme and was left with some yawn-worthy inversion of the cliche “seize the moment” before the end credits suddenly appeared. 1 out of 4 on that. The “shot over 12 years” gimmick is impressive enough to get major bonus points, except that it just doesn’t seem that the end result added much more, so +1.5. This puts Boyhood in fourth place with 7.5 out of 10, behind The Theory Of Everything (9), Selma (8.5), and The The Grand Budapest Hotel (8) in my ranking.
Unlike the other films, I watched this at home in my living room on DVD. If you enjoy movies more than going to the theatre, check out redbox.ca as well as Netflix. Renting and viewing the movie that will likely win Best Picture (even if I don’t agree) before it finally appears on Netflix was surprisingly easy and inexpensive. It took ten minutes to sign up online, two minutes to find the nearest Redbox kiosk (in the nearby Safeway) and reserve a copy, and cost less than $2.00 for a 24-hour rental. The hardest part was remembering how my DVD remote works! The remaining unseen film on the Best Picture list, Whiplash, will probably appear there in late February or early March, after the Oscar winners are annouced, allowing me to finally conclude this series of posts.
Bad year for films or what? Three, maybe four out of seven so far that I was happy to have seen in the theatre, with all the hassle that entails. The rest could wait until they were available to view at home, or in one case were not worth watching at all. It’s saying something that this year’s crop as a whole probably has a lower average rating than the career average of Woody Allen films. Seems to me that the Academy Award nominees should be better than that.
(next up, although probably not soon: Whiplash.)
Best Picture 2015 Ladder Part 7: Surprise!
Having seen six of the eight Best Picture nominees in a week, plus one earlier in the year, I jumped at the chance to see the only remaining nominated film when it surprisingly turned up in a nearby theatre after ending its run at another. It’s also the last of the eight they will announce at the ceremony by alphabetical order.
Whiplash, the title of the film, is actually a “chart” — that’s jazz band jargon for a jazz piece that is part of a band’s repertoire. It is in fact shown during the film to be a complicated modern jazz-rock piece written in a time signature of 14/8, but really counted out in ever-changing groups of 2 and 3 eighth notes and conducted as though it were in 7/4. (Written in 7/4 there would be a question of whether the eighth notes should be swung, 14/8 says no they should not.)
To even get to see this chart, the young drummer who is the main character needs to find his way into the Studio Band at the Juilliard clone in New York that he is attending. The director of the Studio Band walks into a practice module in the opening scene and tests the drummer out, and later walks into a not-Studio Band rehearsal and runs everyone through a few bars looking for talent, and gives the drummer a chance. The stage is set for 90 minutes of hopes and dreams, built up and then knocked down.
This director (played by J.K. Simmons, who will absolutely win Best Supporting for this) has serious clout and inspires awe and fear in everyone, and, as it turns out, is a master manipulator, bullying and threatening the members of the band repeatedly, in often quite shocking ways. This is no community college in Nebraska, this is the music school in the Big Apple that wins awards in every competition. Those who survive will have a career waiting for them. One question that the film raises is whether the boot camp mentality is necessary. The band director’s answer is that in this one case it is, because “any fool can lead a band, my objective is to find the next big talent and make him the best he can be. In top jazz circles, the worst thing you can hear is ‘good job.’ ” Beyond that I will say no more about the specifics of the plot, for this film is one you should see.
Turning to my 6:4:+/- rating system, I find much more to like about the authenticity, believablility, and consistency in this film than the small quibbles I have. The music in the film is fantastic and it doesn’t take a jazz person to enjoy it. The way the music is portrayed on screen is quite accurate, from the jargon to the conducting to even details like “4, 5, 6, AND” to start a piece in 7/4 time. The opening scene begins with a common drumming rudiment: slow eighth notes on alternate sticks on a snare drum, tempo increasing slowly to a roll. One thing I vividly remember from my days in music education is that drumsticks are not at all equal, and it can take hours to find two that make a matching sound. It was clear from this first ten seconds that they had taken this time and gotten it right.
I agree with several online reviews when they say that jazz drumming, even at extreme tempos, is not as athletic as it is made out to be in the film, and bleeding from drumming just doesn’t happen: the second half of the film establishes tension with blood, sweat, and tears, often appearing on the drumsticks and cymbals somehow. The final sequence, where the director substitutes a new piece that only the drummer is unfamiliar with in a major competition, seems at odds with his drive to succeed at these events. So 4.5 out of 6 for ABC. Would I watch it again: certainly, and I will probably add the soundtrack to my iTunes collection: 3.5 out of 4 here. The performance of J. K. Simmons and the soundtrack give this film 1.5 bonus points for a score of 9.5 out of 10, the best of the nominated pictures of 2014.
Do I have bias? Of course! I spent time at a music school, even worked the front desk on evenings when our version of ‘Studio Band’ rehearsed, even sat in as lead tenor one evening, totally screwing up a three-page solo as I sight-read a 12-page chart that was as fast as the double-time swing Caravan in the film. (The pros in the “core” had a good laugh but gave me a bit of respect for effort.)—Music at this level is a tough business and you can’t fake it. I heard stories of competing musicians at Juilliard that shocked me: keyboards in practice modules with razor blades between the keys forcing students to test each gap before starting a practice, for example. A lot of the things that the movie overportrays are happening on a smaller scale at many places. Maybe you don’t get bullied out the door, but quietly replaced. Maybe the director doesn’t hurl insults but simply gives up on you until a replacement appears. But my life experience coinciding somewhat with this movie just made it possible for something in the first 45 minutes to hit me the wrong way and lose its credibility. The film is very carefully crafted to establish its bona fides before stretching the believability somewhat to advance the plot.
