Play the Game Existence to the End of the Beginning

“Back to quits” is one of my favorite poker expressions, although I don’t think it is one that is all that commonly known or used. I don’t see it in The Official Dictionary Poker by Michael Weisenberg, accessible online over at Mike Caro’s site. Nor does it appear in The Poker Encyclopedia compiled by Ethan Allan and Hannah Mackay.

Can’t recall exactly where I first encountered it. I know Anthony Holden uses the phrase in Big Deal, which is why I think of it as probably more of a British term -- like calling a player a “punter” or the pot the “pool.” Early in the book, Holden describes starting out his year-long experiment as a poker professional with some losses, followed by a couple of cashes in small tourneys and “a run of cards in a £5-and-£10 Hold ’Em side game, which got my bankroll back to quits.”

The meaning of the phrase is clear enough, I assume -- getting back to even. I like the way the phrase connotes that irrational feeling we’ve all had that makes recovering one’s starting stack a requirement for leaving the game.

We know it’s wrong to think this way. “Perhaps the stupidest words in poker are ‘I’ve got to get even,” writes Al Schoonmaker in Your Worst Poker Enemy. “When you feel that way, you are in danger of turning an unpleasant loss into a catastrophe,” explains the psychologist. “You can get further off balance, play more poorly or perhaps go to a larger game or the craps table, desperately trying to get even.”

Thus do I like calling it getting “back to quits” rather than getting even, because the phrase tends to remind me that my real goal is simply to leave the game -- which perhaps I should consider going ahead and doing rather than pressuring myself to recoup my losses. In other words, realizing that I’m simply trying to get “back to quits” sometimes helps me get up from the table sooner -- not always easy to do. (Wrote about that a couple of times before, actually, in “Poker Sisyphean Challenge” and “The Long Goodbye”).

I sometimes marvel at how this mindfulness of how much I am up or down perfectly evokes the existentialist idea of “making meaning” -- in this case, interpreting the meaning of my play according to what is necessarily a wholly subjective criterion that only really matters to me. In fact, depending on how aware my opponents are, sometimes I might be the only one who even knows if I’m up or down. And even if others are aware, they haven’t a true idea what the significance of being up or down (by a lot or a little) means to me, anyway.

It was during another session of Rush Poker (pot-limit Omaha, six-handed, $25 buy-in) that I found myself thinking about all of these things once again. Despite playing a few hands well early on, I’d taken a couple of unfortunate beats, then made a couple of missteps to take me nearly two buy-ins down. I gradually fought back, and without winning any large pots managed to get almost “back to quits” before signing off.

As those who have played Rush Poker know, with each new hand you are taken to a new table. After a while, you do start to see the same players, and it is even possible to get reads and use them (especially if you are a note-taker). But a lot of what happens in each individual hand happens without the usual contextual info of the standard game.

I realized absolutely no one knew whether I was up or down during my session. In fact, towards the end I was sitting with a fairly big stack (nearly three buy-ins deep), but was still down a couple of bucks. Nor did anyone know if I’d been playing well or poorly.

A hand came up where it folded to me on the button and I raised pot with a trash hand. As I did, I momentarily thought of my “image” and its significance (or lack thereof). My opponents didn’t really know if I was the sort of player who sometimes would raise with bad cards there. But I did.

As I waited for the blinds to act, I began involuntarily thinking about how I’d played the last couple of times it had folded to me on the button, actually considering -- and maybe even being slightly affected by -- the patterns in my own play. Patterns I had noticed, but no one else had.

The existentialist recognizes that while we play with each other, what the game means is necessarily going to be different to each of the players. And if for you getting to the end means returning to the beginning, well, only you may see the meaning of within.

Shamus in Vegas: Episode 3 -- Food for Thought

“Poor Vera. Dinner with five poker bloggers?”

So said the Poker Grump to me as we arranged our outing at the Grand Luxe Café at the Venetian. Would be the two of us, Cardgrrl, F-Train, BWoP, and Vera Valmore. Vera isn’t a poker player, but as I’ve documented here before has a lot of patience with those of us who like to tell poker stories. Of course, thinking back to the Wednesday Poker Discussion Group, I later joked with Vera about how she might not have liked a “hand of the day” that lasted two hours.

Vera knew the Grump, F-Train, and BWoP from last summer, and we were both looking forward to meeting Cardgrrl. Dinner was a lot of fun and really there wasn’t as much poker talk as one might have expected. Vera was quizzed a bit about the World Cup. Cardgrrl talked about her adventures in DC and her “year of risky business.” BWoP shared some about her non-pokery work. Poker Grump also told us a bit of his former life in the “straight world.” And F-Train filled us in on his upcoming trip to San Remo and Monte Carlo.

