Trash Uptown, Royalty Downtown

At the table, talking across the board will get you talked about. Out here on the Front Porch, we made it legal. Welcome to Table Talk: we deal one hand, put it in front of two players who would never share a strategy, and print whatever they say about it. Nobody’s right. Somebody’s louder.

First up: Nikki Spades, Oakland’s own, who closes the last three books like a mic drop — and Smooth Eddie out of Harlem, who has never once hurried.

The table

Score’s tied, 3 to 3. First team to five walks — and the house rule cuts the other way too: fall to minus five and it’s over on the spot. The hole counts the same as the summit.

You dealt, so you speak last. Junebug, on your left, opens 3 Uptown. The next two chairs pass. Take the seat or let him keep it — and neither of our guests considered passing for longer than a sip of something cold. This is what you’re holding:

♠ A · 6 · 4 · 3 · 2 ♥ 8 · 7 ♦ A · 5 · 2 ♣ 4 · 3 · 2

Your Spades cousin looks at this and asks for a re-deal: two aces and a pile of nothing. Now read it the other direction. Downtown — low cards boss, and the ace keeps its crown — you’re holding the top of three suits. This is the hand Bid Whist was invented for.

Nikki’s call: Four No Trump

(She answered before we finished asking the question.)

Nikki Spades: Four No Trump. And I’m saying it standing up.

Count what can’t be beat. Downtown, my ace-deuce-three-four of spades are the four best spades in the building — and in No Trump, nobody’s little trump card comes to snatch them. Ace-deuce of diamonds, top two, mine. That’s six books iron before anybody exhales. And I’m sitting on deuce-three-four of clubs behind one ace — it falls, and my little cards turn into honors. That’s eight out of my own thirteen. I need two books from my partner. Two. If I can’t trust my partner for two books at three-all, what are we doing here?

And bless him — Junebug just opened Uptown. He told the whole table his pockets are full of paint. Paint’s worthless downtown. Thank you for the press release.

Here’s the part they don’t teach at the beginner table: four No Trump can’t be stolen. Uptown, Downtown — at four they lose to me. Anybody wants this seat, they’re climbing to five to get it. And No Trump pays double. Ten books from three-all and we are not playing a next hand — we’re finding our coats.

Look at my long suit and tell me this table didn’t set it up for me. I didn’t pick the name. I earned it.

The door is right there. I don’t do overtime.

Eddie’s call: Four Downtown

(We read him Nikki’s answer. He looked out the window for a while.)

Smooth Eddie: She’s not wrong about the hand. She’s wrong about the hearts.

Eight and seven. No ace, no deuce, nothing behind them. In No Trump that’s not a hole, it’s a hallway — the first time the other side gets in, they walk books through it two at a time. And No Trump doubles their score too. From three-all, the defense runs eight books and it’s their party we’re leaving. She built a beautiful room and left the door open.

Four Downtown. Same ten books, same game-winner — her door and my door are the same door. I just lock it behind me. When the bid holds, I name spades boss, and now the third heart somebody tries to cash runs into my little six doing janitor work. I’ll still bleed a heart or two. But I stop bleeding on my schedule.

Now run the numbers on missing by one book. Her way: minus eight, doubled — from three, that’s minus five. That’s not a setback, that’s the parking lot. My way: minus four. We’re at minus one, still at the table, and I have been down further than that with less. Trust is beautiful. Trump is enforceable.

No rush. It’s coming back around.

One card, two futures

Somewhere around book eight, somebody is going to lead a third heart. In Eddie’s game, that card dies quietly to a six of spades, like it never had plans. In Nikki’s game — well. Either she’s already got her coat on, or that heart is the first footstep in the hallway.

Same thirteen cards. Both of them win the game tonight if they’re right. Only one of them survives being wrong by a single book.

So — what would you do?

Four No Trump: doubled points, a bid nobody can steal, out the door tonight — and one bad hallway from watching it all end at minus five.

Four Downtown: the same door, a boss suit standing guard over your hearts — and a miss just means you play on from minus one.

Pick a side. Tell the Front Porch what you’d bid — the best arguments make the next issue. Or skip the arguing and pull up a chair and play it your way.

Table Talk puts one hand in front of two players who would never share a strategy. Nobody concedes. Next time we may need a bigger porch — somebody get Lady Rae on the phone.