Final Standings (bottom up)
(Ratings: ’ABC’ out of 6 : ’See it Again?’ out of 4 : bonuses -2 to +2):
American Sniper: 1 / 10 (1.5 : 0.5 : -1) — the worst Best Picture nominee I can remember
Birdman: 5.5 / 10 (3.0 : 1.5 : +1) — would be better if it made an attempt to explain the weirdness
The Imitation Game: 6 / 10 (3.0 : 2.0 : +1) — spoiled by ridiculous flights of non-history
Boyhood: 7.5 / 10 (5.0 : 1.0 : +1.5) — an interesting 12-year project leading to a dull movie
The Grand Budapest Hotel: 8 / 10 (3.5 : 3.0 : +1.5) — fourth, but close to third and second
Selma: 8.5 / 10 (5.0 : 2.5 : +1) — second of the tight 2-3-4 group, LBJ criticisms overblown
The Theory Of Everything: 9 / 10 (5.5 : 3.0 : +0.5) — best of three very good films in a tight group
Whiplash: 9.5 / 10 (4.5 : 3.5 : +1.5) — the best film of 2014 if I get to vote on it
A 2025 Afterword: redbox.ca has not survived the decade and a half since I wrote this; “Netflix and streaming” trumped “reserve online, pick up from/return to a vending machine somewhere nearby” long ago. Oddly enough, despite giving The Theory Of Everything a 3/4 rating for “see it again?” I never have. As the voting progressed for Best Picture and “Oscars So White” became the main theme with 20 out of 20 acting nominees being white, the January frontrunner, Boyhood, faded. I think it was more due to the blandness of it — this is the frontrunner? &mdash than the lack of diversity in it. If they were going to vote diversity they'd have voted Selma as Best Picture, becuase the other films are indeed mostly white. But give the Academy a chance to vote for a movie whose main features are in how it was made and they usually fall for it, even if the resulting plot has no overall meaning. Birdman, the film I had in seventh of eight, won.
(By the way, I eventually did see Foxcatcher and Steve Carell was full value for that nomination.)
(You know, re-reading this almost a quarter-century later I think this would be a great idea for an NABC. The format might even be interesting enough to get bridge onto TV again, with a suitable bridge personality as host explaining the plays. It took three issues of the Matchpointer to get to the wild finale, including a one-issue wait that I found a fitting way to explain as our neighbours to the South argued for weeks over who Florida had actually chosen for the presidency...)
The Hideous Hog-In-Training turned away from the airport ATM and beckoned me to join him. A long line of people behind him shifted from one foot to the other until HHIT silenced them with a menacing glance. It helped that he was dressed like a king.
The mystery of where the expensive clothes came from was soon solved. “I spent some money at the NABC and I am trying to avoid the interest charges on my credit card, but the machine won’t take my cheque.” Then I saw the amount on the cheque. It took some convincing, but eventually HHIT understood that he would have to take a cheque of that amount to an actual teller. It took a long taxi ride from the airport to find out just how such a cheque had come into his possession...
The Hog-In-Training had arrived at the tournament to find caddies selling raffle tickets of some kind. To his surprise, his first entry fee contained a ticket stub for this draw. The entry-seller asked for the Hog’s hotel and room number and entered it into the computer. Eventually HHIT bought about ten extra tickets from “some fetching young thing who turned her back as soon as she had my money and player number.”
What amazed the Hog-In-Training the most about his first NABC were the ads. Every pre-game announcement mentioned the tournament sponsor, some recent dot-com startup. To his amazement, people seemed excited and overwhelmingly positive about the ads, as though this company was going to save bridge from extinction.
Had the Hog only taken a few minutes to read the Daily Bulletin, he’d not have been surprised when his hotel room phone began to flash. The message said he was a winner and that he’d want to report to room 101 in the hotel after the first session was over.
“I arrived to claim my prize and they told me that I was drawn as ‘number seven that day’, and that it was unlikely but possible that I would ‘get on.’ Whatever that meant. We seven were ushered into a waiting room and given a fair meal. Then the three people drawn ahead of me went through a door and down a hall; the rest of us waited. I sat and read a book.”
HHIT’s name finally was drawn and he was taken down the hall and into a studio. Lights and cameras were all around and a person dabbed at his face. At the center of the studio was a bridge table and three people. The Hog was ushered into the fourth chair by an aide.
“About this time they realized, to their utter amazement, that I had no idea what was happening and the fellow who had led me into the studio quickly told me that I was going to defend a slam as the partner of the opening leader. It wasn’t real bridge, just a glitzy TV show without even so much as a studio audience. If we beat the slam I would advance to become the next opening leader, but if we beat it and I took both defensive tricks, I would advance all the way to declarer and have a chance to win some money. So I did. I sat down at the table under the bright lights and to my right was a gentleman all in charcoal gray: suit, pants, tie, shoes, socks, even his hair. He said to me, ‘Hi. I’m Regis Fill-In.’
”The cameras rolled, Regis introduced me to the camera, did a quick commercial for the tournament sponsor, and sat down in the dummy’s chair. Then the man across from me led a spade against the diamond slam. I held queen-ten of diamonds over the dummy’s ace-jack-nine-eight. Declarer ruffed a club at trick three with the eight of diamonds and I overruffed with the queen. Declarer won the return and took the ‘proven’ finesse of the nine. Down one.”
At this point the Hog was flabbergasted to hear that the declarer had won $1,000 for this performance. “I found out that the shows were edited and shown after the second session and again the next day before the afternoon session in the Vu-Graph room. The crowds there were huge that evening and I had to get up at an ungodly early hour the next morning to be sure of a seat. But I found out how the game was played, just in time to actually play it.”
The game was titled Who Wants To Be A Bridge Millionaire and was based on the popular TV program. The first five questions, from $100 to $1,000 in value, were multiple-choice bridge knowledge questions that most bridge players would know.
The second five levels, from $2,000 to $32,000, were play problems. The contestant was shown four hands dealt on the spot by Regis Fill-In, and had one minute to choose one as the declaring hand and one as the dummy. The remaining 26 cards were reshuffled by Regis and dealt to two defenders, and the declarer chose a contract. In this group, the contestant needed to make four game contracts and one slam contract.
