Does anybody play bridge anymore?

When I was a kid all the grandparents and aunts and uncles played bridge. Bridge was the original Netflix binge—but with cards, ashtrays, and enough passive-aggressive sighing to rival Thanksgiving dinner. When I was a kid, it seemed like every grandparent, great aunt, and mysterious “uncle” who was probably not an uncle was huddled around folding tables with a floral tablecloth, shuffling cards like they were rigging a Vegas casino heist.

They had bidding systems with names that sounded like Cold War military ops: Blackwood, Stayman, Roman Key Card. I half-expected someone to drop a briefcase on the table and announce, “The package is en route. Double hearts. Over and out.”

My grandmother, bless her chain-smoking soul, would slam her cards on the table with the authority of a judge sentencing someone to life without parole. “You bid five clubs? Five? In this economy?” She’d shake her head and light another cigarette, as if your poor bidding choices were a personal affront to her three-bedroom ranch and modest vegetable garden.

But now? It’s like bridge evaporated into the ether, replaced by Wordle and arguing over HOA regulations. Every once in a while, I hear about a bridge club springing up in a community center somewhere, usually next to the shuffleboard court and the overly competitive knitting circle. But the heyday of bridge? That golden era where people dressed up to play cards in their own living rooms? I think it went the way of shag carpeting and phone cords that could strangle a horse.

You think it’s gonna make a comeback? Maybe a Netflix documentary called The Queen’s Gamble where a 14-year-old prodigy from Omaha takes on the International Bridge Federation, powered by nothing but Cheetos and sheer spite? And Lucky Strikes. I’d watch that.