by Guess Who
Sorina is angry
It was a bit of a shock."The amount due will be transferred from your account on January 12, 1997." I was looking at three digits before the decimal point. "What's wrong with the telephone bill," I already heard my wife remark, "You aren't calling any sex-lines, are you?"
At least that suggestion I could refute with indignation. By definition, bridge players are only interested in one type of woman: the cardboard type. Still, there's some explaining to do. After all, one can't be on-line for forty hours a week free of charge. "Well listen, I have to write articles about it. I don't like it any more than you do, but I simply have to log on from time to time, and play some bridge. I, too, would much rather do something with the kids."
I turn on my pc: WIN, ENTER, CONNECT, OKBRIDGE....
World Wide Waiting...
Ah, there we are. >monkeytale logged in. Processing....
Got to find a good table now, let's see. Hmmm, lots of experts.
This looks okay. Sorina - advanced, free beer and chips, no smoking.
Sorina, that just got to be some exotic dark-eyed Mexican beauty, with
daring third-hand openings. I join.
hi, monkeytale:))
I occupy the South seat, and in my digital imagination I see my partner
Sorina file a few burrs off her red-polished nails as she proposes:
sayc pd?
y, I reply. This extremely short dialog has far-reaching consequences.
We have agreed to play the inferior Standard American system, Yellow Card,
which, on the European continent, has only a single adherent: the famous
Amsterdam bidding specialist Rinus Balkenende. The story goes that he's
tried to teach his dog this system, in vain.
Suddenly, Sorina's picture appears on the screen. A bit of a disappointment.
I'm looking at a fairly swollen head, exagerrated bloomy cheeks (no
smoking) and granny glasses. I quickly check the name Sorina with player
info, and it transpires that her name is simply Nell, hailing from
somewhere near the polar circle.
While I'm trying to deal with the shattered image of the beauty from
Acapulco, we start off with three excellent scores. They 28%, We 72%
There are seven kibitzers at our table. The opponents converse in Russian,
and the weirdest sentences appear on my screen.
gde pikovaja dama?
njet menha!:))) monkleytale zdra na tule...
Still, I have some reservations concerning Nelly's announced expert
level when she holds the following (north-) hand:
A K x x
A
x
K Q J
A
Q J x
She opens with 2
and rebids
2
after I respond 2
.
Because of brilliant bidding by South we end up in 6
anyway, despite three small spades in the south hand. The 2
-rebid
would even cause Rinus' dog to start barking!
wpp, I say after partner has collected her twelve ice-cold tricks.
All Internet dummies conclude a hand with this 'well played partner,'
even if the performance doesn't warrant it. Common variations are: 'nice
job pd' or 'nice try dear.'
In the meantime, the score has exceeded the 80% mark, in our favor,
but then the following happens. Partner, first to speak, passes and East
doesn't have a bid either. Still under the spell of the daring third-hand
openings, which claim so many passionate followers in Latin-America, I
decide to open 3
, holding:
x
A
x
K x x x
Q
9 8 7 6 5
West passes, and North has apparently discovered some extra values. She bids 3NT with
J x x
J 10 x x x
A x x
A
10
Suddenly, East, too, appears to be holding an opening bid, and he says
"double." The -1100 showing up on the score sheet signals an abrupt end
to the still young game.
monkeytale, that's not a 3C op
no, but 3rd hand, ya know...who expects pd to bid 3N with passed
hand?
nice playing with u, thgt this was an exp table
>the table has been closed
Gone Sorina, gone Russians. Lonely, I've been cast back into the lobby,
shaking with frustration over such an affront.
What's my problem with women? I curse the computer. One can swear at
a flesh-and-blood partner, or dump a glass of luke-warm beer down his neck
after such boorish behavior. But one's expensive digital friend requires
more careful treatment. Besides, I once tore its keyboard into two pieces,
but he didn't give a damn.
Sometimes, during these pensive reflections, it must have happened.
The head had sunken onto the chest, eyelids drooped. I was aroused by the
voices of two children screaming: "Daddy, wake up, we gotto go to school!!"
Shit!
>monkeytale logged out
DISCONNECT, CONNECTED TIME 9:47:11, EXIT WIN.