G. Gordon Liddy sets an example

I was playing at the Luxor tonight. A guy joined the table that looked so much like G. Gordon Liddy that I had to stare for a while before I could convince myself that it wasn't actually him.* He not only had the same build and facial structure, but he had the shaved head and Tom Selleck moustache, too. I was tempted to challenge him to a contest of who could hold his hand over a candle flame for the longest to find out if it was him or not. You can see him (sort of) on the right in the photo above.

I don't remember playing with him before, but he is clearly a local nit--the archetypal nut-peddler that everybody warns you means serious business when he bets or raises.

I had A-A under the gun and raised to $10. One caller, then Liddy raised to $35. Hmm. This was the first three-bet he had done in the two hours or so we had been playing--and he was doing it against my UTG raise. All by itself, this fact narrowed his hand range incredibly far: About 90% chance he has aces or kings. The other 10% (and that's being generous) is queens and A-K, both much less likely than the Big Two. I could narrow it even further, in fact. Given that I had two of the four aces in the deck, it was six times more likely that he had kings than aces.

A fourth player called the $35, so this was starting to look like we were going to have a big, multiway pot. I started salivating. After nonchalantly wiping the drool from my chin, I slid forward two stacks of $50 each to add to the previous $10. A bet of $110 was not only conveniently about three times Liddy's bet, but had the added advantage of being about half of his remaining stack. (I started the hand with about $320, and had him covered.) I hoped that he would decide that if he was going to put in half his stack, he might as well put in the whole thing--or, alternatively, that he would just call and then feel pot-committed when I moved in on the flop.

First caller folded. Liddy thought for a bit, counting and stacking and restacking his chips. I couldn't tell if he was considering a shove or a fold. He well might have had both in his mind as legitimate options. He finally settled on a call. Fourth player dropped out.

As the dealer scooped the chips into the middle of the table, I was exerting my mental powers on him: Don't flop a king, don't flop a king, don't flop a king. I really wanted there not to be an ace, either, so that Liddy would be more likely to commit his stack, but that plea to the universe was made with an order of magnitude less intensity than the no-king one.

The flop was 3-3-4 rainbow. Of all the flops that do not improve pocket aces, that may be the very best that one can see. Absolutely perfect, utterly nonthreatening. "I'm all in."

And now the sweat began. Liddy was quiet and still, but obviously in some psychological distress. After a minute or so he broke the silence: "I know that you're good enough to know exactly what I have. So the fact that you go all in while knowing that means that you can only have one hand." Neither I nor anybody else at the table responded to this observation, and his silent vigil resumed. His only other sound was quietly adding up what the pre-flop bets had been to get an estimate of the pot size, then counting his own remaining chips--about $135.

Finally he let out a big breath and said, "You have aces. That's all there is to it. I have to fold." And with that, he turned his kings face up and slid them back to the dealer.

To his left was a young stereotypical European internet player, who had been waiting out this drama with obvious impatience. The kid's eye bugged out of his skull, and he said, "You're folding?! How can you fold that?"

Liddy was unperturbed by having his decision questioned. Matter-of-factly, without defensiveness or irritation, he replied, "He has aces. I have two outs. I'm not going to put in another hundred dollars drawing to two outs." Eurokid smirked and said, "You have to call there." Liddy brushed him off. "I know you couldn't fold here, but it's the right move. In fact, I was close to throwing it away before the flop." I believe him 100%. His tone was not defiant or argumentative--just supremely confident. It was the voice of a man who had made a difficult decision, and didn't like having to do it, but was at peace with what he had done.

I was seriously impressed. I don't know if I would have saved my last money the way that he did, after investing half my stack. I think coming to the conclusion that I had pocket aces was relatively straightforward for him, as was arriving at the obvious implication that that conclusion required a fold. But actually carrying out what he knew needed to be done was agonizing and took some mustering of his considerable internal fortitude.

The best episode of the World Poker Tour I ever saw was in the first season, with Paul Phillips heads-up against Mel Judah. Judah had fought back from a short stack to have a small chip lead. Then in the decisive hand they both had straights on the river, but Judah's was the nuts. Phillips had the dummy end. Judah moved all in, which was a massive overbet to a small pot. Phillips deliberated for several minutes, and they did not edit the tape. You see him talking to himself, trying to get some read off of Judah, sweating profusely, debating whether Judah would have taken the line he did if he had the only cards that beat him (Phillips). Meanwhile, in the voiceover, Mike Sexton ticks off for Vince Van Patten (and for the home audience) all the clues that Phillips has that Judah has him beat. It was one of the most cogent and insightful pieces of analysis I ever heard him do, and he was exactly right. Van Patten was much more sympathetic with the dilemma Phillips was in. He acknowledged Sexton's points, but then said, "But how do you fold a straight when you're heads-up?" Sexton's response was classic, and I've never forgotten it: "It's easy, Vince. You just pick up your cards and throw them in the muck." (Phillips didn't see it that way. He called and the tournament was over.)

Many times I've been faced with the painful conclusion that I'm beat and have to fold, abandoning some small fortune in chips in the pot. In such situations, Sexton's words come back to my mind: "Just pick up your cards and throw them in the muck." It hurts, but you make that one small physical motion, and it's done, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

It seems to me that this is a lesson that Mr. Liddy (or whatever his real name is) has learned well. He didn't care what anybody else would do, nor what anybody else thought of his decision. He simply was not going to throw good money after bad, once he convinced himself that his read of my hand was correct.

I did not show my cards. I thought it was strategically better to let Liddy, the kid, and the others continue to wonder if his certitude would have been vindicated. As a general rule, leaving opponents feeling psychologically off-balance and unsure of themselves is more effective than satisfying their curiosity.

But an hour or so later, after I racked up my chips and bade the table good night, I stopped by Liddy's seat and told him, sotto voce, "You were absolutely right. Very impressive laydown." He gave me a quick nod and a terse, "Thank you." I thought he deserved to know--though his confidence in himself was such that I'm not sure it really added anything to his perception of what had transpired.

*It has absolutely no connection to the poker tale, but I'm suddenly remembering a funny moment from the real Liddy. Many years ago I saw him on a late-night TV talk show. He and the host (Carson? I can't remember for sure) somehow got talking about guns. The host asked him if he owned any guns. He said, "As a convicted felon, I am legally prohibited from owning firearms. [Pause.] Mrs. Liddy, however, has an extensive collection."

Addendum, February 11, 2012

I found that World Poker Tour episode online here. The final two hands start at about the 37:00 mark. It's been years since I watched it, so this gives you a chance to see whether my memory of the action and dialog in my description above was accurate. (I got some details wrong--e.g., it was early in the second season, not the first, and Judah's straight was the second nuts rather than the nuts--but the general flavor of it was about right, I think.