F-Train also told us about a recent incident where some kids had thrown rocks at he and BWoP’s house, breaking a window. That led to a funny discussion of children. You know, children? Those little people who look like us but aren’t as strong and don’t seem to be quite as smart?

Some of the details of F-Train’s story reminded me of one my earliest memories in which I got caught throwing rocks at passing cars. Hey, I was a little person. Not too bright. And unduly influenced by a neighbor girl named Eva. (Insert obvious scriptural allusion here.) In an uncanny prefiguring of F-Train’s account of what happened when he confronted the rock-throwing kids, I recalled how one driver had stopped to confront me and Eva. When he got out of his vehicle -- “$5,000!” I remember him yelling, which gives you an idea how long ago we’re talking -- Eva had suddenly vanished, scampering back to her house and leaving me to face the big person’s wrath. I suppose Adam was in a slightly tougher spot back in the garden, but little Shamus’ predicament was not to be envied, lemme tell ya.

We called it a night by about 10 p.m. Both Poker Grump and BWoP had books for me (thanks!), and since the meals were so oversized we also had take out to carry, too. So we took several bundles, as well as the memory of a fun time, back to the hotel.

On Thursday, Vera went back over to the show while I met Al Schoonmaker and Jim Brier for lunch over at the Palms buffet. I’ve already related some about our meeting, so I won’t repeat too much here. It was Dr. Al who had recommended the Wednesday Poker Discussion Group to me before (he regularly attends those meetings), and so we talked a bit about that and its history. We also talked some about the differences between limit and no-limit hold’em, as both Schoonmaker and Brier were essentially limit players up until recently. Most of you are probably familiar with Dr. Al’s books on poker psychology. Brier, too, is a poker author, and once co-wrote with Bob Ciaffone a well-regarded strategy text called Middle Limit Hold’em Poker (2002). In fact, Brier has been credited by several for the whole idea of emphasizing hand samples in poker strategy texts, such as one finds in his book with Ciaffone, the Harrington on Hold’em books, and many other publications.

The three of us also discussed the prospects for computers or “poker bots” to become advanced enough to compete in no-limit hold’em. Brier and I were of the opinion it would be a long time, if ever, for that to come to pass, but Schoonmaker seemed to think a bit more of the possibility. After an hour-and-a-half, we parted in the Palms parking lot, and that’s when I decided to head over to the Gold Coast to see if I could again squeeze in another short session. I did manage to find a game, and so will talk about that tomorrow.

Before signing off today, though, I have to mention how sad it was to hear yesterday of Justin Shronk’s passing. I met Shronk last summer at the World Series of Poker, and like everyone else found him a funny, friendly, smart dude whose presence added significantly to the poker reporting scene. Others knew him a lot better than I did, so I’ll let you find their thoughts about Shronk on other sites and blogs.

I was at the Bellagio last Saturday as the WPT World Championship was getting started, and I swear I thought I saw Shronk, although I must’ve been mistaken. I have a feeling a lot of people are going to experience similar moments at tour stops over the next few months -- thinking he’s there when he isn’t. ’Cause, well, Shronk belongs there. And it’ll be hard to accept that he won’t be. So my very best to those who were closest to him, especially those over at PokerRoad, where the traveling is going to be a bit tougher for a while.

However, as these stories of my meals in Vegas with poker writers attest, this here “poker community” is a great group with which to be involved. So I know that everyone is going to be there for each other, just like Shronk was always there for them.

Good Eats and Comfortable Seats

Another fun one yesterday, marked by good eats and comfortable seats. With regard to the latter, I’m referring to the seats you find at both kinds of tables -- the ones where you chow down and the ones where you play cards.

After some breakfast at the hotel and a quick shopping excursion with Vera, she went back for more dressage at the World Cup and I took off to meet Al Schoonmaker and Jim Brier for lunch. We met up over at the Palms where Dr. Al treated Jim and me to the buffet. Had a blast.

Most poker people are probably aware of Dr. Al thanks to his four books concentrating on various psychological issues in poker: The Psychology of Poker, Your Worst Poker Enemy, Your Best Poker Friend, and Poker Winners Are Different. Jim Brier is perhaps less immediately familiar to most, although a few years back he co-authored a well-regarded book with Bob Ciaffone called Middle Limit Hold’em Poker. He also contributed significantly enough to a book by British poker author Byron Jacobs called How Good is Your Limit Hold’em? to be listed on the cover as a collaborator, too. Both especially nice guys. And smart, too.

