Poker gems, #220

Will Durant, The Story of Philosophy: The Lives and Opinions of the World's Greatest Philosophers (1926), Simon & Schuster/Pocket Books, 1991, Ch. II: Aristotle and Greek Science; part VII: Ethics and the Nature of Happiness.


Excellence is an art won by training and habituation: we do not act rightly because we have virtue or excellence, but we rather have these because we have acted rightly.... [W]e are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit.


[Note: This quotation is frequently attributed, erroneously, to Aristotle. It is actually Durant's paraphrase of Aristotle. See here.]

Question for the philosophers and other deep thinkers

How come the only time I get dealt rolled-up aces, kings, or queens is when I'm playing razz?

Poker gems, #138

Matt Damon, as Mike McDermott, in "Rounders."


It's immoral to let a sucker keep his money.

Poker gems, #134

David Chiu, in Card Player magazine, June 4, 2008 (Vol. 21, #11), p. 74. This comes at the conclusion of a remarkable story. In 1998, Chiu was arrested and charged with kidnapping, in a classic mistaken-identity situation. He spent 3 1/2 months in jail and nearly $100,000 on legal defense before the charges were dropped.


People ask me, "How are you able to stay so calm about everything you've been through?" I just think about it in the same way that I would handle a poker hand. I took a really bad beat in a really big pot, but life goes on. Next hand.

Of leaky roofs and muscle aches

There's an old joke about a guy whose wife nags him to fix the leak in the roof. If she mentions it while the water is pouring in, he says, "Well, I can't very well fix it now, with the rain coming down!" If she bugs him about it between storms, he says, "It's not leaking now, is it?"

(Hence the photo above.)

I have a sore muscle in my shoulder, or, more specifically, over the right shoulder blade. It's the muscle called the "infraspinatus," because it sits just below the ridge of bone, or "spine," of the scapula (the shoulder blade). You can see where it is in this photo (so that if you ever run into me, you'll know just where to offer to massage):




I don't know exactly what's wrong with my infraspinatus, but it hurts much of the time. It's been that way for several years now. It gets worse when I type a lot--just a nasty, dull, nagging, deep ache that distracts me from whatever else I'm trying to focus on.

The thing is, I don't have to live with this. A few years ago my doctor referred me to a very sharp physical therapist, who gave me a series of exercises to do. They're incredibly boring, but if I dedicate ten minutes twice a day to doing them, the pain goes away and stays away completely. It's like a miracle cure.

The problem is that the reward/punishment isn't immediate. When I'm hurting, it takes a couple of weeks of exercises before the pain stops, and when I'm feeling good and stop doing the exercises, it takes a couple of weeks before the pain comes back.

This makes it hard for me to maintain the motivation to do these stupid exercises. 20 minutes a day doesn't seem like much when it brings the promise of the rest of my 24 hours being pain-free. But the fact is that I can get away without doing them for quite a while without any obvious detriment. Sadly, though, as I start making excuses for skipping the exercises, the excuses get flimsier and flimsier, until I'm just not doing any exercising at all. And after a while, the pain comes back. Then I curse myself for not having kept it up, and I have to live with the pain for a couple of weeks while I reinstitute my daily discipline.

Poker is like that. I'm running good, outplaying opponents, winning most days, with only an occasional small loss as punctuation. I feel invincible, like this is the easiest way anybody has ever invented to make a living.

The cockiness makes me sloppy. I got lucky and hit a straight draw or flush draw for a big pot, and start to believe, against all evidence, that that will happen every time. So I start chasing when the pot odds aren't right, or when I suspect that even if I hit the draw I may be behind. I can also start succumbing to what Daniel Negreanu calls "fancy play syndrome," trying to play lots of tricky, disguised hands, rather than just make them an occasional variation on my usual tight-aggressive approach to the game. Or instead of playing a big hand in a straightforward way, I try to slow-play, and end up trapping myself. I get to thinking that I'm not playing cards, I'm playing people, and I'm smart enough to outplay them--until they turn over the best hand, at which point it is all about the cards.