The final five levels, from $64,000 to $1 million, were similar, but here the contestant needed to make two games, two small slams, and one grand slam.
Each contestant had three lifelines: in the first phase, the contestant could eliminate two wrong answers, or consult the results of a survey. In the cardplaying phases, the lifelines were “redeal” or “lead/play something else.” The first simply canceled the presented deal — an unlucky deal of four ten HCP hands would probably not make a game — forcing Regis Fill-In to shuffle and deal out a new one. The second could be used once during the deal. “Lead something else” canceled any lead and compelled the lead of a different suit, and “play something else” canceled any play and compelled a different legal play, if there was one. A revoke by any player canceled the hand once discovered, and disqualified the revoking player.
At any point before giving a final answer to a question, or stating a final contract for a deal, the contestant could choose to leave with the money won so far. If the contestant missed a question he left with nothing. If he was defeated on a hand, he left with the highest safe level reached, either $1,000 or $32,000. The opening leader became the next declarer, and the other defender became the opening leader. But if the other defender took more tricks then the opening leader, he became the new declarer immediately, and two new players were drawn to replace him and the declarer. Thus, by winning both tricks against six diamonds, the Hog had advanced to the declarer’s seat and had eliminated the declarer and his defensive partner!
This extravaganza enthralled bridge players. The organizers set up a special channel in the host hotel’s TV sets to broadcast it, since the Vu-Graph room was always packed. The Hog figured he could give them a great show.
“Last night, on Who Wants To Be A Bridge Millionaire...” began the show, followed by highlights of the Hog’s falsecard in trumps and the look on the poor declarer’s face. “And now,” yelled Regis Fill-In under the theme music, “join us for Night Five, of Who Wants To Be A Bridge Millionaire!’
“My staff tells me,” began Regis after they had taken their places, ”that your nickname up in the Vancouver area is the Hideous Hog!”
“In Training,” completed HHIT.
“Well, surely your training is over if you can routinely pull off coups like the one that got you here last night!”
“Not at all, Regis. For a good bridge player, training never ends. There’s always lots to leam.”
HHIT was surprised that this clever riposte got no applause until he remembered the show was being taped without an audience. When he watched later the editors had spliced in the applause, but the live crowds were grumbling about his fake modesty.
“And I also find,” continued the host, “that you didn’t even know how our game was played until our staff quickly explained it to you, minutes before your appearance yesterday.”
“I know now,” replied the Hog. Regis waited so that the editors could later add some laughter. Finally he came to life. “Well then!” yelled Regis, and then boomed out: “Let’s Play!”
The first question for $100 presented no difficulty:
| Who is on opening lead when East declares? | |
| A) North | B) South |
| C) West | D) The Director |
”Nice background music,” said HHIT. ”B is my final answer.” The sound editors added a laugh.
The $200 question was:
| What does WBF stand for? | |
| A) Who Bid Four? | B) Well Bid, Fred! |
| C) World Bridge Federation | D) Why Be Friendly? |
The Hog-In-Training wasted no time choosing C.
For $300...
| Which country sends two teams to the Bermuda Bowl? | |
| A) Bermuda | B) India |
| C) China | D) USA |
HHIT’s answer would later earn a great chorus of boos from the mostly-American audience when his reply was, “My final answer is D. I’ve often wondered why.”
The $500 question was a bit more difficult:
| What is the maximum total number of skip bids that can be made in a legal auction? | |
| A) Four | B) Five |
| C) Six | D) Seven |
HHIT counted on his fingers and came up with the correct answer, B.
The $1,000 question seemed to stump HHIT.
| Which 007 novel contains a bridge hand set up by James Bond to embarrass his enemy? | |
| A) Goldfinger | B) Octopussy |
| C) Moonraker | D) Live and Let Die |
The Hog-In-Training chose to consult the survey.
After a few seconds, Regis read off the results from his monitor.
| A) Goldfinger - 57% | B) Octopussy - 4% |
| C) Moonraker - 22% | D) Live and Let Die - 17% |
HHIT looked around. “Who did you ask?”
“As you know, we have no live studio audience, so we asked people at — ” and Regis looked at the screen in front of him “ — at a sectional in Tuscaloosa.”
“The card game at the start of Goldfinger is canasta, not bridge, and Bond doesn’t even play. I’ll go against the survey and say C: Moonraker.”
“Are you confident? Going against the survey? Bridge players are seldom wrong.”
“This time,” said HHIT, ”they are.”
Regis looked at the Hog. “It’s an important level. Are you sure about this?” HHIT nodded confidently. Regis wiped his brow for some reason. “Well, OK fine,” he said in a rather morose tone. “Do you want to make that your — final answer?”
“C is my final answer.”
Ten seconds passed.
Regis looked down at his monitor sadly...and then suddenly yelled “Cut the cards; bring in some players — we’re gonna play some bridge!”
The Hog-In-Training was right.
[In Part One we read about the Hideous Hog in Training’s trip to the NABC and his success at the special event Who Wants To Be A Bridge Millionaire. The Hog had won $1,000 by answering questions on bridge trivia when space in the Matchpointer ran out.]
The story so far had to be repeated to several as we arrived at the club. Characteristically, the Hog attracted a crowd around him and told it with elan. I myself felt it safe to walk down the street and pick up a light lunch to go, returning to the club just as the story continued where we had left it.
“I’m sure we’ve all heard a competitive auction with two players passing and two players competing,” opened the Hog to the dozen or so who had gathered to hear the story. ”Sometimes at the conclusion of such a hand the bon mot is to the effect that East and North had a slam between them. That’s what I was faced with. In how many deals can the best two hands make a slam?”
Opinion was divided. Some said 80%, some thought as little as 20%. “That was my goal in the second round — to find a single slam deal. On four of the five I could simply play in game and get through, but I had to find one slam before getting to $32,000.”
He then went back into the theatrics. Luckily, in writing about it I can simply teleport you to the studio and you are spared the Hog’s awful rendition of the music and of Regis Fill-In’s accent...
