Poker gems, #438

Tom Schneider, today on Pokerati.

The one thing I’m most curious about is Chris Ferguson. Why Jesus? Why did you let this happen to us Jesus? Why did you need that much money? It’s obvious that you didn’t spend it at the barber. Your clothing budget couldn’t have been very much since you have worn the same long, black, scary leather jacket for the last ten years. The poker community after review of all of the facts should take a vote on whether Jesus should be able to keep his name. Whatever, we probably couldn’t even organize that.

Emotion in poker

I was just reading a pair of articles about crying in poker by Jennifer Newell and Martin Harris. It reminded me of an interesting little anecdote I read about Chris Ferguson years ago.

This comes from Aces and Kings: Inside Stories and Million-Dollar Strategies from Poker's Greatest Players by Michael Kaplan and Brad Reagan, published in 2005, pages 211-212. Ferguson has just defeated T. J. Cloutier for the World Series of Poker Main Event championship, A-9 beating A-Q, all-in pre-flop, when a lucky 9 fell on the river.

Ferguson bear-hugged Cloutier as the tournament room erupted. Family and
friends poured down to embrace Ferguson, who, in turn, embraced the piles of
money, a look of uncharacteristic, unmitigated glee overtaking his poker face.

By all appearances, the moment was overloaded with joy. Four years later, though, Ferguson insists that his display was as calculated as any of the bluffs he made during the series. "I kind of decided, ahead of time, that showing emotion after winning the World Series of Poker would be appropriate," he says. "Bizarre as it sounds, that was actually a conscious decision. If there were no TV cameras and no audience, I would have displayed no emotion whatsoever. If it was just me and T.J. in a back room, my normal reaction would have been to shake his hand, to tell him he played a good game, and to walk out."

Lying or mistaken?

In the October issue of Poker Pro magazine, Carl Sampson reviews a hand from the 2008 NBC Heads Up Poker Championship. It's Andy Bloch versus Chris Ferguson in the final round. It's played best two out of three, and Bloch won the first match. Here's the first hand of the second match:




I'm sure I watched this when it first aired, though it didn't make any lasting impression on me.

Sampson questions whether Bloch really misread his hand. If Bloch genuinely thought he had Q-8 instead of Q-5, wouldn't he have made the continuation bet on the flop? He was in position, and his hand would have been as good as he could expect it to be. He had raised pre-flop, and so could represent having the ace. Besides, the I-have-you-beat-whoops-no-I-don't schtick seems kind of phony, a little Hollywood.

Which is all true. However, I'm inclined to think Bloch was being honest about his error.

Why check behind on the flop if he thought he had caught second pair? Pot control. Avoid a check-raise, which would have meant making the difficult decision about whether Ferguson did or did not have an ace. Also, he didn't have to bet to protect against any flush or straight draws, because the flop presented almost none.

Sampson reasons that Bloch had floated Ferguson's turn bet with the intention of the river going bet-raise, an audacious bluff on the river, having sensed weakness in Ferguson. However, when Ferguson didn't follow up his turn bet with a river bet, that plan went to hell. Sampson's theory is that Ferguson is more likely to make a thin call there after a check and a bet than after a bet and a raise, so the planned river bluff lost much of its value.

Sampson also argues that Bloch's plan was to keep Ferguson from knowing that Bloch had raised pre-flop with a hand as marginal as Q-5. But that doesn't make sense to me for two reasons. First, Ferguson well knows that proper heads-up strategy means raising in position a hefty percentage of the time, including with hands like Q-5. It's not like he's going to recalibrate his idea of what Bloch is capable of by gaining that bit of data. And Bloch knows that Ferguson knows that. In other words, the fact that Bloch had raised on the button with Q-5 is not something that he needs to keep secret, as if it's some wildly creative bit of play that will give away his game plan. Second, if Bloch was lying about the misread of his hand, and if Sampson's theory is correct, then Bloch would have simply mucked his cards unseen after Ferguson showed the winner. That would have left Ferguson wondering if Bloch had raised pre-flop with a big ace that missed, with a tiny pair (2-2 or 3-3), or with air.

Something that Sampson doesn't address is the breach of ethics that Bloch would be guilty of if he had deliberately miscalled his hand, announcing to Ferguson that he had him beat. It's inconceivable that he would shoot an angle trying to get Ferguson to pick up his tabled hand and throw it in the muck; there's no way that Ferguson would do that, or that Bloch would think such a trick would work, or that Bloch would be so sleazy as to try. But even the phony announcement of having the winner, quickly followed by the truth, is a pretty scummy thing to do to an opponent, especially one that you respect and consider a friend (and in this particular case, one that is Bloch's business partner in Full Tilt). I have a hard time believing that Bloch would do that. What is there to be gained by it? As a joke? Nobody is going to think that's funny in such a high-pressure situation. Maybe in a penny-ante home game, but not on this stage.