I start to book losing sessions. I get depressed. I think that this is the stupidest, hardest way one could possible try to earn a living. I don't like going out the door to the poker rooms, because I sense I'm going to lose before I even start.

But after there has been enough pain, after I've been punished sufficiently for my bad calls, for my ill-advised bluffs, for my tricky plays that went unappreciated and unrewarded by the troglodytes I'm playing with, I realize what I have to do. I have to be disciplined again. I have to sit patiently, like the snake in its hole just waiting for the mouse to wander by unaware. I have to fold almost everything out of position, and the junk hands even with position. I have to be willing to abandon ship when I think I'm beat in a hand. I have to pick my spots carefully. I have to avoid coin flips for large pots, because with a little patience I can get the same chips in with a much greater statistical lead.

Just as importantly, I have to dedicate time to studying. I have literally dozens of poker books yet unread on my shelf--more unread than read, in fact, though I'm embarrassed to admit it. I include watching televised poker as part of my studying, because if I really pay attention to analyzing why the players are making particular decisions, I genuinely can learn a lot. These things I tend to set aside when I'm winning, because who needs them? I know how to play already, for heaven's sake--why waste time reading when I could be making money at the tables?

But when the rain comes, when the pain comes, when the losses come, I get reminded of what I haven't been doing. Of course, it's a lot easier to avoid going out to play when I've been hammered for five sessions in a row, so there is an element of avoidance to my study. Still, reading always manages to enlighten me on a point or two, and it slowly starts to re-energize my desire to go try to implement something new I've learned. The good books also pound back into my head the need to be focused and disciplined and thoughtful about how I play, rather than just counting on luck and/or being a little better than my average opponent.

When I boil it down, I have two principal advantages over most of the tourists I play against: (1) I'm more patient, because I'm here all the time, rather than for just a few days; I don't need to cram in as much fun playing and as many hands as I can before the trip is over, or put in insanely long sessions before the plane leaves. (2) Analytical ability. Whether by genetics or upbringing/training or both, I'm just habitually analytical about everything, always thinking and questioning and trying to understand, to unroot inconsistencies and fill voids in my knowledge of how the world works. This is an indispensible tool at the poker table. When I'm on my game, I'm constantly asking myself an endless series of questions. Why did he bet there? Why so much? What does his little speech there mean? Why does he look nervous? Why did he act so fast? Etc.

Reading good poker books strengthens this mental muscle. Even if I don't implement any particular bit of insight in the immediate aftermath of reading a good chapter or two, the exercise of dissecting the author's points and arguments and filing them away makes my general analytical ability at the table better and stronger.

When I'm off my game, it's invariably because I've decided, consciously or unconsciouly, to try to tackle poker without one or both of my main two advantages. It's not hard to predict the results.

I suppose that I've gone through at least as many cycles of up/down with poker as I have with pain/relief in my shoulder. Each time I vow to myself that it will be the last, that this time I'll stick with doing what I know keeps me winning, keeps me pain-free. I'll do my damn exercises, even when they bore me and I feel I have better things to do with that 20 minutes. I'll keep up with reading and studying, seeing it not as costing me time away from the table, but as an investment in keeping the hourly rate high when I do play. I'll play the way that a couple of years of evidence has shown keeps me winning when I stick to it.

But then the pain stops. It won't matter if I skip my exercises just today. The sun comes out, and who wants to work on the roof when it's a beautiful day and there's playing to be done? I'm on a hot poker streak, and that rather boring book will still be there to be read tomorrow, after I've pocketed another nice win or two. I'll get to it then--really I will. I promise.

Hey, is that a rain cloud I see in the sky?

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).

A word from Oliver Wendall Holmes, Jr.

I was just looking up something completely unrelated when I came across this lovely tidbit of wisdom from one of the greatest Supreme Court justices our nation has known. I post it here because I am reminded again of the idiocy of the federal government trying to make it difficult or impossible to play online poker through banking regulations, and some state government trying abolish it by outright criminalization.