The string orchestra played (on tape of course) the familiar theme announcing a new level. The lights were dimmed very low and the camera focused on Regis Fill-In, who was dealing an oversized deck with bright blue backs into four hands facedown. “We’re here with the Hideous-Hog-In-Training, from Vancouver, Canada, who has won $1,000 and has two lifelines remaining. I’m about to give you four randomly dealt hands, and you’ll have one minute to select a declaring hand, a dummy hand, and a contract at the game level or higher. To get as far as $32,000, you’ll need to make at least one slam in the next five hands. The two hands you don’t select will be reshuffled into two new hands for the defenders, so the adverse distribution will be random and unrelated to the hands you see. Here are the four hands; now, let’s meet the defenders.”
At this point there was a clever bit of televisional special effects. The cameras stopped as the two new defenders took their places. At the same time, aides sorted the four hands into suits (HHIT had been asked which method of sorting would be best). The cameras started up again and Regis interviewed the two defenders while the Hog chose which two hands to play with. It would be difficult to make a rational choice in a single minute if the hands were unsorted.
| $2,000: choose two hands and a game or slam | |||
|
♠︎ 4 ♥︎ 86 ♦︎ KQJT8652 ♣︎ K9 |
♠︎ T973 ♥︎ Q532 ♦︎ A43 ♣︎ A2 |
♠︎ A652 ♥︎ K94 ♦︎ 7 ♣︎ Q7653 |
♠︎ KQJ8 ♥︎ AJT7 ♦︎ 9 ♣︎ JT84 |
The Hog now let his audience at the club work out the best solution. Most felt 4♠︎ with the third and fourth would be best, noting that the 4-1 trump break would probably disappear in the reshuffle. The Hog laughed. “And watch helplessly as they cash ace-king of clubs and ruff the third? I chose to play 4♥︎ with the second and fourth hands. The reshuffle made it easier and I made five.”
At this point, a new rule came into play. “My LHO had not managed to win a trick during the play of 4♥︎, and because of this, he was eliminated and a new player took the seat on my right, as the old RHO moved up to be the opening leader. This introduced a new idea into my head. If a choice came up, I might be able to eliminate the defender I felt was stronger. The trouble was, I couldn’t get much of a read on the players except perhaps by listening into the interview during the minute I had to choose a contract.”
Regis Fill-In had pre-dealt the next deal from the red deck while simultaneously playing the Hog’s dummy. These were the hands:
| $4,000: choose two hands and a game or slam | |||
|
♠︎ T42 ♥︎ T532 ♦︎ Q75 ♣︎ T53 |
♠︎ A73 ♥︎ 986 ♦︎ 96 ♣︎ K7642 |
♠︎ K9 ♥︎ AQ ♦︎ AKJT432 ♣︎ Q8 |
♠︎ QJ865 ♥︎ KJ74 ♦︎ 8 ♣︎ AJ9 |
The Hog now had a choice: 6♦︎ on the last two hands looked like a good shot, but the club audience felt that it would be better to wait. “Sadly,” said the Hog, “that was my decision too. What you fail to appreciate is the way the two available lifelines enter into this. One of them, a simple redeal, obviously isn’t a good choice here, but I also have the option of directing a defender to lead or play something else at a crucial moment. As it was, I played five diamonds, and I lost the first round trump finesse. If I was in six, I could use the lifeline and have the defender follow low instead, which would lose only if the queen was singleton and he had no other legal play.”
Regis Fill-In made sure to remind HHIT of the missed opportunity. “You’ve got to understand the lifelines in order to be able to use them properly,” he chided as he dealt the next hand. “I hope you get another chance at a slam, but that one looked pretty good to me, pal. Anyway, here’s the $8,000 deal:”
| $8,000: choose two hands and a game or slam | |||
|
♠︎ AJ97 ♥︎ Q832 ♦︎ 754 ♣︎ KT |
♠︎ K6 ♥︎ AKJ4 ♦︎ KQJ62 ♣︎ 73 |
♠︎ T4 ♥︎ 976 ♦︎ T93 ♣︎ AJ965 |
♠︎ Q8532 ♥︎ T5 ♦︎ A8 ♣︎ Q842 |
The Hog chose 4♥︎ with the first two hands rather quickly and then listened in for clues as to the defenders’ abilities. He had eliminated another player on the previous hand so his right-hand opponent was a new player. It turned out the new RHO was a “name” player, taking a break from the semi-finals of the Flight A GNT. (HHIT had missed the name.) His LHO was a gorgeous twenty-something with beautiful blonde hair who had started the “defense” of 5♦︎ on the previous hand by leading her unsupported ace of spades.
The Hog knew who to try and eliminate. His goal in 4♥︎ was to make it and to deny the expert any tricks. After the reshuffle, the blonde bent her head in serious thought. The Hog noticed that her blonde hair was a dark brown near the roots. Finally she led the ten of diamonds.
Dummy: ♠︎ K6 ♥︎ AKJ4 ♦︎ KQJ62 ♣︎ 73
T♦︎ led vs 4♥︎
HHIT: ♠︎ AJ97 ♥︎ Q832 ♦︎ 754 ♣︎ KT
The Hog played the king and it won. Was the expert ducking a round, hoping for a third round ruff? Or had the fake blonde simply led away from the ace? Either was possible, thought the Hog as he called for the ace of trumps and followed with the two.
“No hearts?” said Regis. The Hog looked and found that the expert had discarded a small spade. Hearts were 5-0.
“None,” said the expert smugly, “and that’s my final answer.”
The Hog played the king of spades from dummy, drawing only low cards. Now he played the other spade. The expert followed smoothly with the ten and HHIT finessed the jack.