Overall, my conclusion is that it is more plausible that Bloch genuinely made a mistake here. At some point, his brain saw the 8 on the flop and translated that into a memory that he held Q-8 in the hole. (I have done such a thing a few times. I get in my mind what cards I want to see come, and crossed mental wires lead me to believe that what I want to see is what I have and vice-versa.) I think his play, his actions, and his words are reasonably consistent with that scenario. However, it is not wholly out of the question that Sampson is right and that Bloch was lying about misreading his hand. If he was, though, I'm hard-pressed to understand what he hoped to accomplish with the song-and-dance.

What do you think?

Vengeance is mine, saith Jesus

Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.
--Romans 12:19, King James Version


Warning: Contains spoilers.


Last night's "Poker After Dark," a cash game, contained what was for me one of the most emotionally satisfying hands of televised poker I've ever seen. You can watch it here.

The background is crucial. At the beginning of the first installment Monday, everybody wanted to play the 7-2 bounty game: if you win a hand with 7-2 in the hole, everybody else pays you $500. Chris Ferguson was the only holdout, so it was not on. Mike Matusow was outraged at this refusal. He harped on it repeatedly, calling Ferguson the biggest nit of all time, and so on. His haranguing was so intense and prolonged that it became seriously uncomfortable for me to watch. It was way, way beyond a friendly needle between colleagues. Ferguson politely explained a couple of times that he wasn't comfortable with the game because he had never played it and hadn't had a chance to think through what strategic adjustments might be called for. He even tried a compromise, agreeing to play if they would lower the bounty amount to $200. The others thought that smaller amount would not make it worthwhile. After these responses failed to shut Matusow up, Ferguson just sat there and took the verbal abuse without replying further.

But then on Friday's show, he got his chance to stick it to Matusow. Matusow open-raised with A-8. Ferguson reraised with 7-2. Matusow called. Ferguson then proceeded to bet every street with complete air. Finally, Matusow was faced with a $12,000 bet on the river, holding top and bottom pair. But, as Ali Nejad explained in his voiceover commentary, the only hand in Ferguson's typical pre-flop reraising range that Matusow could now beat was A-K. (You might add K-K to that, though with that hand and an ace on the flop it seems less likely that Ferguson would continue to fire both the turn and river after being called.) A-A and Q-Q would have made sets; any hand with a jack in it would all have made a straight; A-Q and A-10 would have a higher two pair.

Matusow goes into the tank and is obviously having an agonizing decision:




Finally, though, he reluctantly folds.

Ferguson shows the bluff and, to stick the needle in a little further, says, "I really like this 7-2 game."




He is visibly pleased with himself:




The other players find considerable humor in the situation:




Well, all except one, that is:




After that, Matusow, who has, as usual, been chatting up a storm, becomes noticeably more quiet for the rest of the show.

I love, love, love this. On the most basic level, Ferguson takes advantage of his tight reputation to pull a fast one and win a pot that he could not otherwise take. But it's patently obvious that he chose this particular situation because of the specific cards he held, the specific opponent he was facing, and the history of what had transpired earlier in the filming day.

He could have justifiably gotten angry at Matusow's relentless taunting--which really was over the top. Ferguson's IQ is probably, oh, I dunno, about 200 points higher than Matusow's, and he has just as great an edge in verbal fluency, should he choose to get into a war of words. But he didn't. He held his tongue, and instead waited for his chance to reply in the language of poker, which proved to be far more eloquent and effective than any verbal retort he could have contrived.

I'd like to think that I would handle the situation the same way--don't try to sink to the needler's level and get into a pissing contest. Instead, keep quiet and just outplay him. After all, taking his money is ultimately a lot more satisfying than getting the most clever rejoinder in could ever be. If you happen to get a chance to rub his face in your win a bit, well, that's icing on the cake.

Nh, wp, sir!

Am I an annoying opponent?

As mentioned in the immediately preceding post, last night my buddy Cardgrrl and I ended up playing at the same table at the Luxor for a few hours. During her February trip in which I first met her, we played together a few times at Venetian, Caesars Palace, and Mandalay Bay. But as we became closer, we mostly stopped doing that. We don't really want to take each other's money, we don't want to act as distractions for each other, and neither of us wants a seat occupied by a dangerous player (which each of us recognizes the other to be) that could be filled by a donating fish. So last night was, I think, the first time in more than six months that we have shared a no-limit hold'em cash table.

As we were leaving, I was suprised--nay, completely stunned and blown away--by Cardgrrl's casual, offhand comment: "You have an incredibly annoying table manner."

Huh???

