the opening

The Grand Ballroom of the Hyatt Regency, salons A through F opened wide, holds hundreds of square card tables and thousands of folding chairs spread at regular intervals. Islands of tables, punctuated by metal stanchions like palm trees: fronds of accordion-pleated computer paper and colored cardboard with bold-faced letters. Section A, fifteen tables. Section B, fifteen tables. And so on through the alphabet, then sections AA and BB, AAA and BBB, to include as many repeating letters as necessary to give each section its own unique name. Four players to a table, fifteen tables to a section, twenty sections in the Grand Ballroom. Twelve hundred men and women playing tournament bridge shortly before noon on a Monday in July; another hundred people mill about, tournament officials like referees and teenagers in tie-dyed t-shirts picking up small, square slips of paper from each and every table. A command center has been erected in the very center of the playing area: eight-foot rectangular banquet tables set at right angles leave a corral that is home to computers, printers, trays of money, stacks of cards, endless square multicolored pick-up-slips, cases of rubber bands, overweight and tired men looking glumly out over the tournament floor, listening.

Tournament sounds are completely original: the flap and flutter, snap and shuffle of crisp decks of new cards sliding and colliding on the table. A chair tumbles over, water dribbles into plastic cups from dispensers around the perimeter of the room, partnerships celebrate and disagree, and through everything is the snapping of cards. Players of a certain temperament especially enjoy the elegant pop a card makes when it is pinched slightly as it is withdrawn. Though they are exceedingly quiet, the tables are not silent. Strange phrases travel through the room, low-pitched grunts like passengers on an overworked train: “Alert.” “I claim.” “Down one?” “Play small.” The playing area of a bridge tournament is a heavy, angry quiet; aggressive and confrontational.

“Last round,” the female announcer has Georgia and sleep deprivation in her voice. “Please pass your boards and move along whenever your place opens up. All change. Last round,” she declares, the one particular announcement these people have been waiting to hear. No matter how much they love to play, they’re always relieved when it’s over.

“Director, please!” comes the anguished cry from the far corner of the room. Much closer, a heavily-painted eighty-year-old woman hisses “shush” at a table of old friends having entirely too much fun. Here and there throughout the sections, someone will have pulled up a chair at the corner of a table – contract bridge, at the summer North American Bridge Championships, is a spectator sport.

Published by stacy on April 20th, 2007 tagged Writing


4 Responses to “the opening”

  1. Justin Lall Says:
    April 20th, 2007 at 2:30 pm

    This is awesome

  2. Elena Says:
    April 20th, 2007 at 3:49 pm

    i’m so excited. yay.

  3. Jonathan Ferguson Says:
    April 20th, 2007 at 3:53 pm

    Overweight and tired men? C’mon Stacy, tell us what you REALLY think. :)

    You captured the tournament atmosphere brilliantly.

    typo -slient

  4. stacy Says:
    April 20th, 2007 at 4:18 pm

    Thanks :) It’s great to be back to work …

Leave a Comment