It lost—to a small trump. Spades were 6-1. The fake blonde confirmed to Regis that she had no spades, and continued with the ace of clubs and another to the Hog’s king. This left the following position, with the Hog on lead, needing six of the last seven tricks in 4♥︎:
Dummy: ♠︎ — ♥︎ KJ4 ♦︎ QJ62 ♣︎ —
Blondie Expert
HHIT:♠︎ A9 ♥︎ Q83 ♦︎ 75 ♣︎ —
The ace of diamonds was still out, but so were the nine and eight. If the ten of diamonds opening lead were singleton, the expert would have two natural diamond tricks. With Blondie holding three trumps and no spades, there was a lot of danger afoot.
The Hog led the nine of spades. Blondie looked at the ceiling and decided to ruff. The Hog overruffed and played the low trump back to the queen, the expert pitching a spade.
Now the Hog led a small diamond, forcing another look at the ceiling from Blondie. The expert’s demeanor suddenly changed. Up to this point, he had been sure that his trick one duck of the ace of diamonds was safe. Now he saw the horror story ahead.
Blondie ruffed again. The enforced club return allowed the Hog to pitch his third diamond from hand as he ruffed with the king of hearts. The expert could only watch helplessly as the Hog claimed the rest, with two trumps and the ace of spades. The expert got a few nominations for the Active Ethics award in the next day’s Daily Bulletin when he shook hands with the Hog and bowed to Blondie before leaving. The Hog claimed to have overhead him in the bar later saying, “What was I supposed to do, strangle the poor dingbat on vugraph?”
The music played again and the tray with the four hands was passed across the table to the Hog. “Now, Hog,” said Regis, “you’ll have to try a slam on this one or the next one. Don’t forget that you can get a redeal by using a lifeline. You remember, lifelines?” As Regis talked with the new player, a recent grandmother, the Hog looked over these cards:
| $16,000: choose two hands and a game or slam | |||
|
♠︎ KT94 ♥︎ 93 ♦︎ 4 ♣︎ KQT542 |
♠︎ J852 ♥︎ KQT85 ♦︎ AQ62 ♣︎ — |
♠︎ AQ7 ♥︎ A2 ♦︎ T8753 ♣︎ A97 |
♠︎ 63 ♥︎ J764 ♦︎ KJ9 ♣︎ J863 |
The Hog’s club audience expected the Hog to choose the club slam with the first and third hands. “And what if spades don’t break 3-3?” retorted the Hog. Someone murmured, “use a lifeline.”
“Suppose I play 6♣︎ and win the heart lead and pull trumps. I now play the ace and queen of spades and both follow but the jack does not appear. If I now play a third spade and LHO shows out, I am home because I can use the lifeline to force RHO to play the jack. If he follows low, I can use the lifeline to force the jack from him if he started with four — if he started with three he’ll have no other legal play and I’ll know to play for the drop.”
“So it’s cold if spades are no worse than 4-2, right?” said the person who suggested the lifeline. “Only if trumps break — if trumps are 3-1 I can’t ruff a heart after pitching it on the fourth spade. It’s too much of a gamble to hope that the opponent who has a singleton trump also has short spades.”
The Hog played five clubs, which made six easily after Blondie cashed the king of diamonds and switched to her doubleton spade. Regis sympathized with Granny, who left wishing she had overtaken the diamond at trick one.
”OK, Hog,” said Regis. ”The training is all over now. You need to make a slam on this deal for a guaranteed $32,000. Here are the hands: good luck.”
| $32,000: choose two hands and a slam | |||
|
♠︎ K5 ♥︎ AQ3 ♦︎ J65 ♣︎ KQ963 |
♠︎ JT72 ♥︎ 2 ♦︎ 98743 ♣︎ 752 |
♠︎ 864 ♥︎ KJ75 ♦︎ AKQT2 ♣︎ A |
♠︎ AQ93 ♥︎ T9864 ♦︎ — ♣︎ JT84 |
The Hog never looked at the fourth hand and had put the second hand down after a quick look. He held the third hand and pretended to gaze at it as Regis interviewed the new defender, who turned out to be a famous international player.
“Well, Mr. Hideous Hog-In-Training,” said Regis Fill-In, “you seem to have fixated on that one hand for most of your minute. You haven’t even looked at the fourth hand. Would you like to use a lifeline and get a redeal?”
“No, I’ll play these,” said HHIT, passing over the third hand to Regis and grabbing the first. “That’s the dummy hand, and we’ll play 6NT.”
Regis shuffled the other 26 cards and dealt out two hands. “Defenders, if he makes this, one or both of you will be eliminated. You must score at least one trick individually to remain at the table.”
Blondie led the four of hearts. The superstar played the eight and the Hog won his ace. The Hog cashed the ace of clubs, both following low, then played a diamond to the jack, the king of clubs, and then continued with the rest of the diamonds. Both followed to the K♣︎, but on the diamonds Blondie discarded the two, three, nine, ten and queen of spades, leaving superstar to follow five times. The Hog pitched two small clubs on the last diamonds, leaving this:
Dummy: ♠︎ 86 ♥︎ KJ7 ♦︎ — ♣︎ —
6NT: HHIT needs 4 more
HHIT:♠︎ K5 ♥︎ Q3 ♦︎ — ♣︎ Q
Cold for twelve tricks (and $32,000) on three more hearts and the Q♣︎, the Hog considered a rather unique set of options. He wanted to lose the last trick to Blondie if possible, eliminating the superstar. She had pitched five spades and thus seemed to have started with five hearts—or was that a logical assumption to make? Could Blondie hold six spades to the ace—and still lead a heart? Seven to the ace?
Surely not seven. The Hog boldly led a small spade off dummy, aware that it might cost him thirty-one thousand dollars, and potentially more.
Superstar was not fooled. He knew the Hog held the queen of clubs. His partner’s only chance at a trick was the queen of hearts. What else could she have been protecting by pitching away all of those spades? If he won the ace, the Hog would win the spade return, cash the club and finesse in hearts. The contract would make, and he would advance to the opening leader’s seat and this crazy blonde bimbo would be gone. He played the ace.
“Regis, at this point I’d like to use a lifeline,” said the Hog.