I've heard all sorts of things about my style of play and mannerisms at the table from all sorts of opponents, but I can't recall anybody saying that he or she found my style annoying. The most common observation is simply that I'm very hard to read, which, of course, is exactly my goal. And even though I tend to be about as hypersensitive to annoyances as anybody I know (hence this blog--duh!), I cannot fathom how anybody could possibly find the way I act to be annoying. I can imagine that people might find me cold or unfriendly (not mean or rude--just not engaging on a personal level). They might find me inscrutible or mysterious or even borderline scary/intimidating. But annoying? How can that be?

Cardgrrl took pains to reassure me that she didn't mean any criticism of me--in fact, didn't mean anything negative by it whatsoever, though I'm not sure that any amount of disclaimers can fully blunt the feeling that being told that one is "annoying" isn't especially flattering.

The best that I could garner from what I'll have to admit was rather intense questioning of Cardgrrl as to what, exactly, she meant by that remark (and I trust that she will feel free to speak up if I misunderstood or if I am inadvertantly misrepresenting her point of view) is that it is the highly mechanical, "robotic" and "automaton" (her words) way that I do everything that she found annoying and tilt-inducing. I asked if she would find Chris Ferguson's even more highly perfected control of body movements to be annoying, and she said yes. This was, at least, a little bit reassuring.

This idea that I am inadvertantly annoying to others when I try so hard not to be has me on life tilt. It's not only a new concept to me, it's completely contrary to everything I have tried to implement about how I play. I'm not at all trying to annoy opponents. I'm not good at chatting them up, engaging in small talk, making friends, keeping the game all light and fun, the way Mike Caro recommends. It's completely contrary to my nature. But I do try my very best never to cause any negativity at the table--other than what inevitably comes from being a challenging opponent (hopefully, at least on my good days) and taking people's chips. I don't want to be annoying; I basically want to be as completely invisible and unnoticed as possible, and being annoying seems to me utterly inconsistent with that goal.

So now I'm deeply curious as to whether Cardgrrl's perspective is shared by others. For those readers who have spent time at a table with me, please speak up in the comments and share your thoughts: Did you find my admittedly rather mechanical ways of taking my turn to be irritating and/or tilt-inducing, or think that others would find them to be so? Note that I am not looking for selective confirmation of my self-image and/or refutation of Cardgrrl's opinion. I am genuinely interested in finding out how I'm perceived, to the extent that that is possible. If you haven't played with me personally, but recall seeing other opponents that have a style similar to what I'm describing here, did you find them to be annoying? I really want to know.


Just for fun, here's a great clip showing how completely inscrutible Chris Ferguson is when taking his actions. Can you spot any tells here? If so, you have better eyesight than I do.

Fun poker fact

On this week's "Poker After Dark," Chris Ferguson revealed that in an early version of the software that became Full Tilt Poker, the system would sometimes say "Winner winner, chicken dinner," and push an icon of a chicken dinner to the winner of the hand. He added that that particular feature got nixed soon after it was introduced. Probably a wise decision, that.

I'm just sayin'...

Sure, he won by getting a walk in the big blind. But why did his opponents fold? Because they sensed that he had an unbeatable hand, that's why.

Heads-up poker

Played two more matches with my snot-nosed kid nephew just now. Beat him both times. That'll show him! I was tempted to write in the chat box, "You're good, kid, but as long as I'm around you're second best. You might as well learn to live with it." But I'm about 100% certain he wouldn't catch the reference.

While playing, I was reminded of an article that Chris Ferguson wrote for All In magazine a couple of years ago. It is not to be found on their web site. I found a link to it in a forum, but the link didn't work. However, that gave me what had been the URL for the article, then using the wonderful Internet Wayback Machine, I found it here. It presents a solid basic strategy. So if you missed the article the first time around, or read it but didn't save it (like me), now you can get to it whenever you like.

Poker gems, #117

Chris Ferguson, to Andy Bloch, during the final match of the NBC Heads Up Poker Championship:


I hate you math guys.

Poker gems, #110

Chris Ferguson, interview in Card Player magazine, April 23, 2008, vol. 21, #8, p. 74:

The most important thing for a professional poker player to have is discipline.

Poker gems, #105

Chris Ferguson, as quoted in Bill Chen and Jerrod Ankenman, The Mathematics of Poker, p. 1:


If you think the math isn't important, you don't know the right math.

"I think you're..."

Mike Caro says that the way to profit is to be fun and jovial at the poker table. People who have played with him say that he makes it enjoyable to lose to him, and he capitalizes on that; people rebuy and then lose more to him. Good for him. But I can't make that work. I'm so naturally quiet and reserved that I can't sustain that kind of image.