We discussed a number of different topics during our hour-and-a-half together, including the history of the Wednesday Poker Discussion Group (which dates back to 1999) and its Monday no-limit hold’em-focused offshoot, limit versus no-limit hold’em, risk aversion (and how all three of us had it), the many treasures awaiting bonus and promotion-hunters in Vegas, artificial intelligence and the future prospects for “poker bots,” and the upcoming World Series of Poker.

Dr. Al was nice enough to give me a copy of the one of his four books I didn’t own, and we parted making plans to keep in touch, perhaps at more meetings this summer when in all likelihood I’ll be back in Vegas covering the WSOP.

I thought I would try to squeeze in a short session, though since I played at the Palms several times last summer I wanted to sit down somewhere new. So I hopped in the rental and motored across Flamingo Rd. to the Gold Coast to see if perhaps they had anything at all going on. I’d tried once last summer to play there, but all they had happening then was one full table of old-timers, none of whom seemed ready to budge for another decade or so. Didn’t look much better yesterday, although there were some folks lingering to try to get a second table going, and thanks to some extra effort from the staff we ended up making one happen.

We started three-handed -- fairly absurd, really, although with only a one-dollar rake if the pot reached $10 and just a single blind, it could’ve been a lot worse. And, as it turned out, we only had to play a few hands of that before the table started filling. By the time I left we’d been eight- or nine-handed for a good while. I did pretty well, actually, leaving exactly $45 up for an hour of “work.”

There were a couple of characters in there worth sharing. There was the drinker. Four Captain ’n Cokes during our hour together, and more coming. “I’m not here for a long time, I’m here for a good time,” he said. And random-comment lady. “The coffee isn’t that bad, is it?” she once asked, with no coffee anywhere in sight. And a couple of semi-interesting hands, too. Will talk about ’em next week.

I suppose it might seem silly to some to read about my squeezing in an hour of $2/$4 limit hold’em rather than pursue more potentially lucrative opportunities during my short while here. Fact is, I get so little chance to play live I just don’t feel a special desire to test myself unnecessarily. One nice effect of putting in some hands like this at the lowest limits is that I do feel much, much more confident just dealing with the mechanics of live play than I did even a year ago.

Yeah, I know. Confidence ain’t gonna help but so much at the lowest limits like this. Hell, even skill is only gonna be of marginal benefit at a lot of these tables, where eight-handed flops means you gotta showdown winners or lose, end of story. But I tend to think what I’m doing now is gonna help me down the road, should I venture into higher stakes, tourneys, etc. As we were talking about a lunch a little bit, stepping out of one’s comfort zone ain’t a simple matter.

Came on back to the hotel to decompress a bit before going out for dinner. Later on, Vera and I ventured over to the Hard Rock for a loud dinner at the Pink Taco. The shrimp tacos were quite scrumptious, in fact. And soporific. We wandered around the casino in a daze for a bit afterwards. Looked in on the poker room, where two no-limit tables were filled with players while sixteen more collected dust in the distance. Got back to our hotel and crashed, sleeping soundly despite the planes roaring overhead from nearby McCarran.

Like I say, I’ll have more to write about all of this next week. Today the plan is to visit with David Schwartz over at UNLV and check out the Special Collections at the Center for Gaming Research. Then will be getting together with Pokerati Dan later in the afternoon. Not sure what else is on the agenda as yet. Will probably post something tomorrow, too, so we’ll all find out.

Follow You, Follow Me

Mentioned a couple of weeks ago how that Twitter thing had stealthily crept onto my radar. Was sitting there in the back of my mind last night as I read Otis opining about it. Otis is smart.

Then I decided, sure, why not. So I got me an account: @hardboiledpoker. “Shamus” was taken, and “Short-Stacked Shamus” too many characters, apparently.

I’m starting to think I myself am too many characters.

Has been an especially busy time over the last few weeks balancing the pokery stuff -- a little bit of playing, a lot of writing, and a lot more writing -- with everything else. By which I mean the “real” life which continues apace, that non-pokery stuff which includes a full-time job. The noggin’ is getting crowded.