“But Hog, Ho— uh, Hideous!” stuttered Regis, “you’ve got twelve tricks at this point. Thirty-two thousand dollars, guaranteed! Why rock the boat now?”
“I’d like to ask him to play something else.”
“Well, OK fine,” said Regis, turning to the great international superstar. “You must play another spade if you have one.”
At this, superstar slumped back in his chair and tossed the seven of spades onto the table. The Hog won the king as Blondie pitched the ten of clubs. The Hog played the queen of clubs and Blondie nonchalantly tossed away her ten of hearts, but it was too late: the Hog threw her in with the low heart, won the return with the king and won the last trick with the jack. The Hog had thirty-two grand, and Blondie was still around to help him.
Aware that he was on-camera, the expert bowed to Blondie and congratulated her for keeping the nine of hearts. It was a great line that later got a big laugh from the cognoscenti in the vugraph room. Regis announced that the Hog and Blondie would be back the following day to continue.
A rumor claimed that the Hog had dinner (and perhaps more than dinner) with Blondie that evening. HHIT would neither confirm nor deny. “We did score 56% in the Continuous Pairs,” he said, adding that this required considerable brilliance on his part.
(Yes, I was Unit president and Matchpointer editor at the same crazy time....)
First things first. The Hideous Hog In Training is spending some of his Who Wants To Be A Bridge Millionaire windfall by travelling from Tallahassee to Key West in a rented Rolls. Unfortunately, he got a copy of the last issue of the Matchpointer and when he read the second installment of his WWTBABM exploits, he called me up and threatened mayhem. I ignored this of course, but with HHIT in close proximity to a majority of America’s most expensive lawyers, it was only a matter of time before I was hit with a restraining order, prohibiting me from publishing the third part of the series until further notice. I’ve appealed to the Supremes, so you should see the exciting conclusion in the March issue.
One million dollars would be the prize for the Hideous Hog (In Training) if he could survive five more hands. To reach the $1,000 level he had answered five simple to-medium-difficult questions of bridge trivia. To reach $32,000, he had five times chosen two hands from a random deal and made four games and a slam, with some help from the blonde knockout on opening lead. He had even sweated a bit to keep Blondie at the table by preventing several good players opposite her from winning any tricks at all. By the rules of the game each defender had to score at least one trick to stay around, and HHIT quickly saw that Blondie on opening lead was likely to increase his chances.
Now it was crunch time. In the final phase of the game, which nobody else had yet reached, the objective was to score up (by choosing two hands from a random deal: the unchosen 26 cards were reshuffled and dealt to the defenders) two games, two small slams, and one grand slam. HHIT had one lifeline remaining, with which he could force a redeal, or force a player to lead or play a different card if a legal alternative existed.
News that someone was going to be playing for serious money traveled quickly around the NABC, and the hotel made a fair profit by switching the vugraph site to the main theatre, where they had set up no less than four mini-bars, which still proved inadequate. Even those unable to get in could see the show on the hotel’s closed circuit TV channel, and most of the various hospitality suites were packed.
The Hog-In-Training was up to the challenge of avoiding the hordes of well-wishers. The show was to be taped during the dinner break. The Hog was able to cancel his game for the afternoon, but relied on the help of his partner to go incognito in his morning knockout. He bought some dark glasses and a very loud above-the-waist garment imported from deepest Africa. He bought some sort of goop from a cosmetics counter that turned his facial skin tone several shades lighter and introduced a sickly yellow pallor. He neglected to shave. And he spoke seldom and disguised his voice when he did. Luckily, this handicap was not enough to cancel the ineptitude of his eleventh bracket opponents, who were quite understandably terrified of this silent oddball who, it seemed, might be more at ease with a Kalashnikov than a bid-box.
After a shave and a long shower, the stubble and the goop were gone and the Hog presented himself to the office where the taping was to take place, carefully timing his arrival so that it came before the rush at the end of the afternoon session. He was ushered into makeup beside Regis Fill-In. “We have a bit of a surprise for you today, Hideous,” said Regis as they plucked stray hairs from behind his ears.
“Would it perhaps be related to the camera I saw at the morning knockouts?” HHIT saw that he had struck gold. “I couldn’t very well have gone there undisguised, could I? It was bad enough last night in the Continuous Pairs, even before the tape of yesterday’s show was played!”
Regis laughed and wished him good luck.
“Last night, on Who Wants To Be A Bridge Millionaire...” began the show, followed by quick shots of the victims of the Hog’s chicanery. “And now, join us for Night Six of Who Wants To Be A Bridge Millionaire!”
They began with the footage of the Hog’s disguise that morning. It got a big laugh in the theatre later but to HHIT, told to wait five seconds for the laughter that would result later, the effect was eerie.
The first deal presented a thorny problem.
| $64,000: choose two hands and a game or slam | |||
|
♠︎ 98 ♥︎ QJ876 ♦︎ KJ872 ♣︎ T |
♠︎ J7653 ♥︎ 32 ♦︎ T5 ♣︎ J874 |
♠︎ KQ42 ♥︎ AK4 ♦︎ 9 ♣︎ AQ932 |
♠︎ AT ♥︎ T95 ♦︎ AQ643 ♣︎ K65 |
One of the five final hands had to be played in grand slam, and the Hog used most of his minute to decide whether or not to risk a grand in clubs on the two rightmost hands. By declaring the hand with only three trumps he could get the total to twelve on a spade or diamond suit lead, but where was a possible thirteenth? The Hog didn’t listen as Regis Fill-In introduced his new RHO.
“Well, Hog, what will you do?”
The Hog played six clubs, and Blondie led a spade. HHIT won the ten in hand and played a trump. Clubs were 3-2 and when the Hog continued with the ten of hearts, Blondie pounced on it with the queen, so the Hog ducked and claimed the rest.
Regis was amazed. “Hideous — you know you need a grand slam to get the million, right? The third heart would have gone on a good spade.”
“Yes,” said the Hog. ”I thought about that, but then I thought about the possibility of a bad break in either black suit.”