So I go for the opposite: near silence, not much movement, try to give away as little information as possible. I used to say that Chris Ferguson was my model for table conduct, but I'm not quite as purely robotic as he is. (For an amazing look at how perfectly he has mastered the mechanics of disguising tells, see this 22-second video clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UmPa7gRcMdg.) I also don't go for the sunglasses or the cowboy getup. So I think it's more accurate to say that I'm like Allen Cunningham--not in terms of playing style or skill, but demeanor at the table: saying very little, composed, unflappable, completely neutral facial expression, but not hiding the way that Ferguson does.

A few days ago at the Palms two friends came in and took adjacent empty seats. They were drinking heavily, having a good ol' time. They complained that the table was too quiet, not fun enough. Predictably, they were both playing very loose games. I was playing my usual tight-aggressive game, listening to some tunes, sipping my bottle of water, observing everything but not getting involved in the table talk. I was in seat 10; they were in 6 and 7, so I was directly facing them.

At one point, I called the pre-flop raise from one of them with an A-10 offsuit. The flop came something ragged like J-7-3. I checked. My talkative opponent instantly shot out a bet, without even stopping to think. That, combined with the unscary board (and the knowledge that most flops miss most starting hands) made me reasonably confident that he couldn't call a check-raise. So I pushed all-in.

The expression on his face instantly told me that he was going to fold--that hang-dog look that wordlessly says "I've been caught; I can't call." His buddy, in violation of every rule and convention about not talking about the hand in progress and one-player-to-a-hand, couldn't keep quiet. He said, "Dude, he's wearing headphones, he's only drinking water, he doesn't say a word, and he hasn't played a hand in half an hour. I think you're screwed."

His friend folded.

So even if I can't pull off Mike Caro's jocularity, there are other ways of winning chips at the table. All you have to do is convince opponents that they're screwed.

Respect or money

I'm in the middle of watching "House of Games," a 1987 David Mamet film that revolves around poker and con men (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0093223/). In one early scene, Joe Mantegna is in a hand of draw poker with Ricky Jay*, who has been bullying the table. Mantegna, with three aces, check-raises Jay. But to his surprise, Jay, who drew just one card, re-raises him all-in. Mantegna stands up from the table, furious. He says, "You son of a bitch, you've been steamrolling over me all night! What are you trying to tell me? One card? You caught a flush? A boat? What? I think you're bluffing, pal. I think you're trying to buy it."

Jay just sits there, calmly but menacingly, then quietly replies, "Then you're going to have to give me some respect, or give me some money."

Oh, SNAP!

I'm not much of one for using talk to try to manipulate opponents into doing what I want them to do, but if I were, that is definitely a line I would add to my arsenal.

The dialogue in this movie, as would be expected from any Mamet work, is first-rate. It's so good that the Poker Grump is willing to overlook the game's use of non-standard rules. After all, they're in the back room of a bar, and laxity of rules is probably realistic in that scenario.

Here's another little nugget from Montegna's character, just before he folds to a large bet: "If a guy's got a full house and you've got two pair, that puts you in a philosophically indefensible position."

Indeed.



*For those who don't know, Ricky Jay was demonstrating world-class talent for high-velocity, high-accuracy card throwing many years before Chris Ferguson ever thought of taking up the challenge. See, e.g., http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UI_vaCADD4c; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HFAzKv8_XF4.) He even wrote a book about the technique in 1977 ("Cards as Weapons"), which is considered the bible on the subject, and was for a long time in the Guinness Book of World Records for throwing a playing card 190 feet at 90 miles per hour (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ricky_Jay).

Don't talk about the bloody mole

This is as low as I go, folks. But I just can't help myself.

This week on NBC's "Poker After Dark" Phil Hellmuth and Chris Ferguson are sitting next to each other, and every time they catch one of them in a close-up I think the same thing: All the money you guys have made, and you can't afford to have those big, ugly moles removed from your face? A little plastic surgery can do wonders these days, you know.

Yeah, it's petty and juvenile of me, but for sure I am not the only one who has seen the Austin Powers movies, and, as a result, gets flashbacks to this rant when the camera zooms in on Hellmuth or Ferguson:

"Mole! Bloody mole! We're not supposed to talk about the bloody mole, but there's the bloody mole winking me in the face. I'm gonna chop it off and cut it up and make some guacaMOLE! … Mole! Mole! Mole! Bloody mole! Bloody mole, you bloody moley bastard! Don't talk about the bloody mole, but the mole's so big it probably VOTES! Looks like a bloody bubble on a pizza, you bloody mole-faced mole bugger! Moley, moley, moley, the brothers MacMolen. You'd be in Spain you'd be a bull and you'd say 'MOLLAAAY!!!' Even the bloody mole's got a mole it's such a bloody big mole. It's the moley grail of moles! Your molier-than-thou attitude! Stick your bloody mole up your bum bum, you moley bastard! Moley MOLE!!!"

There. Now I've got that out of my system.