"State interference is an evil, where it cannot be shown to be a good."

Poker gems, #52

Gabe Kaplan, on GSN's "High Stakes Poker," November 19, 2007:

There is no crying in baseball, and there is no mercy in poker.

Poker gems, #20

I'm reading Jesse May's 1998 novel, Shut Up and Deal. It's brilliant, not in terms of traditional literary values, but because nothing else I've ever read, in fiction or non-fiction, has so perfectly captured the deeply cynical, selfish, and lonely existence of a poker grinder. This is a book that could be written only by one who has been through it. There are likely to be a bunch of excerpts from it posted here, because I'm finding so much in it that resonates with my recent life. I start with the most famous passage:

Poker is a combination of luck and skill. People think mastering the skill part is hard, but they’re wrong. The trick to poker is mastering the luck.

Poker gems, #12

Lou Krieger:

I believe in poker the way I believe in the American Dream. Poker is good for you. It enriches the soul, sharpens the intellect, heals the spirit, and—when played well—nourishes the wallet.

Poker gems, #11

Bobby Baldwin (in an interview for the documentary “No Limit”):

Most of life is understanding other people, in business, or in your personal life. If you don’t understand other people, you probably don’t understand yourself, and you’re not going to be a successful card player. It’s all about people, and it has virtually nothing to do with the cards. The cards are just there as a medium to kind of confuse the bad players into thinking it’s luck.

Poker gems, #9

Phil Laak, master of the obvious, on "High Stakes Poker," season 4, episode 2:

People are always trying to beat you. That's the problem with poker.

Poker gems, #3

Mike Sexton, commenting on a bad beat during a World Poker Tour event:

"If you don't like a little pain once in a while, poker is probably not your game, because as you can see, you're gonna get it."

Immutable law of poker

The cocktail waitress will only come right when it's your turn to play.

I have no idea why this is, but it is an undeniable, universal truth.

Loved or feared? (Non-grumpy content)

Yesterday was a rare four-casino day. Most days that I play, it's in either one or two places. I get up and leave if I'm losing several buy-ins in a row, or if I go stagnant and can't make any headway, or if I'm feeling bored or distracted. Occasionally if I've made a lot of money and feel as though I've hit my peak, after which things will just go downhill, I'll leave to lock up a profit. But all of those reasons to pick up and go somewhere else usually don't have me hitting four places in a day, as yesterday did. I played at Mandalay Bay, Orleans, Flamingo, and the Hilton.

Anyway, I was at Mandalay Bay for only about 2 hours, and in that time had two people (at different tables) tell me that I scared them. This has happened occasionally before, but not often. I'm a completely non-scary person, but apparently, at least on some days, the way I play (pretty much a classic tight-aggressive style) intimidates some other players. The second person yesterday to tell me I scared her explained, when I asked her what was scary: "Because you actually have what your bets represent!" I thought that was pretty funny. It's also true--at least usually!

But in contrast, at the Orleans yesterday I received just the opposite message. One of the dealers I particularly like there (Mark) caught me away from the table as I was leaving; I think he was on a break. He wanted to know my name. He shook my hand and said, "I just wanted to tell you that it's always a pleasure having you at the table. You really bring a calming influence when you're there."

Now, maybe he was just blowing smoke up my arse, or shilling for future tokes. But it was an unexpected and completely unprecedented gesture, in my experience. I do take pains to remain as civil and nonconfrontational as I can at the poker table, because interpersonal conflicts make playing no fun, and can easily erode one's decision-making capacity. So if my efforts to keep the peace have some effect on others that I hadn't been aware of, I'm pleased.

All of which is a long introduction to this thought: Machiavelli famously pondered "whether it is better to be loved rather than feared, or feared rather than loved." I believe I have finally stumbled upon the ideal solution: It is best to be feared by the other players, and loved by the dealers.