“But the lifeline you have remaining might have made thirteen tricks a near certainty!” admonished Regis. “Well, OK fine, pal. I hope you get another chance at a grand, but I dunno...”
This was the next deal.
| $125,000: choose two hands and a game or slam | |||
|
♠︎ Q93 ♥︎ AQJ ♦︎ JT ♣︎ QJ963 |
♠︎ J6 ♥︎ 865 ♦︎ KQ76 ♣︎ AKT2 |
♠︎ K742 ♥︎ 73 ♦︎ A9843 ♣︎ 85 |
♠︎ AT85 ♥︎ KT942 ♦︎ 52 ♣︎ 74 |
The Hog saw that his new RHO was a scientist, for he ignored Regis’s small talk and tried to get Blondie to agree to “certain essential defensive rules.” The Hog chose 3NT with the first two hands and Blondie led out the ace and king of spades. The seven of spades followed, which the Hog won in hand with the queen. The scientist had followed with the five, two, and then the four, so the Hog assumed that spades were 4-4. A club to the ace got an agonized discard huddle from RHO. Finally the three of diamonds emerged.
The Hog put down his cards and leaned back in order to address Blondie while still being able to see the reaction from RHO out of the corner of his eye. “So what types of discards had you agreed to play?” he asked. “What does the three of diamonds mean?”
Blondie considered. “It means he’s out of clubs.”
The Hog saw Regis give the signal to wait for the laughter. He lifted his eyes and shook his head. Finally he said, “Does it have any other meaning?”
“I think it means he likes diamonds.” The Hog wondered if there would be any recourse if this were untrue. Probably not, he decided. He played a diamond to the ten and continued with the jack, won by RHO, who had a fourth spade, so all was well. The Hog won a spade, five clubs, two diamonds, and the ace of hearts. Neither defender was shut out, so the hand was thrown in as the Hog won his ninth trick.
“Three more, Hideous One,” said Regis with a smile as he passed the tray to the Hog. “You need one grand slam, one small slam, and a game in the next three hands. Don’t forget your lifeline, pal.” Dr. RHO led another tedious discussion of defensive signals as the Hog stared at these cards:
| $250,000:choose two hands and a game or slam | |||
|
♠︎ K83 ♥︎ 6 ♦︎ Q762 ♣︎ Q9532 |
♠︎ Q974 ♥︎ K878 ♦︎ 8543 ♣︎ 84 |
♠︎ T ♥︎ AT954 ♦︎ AK ♣︎ AKT76 |
♠︎ AJ652 ♥︎ QJ32 ♦︎ JT9 ♣︎ J |
Another tough spot. With the last two hands, HHIT could declare 7♥︎ and run the Q♥︎. If RHO won, the Hog could use the lifeline to ask him to play something else. But the Hog chose 6♥︎ and Regis (who had a monitor in front of him showing him the hands being considered by the Hog) was very surprised at this decision.
Blondie led the K♠︎. The Hog won the ace in dummy and called for the queen of hearts. RHO played low, and when the Hog played low Blondie slapped her king on the table and played the Q♠︎. The Hog claimed the rest. ”A quarter of a million dollars!” yelled Regis Fill-in. He waited a few seconds for the music to play, and then thanked the Hog’s RHO, and sent him off.
“Many of you in our audience,” continued Regis, “will be wondering why Hideous here didn’t try a grand slam and use a lifeline when the trump finesse lost. I must say I am too. Did you not think of the possibility, Hog?”
The Hog turned to face Blondie. “Did you have any other hearts, or just the one?”
Blondie remembered. “I had only the king.”
“Well, Regis, that would have been a $93,000 stiff now, wouldn’t it?”
Regis shook his head. “I don’t know whether to root for this guy ... or hit him!” He passed the next tray across to the Hog. “You need a game and a grand slam on this and the next one for the big prize.”
| $500,000: choose two hands and a game or grand | |||
|
♠︎ AKT9 ♥︎ 642 ♦︎ 94 ♣︎ T764 |
♠︎ J864 ♥︎ KJT3 ♦︎ T6 ♣︎ AQ8 |
♠︎ Q5 ♥︎ AQ87 ♦︎ K52 ♣︎ J953 |
♠︎ 732 ♥︎ 95 ♦︎ AQJ873 ♣︎ K2 |
Once again, the Hog didn’t hear much about his new RHO, a small bald man who had to repeat his name three times before Regis heard it. He quickly realized that if any two of these hands would make a game it would have to be the nine-trick variety. A redeal using a lifeline was an option, but the Hog wanted to keep that option alive in case another such deal turned up in the final hand. So having decided to play 3NT, the six-card diamond suit seemed the best bet, but with which hand? He decided the second hand would cover the most weakness, and he decided to make the hand with the diamonds the dummy hand.
After the reshuffle, Blondie held this hand...
♠︎ K Q T 5 ♥︎ A Q 8 5 ♦︎ 5 2 ♣︎ J 9 7
...and first grabbed the 5♥︎, but decided against it. The Vu-Graph then saw her thumb the K♠︎ for a few seconds, then the 7♣︎. Finally she decided that she couldn’t risk leading from any honour and chose the 5♦︎. The new RHO won the trick and returned a small heart. The Hog tried the king and Blondie won the ace. HHIT saw Regis, watching the play on the monitor, close his eyes and assumed that all was lost. He decided that thirty-two grand was a fine total and he would at least go out in style, so he sat back in his chair as if unconcerned and waited.
And waited. And waited some more.
Regis took this opportunity to announce that since both defenders had a trick they would survive to the next hand if the Hog made 3NT.
Blondie could never have made herself believe that the Hog, a player who had somehow guided her to an above average game (in an open event!), could declare 3NT for a half million, missing the king of diamonds, the ace-queen of hearts, and the three top spades. She saw the diamonds in dummy and realized she would have to make some discards, so she cashed the queen of hearts before it got away. Regis looked up in surprise, but a second look at his monitor confirmed that this was merely the beginning of the end.
