A Partner's Game
By Raymond Moylan
Cards whisk across hardwood, flicking from my hand to create neat piles of five. A finger lick precedes each card’s journey to my partner’s hand, ready for play. A bejeweled bower winks flirtatiously atop three hidden, buried cards. One knock, a signaled pass, eschews diamonds as trump to those twinkling blue eyes. Bespectacled, beside themselves with a boyish gleam: “Well, I’ve got a partner, Don’t I?” prods Grandpa Pat, edging close to the Card- inal sin: table talk. The bower finds a home in my hand. Diamonds are trump, the law of the land. And now, the game’s afoot! An off-suit ace snags hold of my partner’s loser. Grandpa disgustedly pitches his nine into the table’s center. “See, |
See, how I’m following suit here,” he chides in our opponent’s direction. With luck, I can sidestep this adversarial ace and fell Goliath with King David’s nine of trump. Elated, Grandpa quips, “You can always count on Your partner for one.” Trick after trick, the hand flows swiftly in our favor till all five tricks reside content within our camp. His outstretched, trembling hands extend triumphantly across the no-man’s land, the cardstrewn battleground. Dual high-fives, tantamount to a trumpet fanfare signal euchre success. “That’s a March!” he exclaims “Put us down for two!” I oblige, so pips, with pride, now display hard-fought points. Disgruntled, our foes brood And shuffle the next round. |