BRIDGE: Reviewed - The Lone Wolf

Close to a quarter-century ago, I met Bobby Wolff for the second time. It was in a suite in a hotel in Portland, Oregon, where I was doing my initial turn as the American Contract Bridge League Media Liaison. Actually I was the PR guy for the North American Championships, the cause for all of us being in Portland at the time. But being the contrary sort that I am, I insisted on being a Media Liaison. I think I still harboured a not-so-secret desire to re-cross the street back to journalism. I wasn't that long removed from newspaper and radio work on the 'good' side of the street.

Bobby was, and still is, a larger than life Texan (to be fair, living near Las Vegas now, but you can't take the Texan out of 'em). He is by his own admission, somewhat lacking in interpersonal skills. Don't believe me? The Lone Wolff, his autobiography, spares no one in discussing his personal foibles and those of many in positions of power with the ACBL, my several times employer. As he relates on the very last page, "Sadly Alan (Truscott) is now gone and since there is probably no one else left who has had the good--or bad--fortune to witness as many key events as I have, I considered myself elected to that task, keeping the vow I made to him."

The task? Telling an unvarnished history of the game. The now 75-year old Wolff succeeds with remarkably little in the way of bridge hands and playing history. This isn't a bridge tutorial nor a leisurely paced list of successes. Not that Wolff couldn't fill 275 pages with that kind of material if he wanted. It's largely Wolff's look at the dark side of what passes for administration and justice in the world of Bridge, a multi-million dollar business to some, a hobby to others and an outright mystery to most of the people who would stop by here to read my ramblings.

If you aren't a tournament bridge player, this book is just wasted pulp. If you DO play tournament bridge, it's a decent read. Especially if you have had the feeling something was going on at your table, and you couldn't get the local director or even the local unit to listen to your complaints about some awfully prescient behaviour on the part of some of your opponents. (Guilty as charged)

On the other hand, if you LIVED through some of the times and events described in the book, then the book becomes a MUST read. My time with the ACBL, or more accurately, my TIMES with the ACBL, came to an end with my inability to (surprise) get along with high potentates. In my first tour, I let Jaime Ortiz-Patino, the grand poobah of the World Bridge Federation, prompt me to resign at the world championships in Bal Harbour, Florida. The second time around, it was Bill Gross, the CEO of the organization.

I wanted desperately for Wolff to outline just how big a jerk each of these kings of the kingdom were. It pains me to report he holds each in high regard, but with reservations. He felt Gross was overmatched in his job and was the wrong choice, but likes him. Ortiz-Patino is painted as the autocratic micro-manager that I found him to be, but Wolff has otherwise effusive praise for the man.

It's an honest book. Wolff does not spare himself in recanting tales of ethical lapses. In fact, he can point to a lapse early in his career that started him, not only along the path to playing success, but to becoming in many ways the too-often unheard conscious of the ACBL. He details his failures, and analyzes why they occurred. And frequently, HE and his lack of political acumen are the reason good ideas and justice died aborning.

I haven't talked to Bobby in probably 15 years. I've been totally out of the loop when it comes to ACBL politics for at least half of that. More people than I would care to note, have died during that time. It was painful to read some of the belated death notices. A lot of people I liked (and that's not the world's biggest list) make the book in the telling of their passing. Too many to be listed here. But none of the belated obituaries hit like the chapter that Bobby writes about his three wives.

His second wife, a rapturous creature named Debby, who was in that hotel room in Portland, dazzling all of us with her wit and optimism, passed away from cancer. It was difficult to read. Undoubtedly, more, much more, difficult in the writing. But the whole chapter, when looked at in retrospect, comes across as a love letter to the three women who have managed to inject just the merest hint of domesticity into the Lone Wolff. Kudos to Betsy, Debby and Judy.

That chapter isn't the only bright light in a book that can be pessimistic at times. Wolff recognizes kvetching for kvetching (and maybe a little profit) alone, isn't worth much. He discusses solutions.

But it will be the warts he shows and the pants he pulls down that will make this book the conversation topic it already is around bridge circles. If you haven't figured out, it's worth getting and reading.

If you are interested, drop a line to Judy Kay-Wolff at kay19072@aol.com .