A Bridge to the Winter Games

One future Olympian wobbled in on her cane. Another possible medalist shuffled along with a walker. And a third athlete needed to get her air from an oxygen tank at her feet.

Just another day for America's top bridge players.

Last month, the World Bridge Federation announced that bridge -- that venerable, four-person card game that's like a cross between Hearts and a pit bull -- will be a demonstration sport at the 2002 Winter Games in Salt Lake City with hopes of becoming a full-fledged Olympic sport at the 2006 games in Turin.

With the news of bridge's triumphant rise to Mt. Olympus still reverberating through New York City's bridge clubs, I headed straight to The Bridge Home in Cambria Heights, Queens -- the only senior center in the country devoted solely to the card game -- to find out whether our city's bridgletes were up to this historic challenge.

My findings? OK, so maybe there's not a single player at the Bridge Home who could run the 100-yard dash in under 45 minutes, but anyone wanting to go for the gold in the world of bridge could learn a few things from these card sharks.

(Full disclosure? My father plays bridge. Fuller disclosure? If he's an Olympian, I'm Perry Como.)

The Bridge Home's top player, Calvin Morris, is ranked 33rd nationally. With his balding head, bi-focals and gray beard, he'd easily be mistaken for a professor of literature, not the guy standing between ski-jumper Alan Alborn and luge star Tony Benshoof in the next U.S. Winter Olympic team photo.

"I may not be an athlete, but the brain is a muscle, too, you know," said Morris, who, like most bridge players, is in his 70s (and has at least two pairs of glasses). "Bridge keeps the mind nimble. We have people playing bridge into their 90s."

John Gipson, a co-founder of the two-year-old Bridge Home, agreed that there may be some future Olympians in his midst -- even with their advanced ages and diminishing motor skills.

"We're all sportsmen," he said, ignoring a line of questioning designed to poke fun at the idea of Olympians with canes and walkers. "We may not be athletes, but bridge is a grueling game. You have to think on every card."

Watching play at the Bridge Home, one wonders how, exactly, TV would cover Olympic bridge. There's very little chatter and very little action (sort of like golf coverage -- when the ball is in the air, that is). Each player is dealt 13 cards and then silently organizes them into suits. Even the bidding -- the most exciting part of the game -- is silent, done with little cards that say "1 HEART" or "3 SPADES" so that teammates can't send verbal signals to each other.

And unless you know what's going on, it takes a while to understand who's winning. After the bidding, each player throws down cards by suits in hopes of having the highest card and, therefore, winning the trick. The best players can manipulate the game so that they always have a better card than their opponents.

But it's all silent. The only time you hear anything at the Bridge Home is when Morris taunts an opponent. "Well, if you can't be good," he said, the other day as he threw down a losing card, "you might as well be lucky!"

Meanwhile, Flora Thompson -- she's the one with the tri-focals and the cane -- wrestles with a hand full of low cards. She can barely walk, but by the year 2006, she may be America's newest Olympic sweetheart, an eightysomething Nancy Kerrigan.

"Who would have thought I could become an Olympian at anything?" asked Thompson. "You know, I have arthritis and bad knees -- but I can play bridge."

Look out, world.

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