June 2020 - 14

Bridge in the Time of Corona

BY SUSAN MORSE

On Tuesday, March 10, I get an email from Unit 141's president asking me to send out a flyer confirming that the unit
sectional scheduled for March 13 is on. That afternoon, the
game is paused at Philadelphia Cricket Club to announce
a member has gone home sick. No virus symptoms, we are
assured; it's something else. By nightfall, I am asked to send
out another flyer: the sectional is off. On Wednesday, I get a
call: My husband, rehearsing a play in New York, is the first
to be tested at the Broadway actors' clinic. He'll be holed up
in his sublet awaiting results. At Valley Forge Bridge Club's
Thursday game, Dave LeGrow, the director, announces
that Pennsylvania's governor will be placing Montgomery
County on lockdown. By evening, the Columbus NABC is
canceled.
Friends immediately begin setting up casual games on
BBO. I avoid them, shell-shocked and freaked about my
husband in Manhattan and my 98-year-old mother, quarantined at her nursing home. I need my wits, and knowing me,
if I head down a BBO rabbit hole, I may forget to come out. I
almost fused my spine, back in 2016, playing nonstop BBO
on a mission to make Life Master. I know my weaknesses,
and I've banned myself from BBO until there's a really good
reason.
I remember being deeply shy when I started playing random games on BBO. I flatly refused to chat with my partner,
Al, and I mistrusted the opponents. It seemed way too easy
for them to cheat. Once I discovered BBO's ACBL-sanctioned robot games, I felt more comfortable. The only cheating the robots could really get away with was to pass cards
under the table in order to crush my finesses. Frequently
in the beginning, my robot partners kept overvaluing my
hands - it was like those frustrating dreams where you're in
a car and the brakes don't work - you're clawing at yourself,
screaming, "Stop! Stop!" and it accelerates even more, driving you into the bridge equivalent of a brick wall. The breakthrough came when I discovered I could hover my cursor
over a bid I was contemplating and make a window pop up
showing what my robot would think I had in my hand. And,
I could also hover over my robot partners' bids and see what
they meant. After that, playing robots became a bit like a
bidding tutorial. I found myself performing tricky lebensohl
auctions perfectly without actually knowing the system
existed, let alone how to use it - the robots love lebensohl.
I have a steady partner, John, who plays on BBO regularly.
If you're there you may run into him - he goes by the handle
dickenjb. John tends to binge on the robots when a certain
milestone's in sight (last one was Diamond LM). He thinks
BBO may have made some adjustments, because the robots
have stopped winning all the finesses. Either that or he's

14 Bridge Bulletin June 2020

gained a reputation in the robot community and they're all scared of him
- he has figured out their weaknesses
and beats their pants off regularly. I'm
still suspicious of those buggers, but
I did venture back on BBO for remote
lessons with Bridge Bulletin contributor Robert Todd when
another partner, Lisa, wanted to work on defense. Great
value in that.
My husband's test is negative, the play is postponed, and
he returns. Our grownup, long-distance kids are basically
stable. My mother discovers Zoom. I finally run out of things
to do around the house and agree to a social game with John,
Lisa and Al. Social foursome games on BBO appear to be
scored in IMPs, and my interest is piqued further when I
realize you can actually check your progress during a session by opening the History tab. It's like a mini-tutorial with
friends. You have the luxury of immediate postmortems,
with nothing really on the line. There's a strong temptation
to indulge in risky bids, which causes much laughter, and the
trash talk is fun.
John and I build up a significant early lead against Lisa
and Al, which emboldens me to try one of my classic boneheaded moves. This causes John to tank so long that I have
to double-check and make sure it's really his turn. Maybe
he's figured out I've deliberately sabotaged us and wants an
apology? Wait, there's a message down in the chat area:
Lisa ➞ Table: John? You're up.
And then, swoosh! Dickenjb turns red (did I make him
that mad?). He is now dickenjb(Reserved). (Wow, how did
he do that? And what does Reserved mean? Is he reserving
judgment on my performance?) And then suddenly, boink!
John pops out of the tank with a new, faintly dodgy moniker:
TeenyBopperBridgePixie ➞ Table: Hi guys! Let's play!
I'm trying to process. This new handle is cute and everything, but John is a dude, standing 6-foot-4 in his socks. He
does have a suspicious fetish for Lady Gaga (he has a full set
of her concert T-shirts) but still, this is not OK for a happily married, straight man in his 60s. People will talk. Has
coronavirus triggered John's midlife crisis? If so, we must
be gentle. I'm typing a brief sermon for the group ("John is
our friend. Our job right now is to allow him the freedom to
safely express himself.") when a message appears:
Lisa ➞ Table: John tanked too long, got booted, and they
gave us a replacement. We have to start over.

June 2020

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of June 2020