But then Blondie did something unexpected. She detached the J♣︎ and played it...and the Hog claimed the rest for a half million.
Regis yelled. Music played. Pandemonium reigned for almost a minute. And when it was all over and the cameras had stopped, the little bald man on the Hog’s right slammed the table with his right hand loud enough to shake the bright lights. All attention turned to him as he lifted his hand to reveal the face up ace of spades. “Gosh, pard,” said Blondie. “I didn’t think you could possibly have that one!” And when the little man got up and walked away, Blondie turned to HHIT and told him he had some nerve.
The Hog In Training grinned. A demented wailing noise was heard from behind the makeup area, the last known direction of the little bald man.
Regis was telling him he had to endure one more.
What happened next needs to be told from a slightly different perspective: in fact, from several. For, as reported in the last issue of the Matchpointer, a huge dispute has erupted between the dot-com company that sponsored the extravaganza, and the Hog In Training’s legal team. The ACBL has ducked for cover, but the Hog had no trouble finding good lawyers to consider taking on his case during a trip to Florida last November.
All sides in the dispute had agreed to keep the details private until the court date or until there is a settlement of some sort. Luckily, aided by more liberal Canadian laws about freedom of information, plus a little investigative journalism, the facts have been coaxed out of the shroud of secrecy. We began by threatening litigation if we didn’t receive the tape of the show, so that’s where to start.
In the Vu-Graph room, cheers of amazement followed the defensive blunder by Blondie, as the crowd realized that they were about to see a shot at the Big Prize. A hush settled as all watched Regis deal the cards, pass the tray to HHIT, then ask Blondie about why she didn’t switch to spades.
She was halfway through an answer that made no sense when the screen went blank, to the shocked silence of the crowd. After about five seconds, the picture returned to find only Regis standing before the green baize with the lights turned up.
“Well, quite an exciting run it has been up to now,” he said. “Unfortunately, part of the master tape was damaged during editing this afternoon and we are unable to show you what happened in the grand slam attempt by the Hog In Training to win a million. The Hog was forced to use his last lifeline to get a redeal, and the second deal looked much better.” The screen showed these hands:
| $1 Million: choose two hands and a grand slam | |||
|
♠︎ Q962 ♥︎ — ♦︎ QT86 ♣︎ QJT32 |
♠︎ T7 ♥︎ AQT8752 ♦︎ J52 ♣︎ 4 |
♠︎ KJ84 ♥︎ J9643 ♦︎ 4 ♣︎ 875 |
♠︎ A53 ♥︎ K ♦︎ AK973 ♣︎ AK96 |
“The Hog,” continued Regis, ”chose to play in hearts with the second and fourth hands. In the reshuffle, Blondie held all five trumps, so the grand slam was impossible. Hideous does win $32,000 and gave us our best drama of the contest thus far.”
“Blondie then advanced to the hot seat and somehow got confused on the $100 question, which ended the program. So we’ll see you tomorrow with all new contestants!” The show ended.
But this doesn’t make sense, because the cheque shown me by the Hog at the airport upon his return was not for $32,000. In return for the promise not to reveal exactly how much he received from the dot-com sponsor (except that it was for more than $32,000 and less than a full million), I was able to get the full story from HHIT’s perspective.
“I never requested a redeal,” began the Hog when I showed him the tape. ”I was shown that deal first, not some impossible one, and of course I chose to play 7♥︎. My plan was to pull trumps, hoping they were 3-2, pitch a spade on the ace-king of clubs, and then lead a diamond to the jack, using my lifeline if the queen appeared. I’d lose if the queen were singleton.”
”Risking rather a lot on a 3-2 trump break,” I commented.
”If trumps were 4-1 I could force out the jack on the third round with the lifeline, pull the fourth, and then pitch a diamond on the ace-king of clubs. Now I could try to ruff out the queen in three rounds, pitching the spade on a long diamond.”
“Why should we believe your version?” I asked.
“It should be obvious that it would be lunacy to risk $468,000 without a lifeline on the small chance that the diamond queen is going to drop and trumps are going to behave. Regis shuffled the other 26 cards and dealt them to the defenders and Blondie made a face-down lead. I was ready to play the hand when the cameras stopped and the suits approached.
“The three of us were taken into separate rooms while they claimed security measures were being prepared. We waited for twenty minutes and then a man in a suit with a briefcase came in and showed me footage of Blondie and I playing in the Continuous Pairs the night before, and a few photos of our dinner together. He said that the misdefense on several hands led him to believe that we had made a deal to split the winnings, and accused us of collusion. As further evidence he cited the two occasions where I had a chance to make the grand slam, but had chosen a small slam. He insinuated that I had chosen the small slams in order to keep Blondie in the game until the end.”
We’ve not been able to locate Blondie, and the Hog (spending far more time than usual in America these days) will not help us find her. He denies all speculation that his new clothes, frequent travel, and a picture of the Hog and an almost-familiar brunette in the Daily Bulletin of a Georgia Regional (winners of the Evening Continuous Pairs) are signs that there is more to this than meets the eye.
But we did locate the little bald man, and he confirms that when the lawyers approached, he held three small in both red suits. This leaves no doubt: HHIT was about to win a million! How did the Hog react to the accusation?
“I was appalled at this so-called ‘evidence’; until I heard their offer. The sponsor would air the ‘technical difficulties’ version, and give me a consolation prize, and Blondie — who may not be the brightest but would never flub a $100 question — would get something too. But I fooled them! I decided to accept their offer, and a few days later signed a paper promising not to contest. But by then I had gathered enough evidence from Blondie and from the other chap to find out that the grand slam was making, with the lifeline, on my line of play. So I am now suing them for the balance, plus court costs and punitive damages.”
“On what basis?” I asked. ”You signed an agreement not to contest what happened!”
“That’s true,” said HHIT. “But I signed it ‘The Hideous Hog In Training,’ not with my real name. They were so relieved that I agreed to their terms they forgot to check!!”