One other thing squeezing its way into my ever-addled cranium is the fact that Vera Valmore and I will be making a quick trip to Vegas next week, during which time I’m hoping to connect with a number of folks. The World Poker Tour Championship -- the Five Star World Poker Classic -- is cranking up at the end of next week at the Bellagio, too, and so I imagine I’ll probably head over there some to see what I can see.

While there I am hoping to attend a meeting of one of those Wednesday Poker Discussion Groups over at Binion’s Horseshoe and Casino next week. If you’ve read any of Dr. Al Schoonmaker’s books (or listened to his old podcast), you remember he talks about the WPDG from time to time. I think it would be neat to sit in on one of the meetings and see what folks are discussing.

This Vegas trip, which will only last for a few days, of course brings to mind the last one, which lasted a couple of months. Still unsure about whether or not I’ll be back out in Vegas this summer to cover the WSOP, although it could happen. Everyone is still in the planning stages as far as media goes, I think, and so there are a lot of people who still don’t know for sure what exactly they’ll be doing come the end of May.

I’ve written before here about how positive the experience was for me last summer helping cover the WSOP for PokerNews. During those last days in mid-July, my sense was it was definitely something I could stand to do again. So we’ll see. I’ll definitely let you know here what I end up doing. Heck, I might even send out a tweet about it.

Between now and then are more SCOOP recaps for the PokerStars blog. That continues through next Monday (April 13), when we’ll be live blogging Day 2 of the big no-limit hold’em Main Event. I’ll be helping with the “high” stakes version of that one, the $10,000+$300 event.

Wonder how many will come out for that, actually. The WCOOP Main Event last September was a $5,000+$200 buy-in, and attracted 2,185 entrants. So perhaps 1,200 for this one? Maybe a few more?

Some of these SCOOP recaps have meant late nights for yr humble gumshoe, although I think overall I’ve gotten a lucky draw compared to some of my colleagues. Haven’t had to stay up past 2 or 3 a.m., which has been good considering I generally have to get up early.

Am also hoping to post another episode of the Hard-Boiled Poker Radio Show very soon, perhaps this weekend. I think I might should just call it a monthly show so as not to tease folks into thinking I can manage it more frequently. April 1 was actually the one-year anniversary of the show, during which time 14 episodes were produced. So, yeah, it’s a monthly.

Okay, am ready to post. Do I send a “tweet” saying I have posted something? Do people do that? I think I won’t. If you wanna read, you’ll read. (And as always, thanks for doing so!)

Many months ago, Michele Lewis had invited me to follow her on Twitter, but since I didn’t have an account I didn’t. I added her soon after creating my account. And yes, today’s post title was written with Michele in mind. (Explanation here.)

Have a good weekend, all.

The Seven (and Eight) Percent Solution

At the start of Dr. Alan Schoonmaker’s new book Poker Winners Are Different, he begins by pointing out that overall the great majority of people who play poker lose at poker. Thus, poker winners are not only “different” -- they are uncommon, too, relatively speaking.

According to Dr. Al, “many experts estimate that -- because of the rake, tips, and other expenses -- 85-90 percent of all cardroom and online players are long-term losers, but they have no solid data.”

So basically an anecdotally-based claim there, somewhat supported by the fact that “many experts” are making it.

For further support, Schoonmaker then quotes Jay Lovinger, who had that “Jackpot Jay” column over on ESPN.com for a while a couple of years back. I remember reading that column, which I believe predated the “ESPN Poker Club,” Phil Gordon’s Poker Edge podcast, and all the other pokery stuff they have going on over on the site these days. Glancing through the archives, it appears Lovinger hasn’t written for ESPN since 2005.

If I remember the column, Lovinger was kind of an “average Joe”-type of poker player who wrote about his experiences trying to make it as a professional poker player for one year. Lovinger played both online and live, and in his columns talked about how it was going, including reporting his wins and losses. He went to the WSOP that year and wrote about that, too (à la James McManus and others).

My memory is that Lovinger didn’t fare all that well, or at least didn’t seem to from the columns I read. Which probably made the columns all the more interesting, actually.

In his book, Dr. Al points to one particular column Lovinger wrote called “Jay Delivers the Commandments” and looking at the column I see the headnote saying that it represents his last piece for ESPN. One of his “commandments” is titled “It’s a Tough Way to Make an Easy Living,” and it is from that one that Schoonmaker quotes Lovinger referring to a conversation he had with two different members of “online poker site management” who wished to remain anonymous.

Those two online poker site managers told Lovinger at the WSOP that summer that “only 8 and 7 percent, respectively, of all players on their sites finish the year in the black.” Lovinger also notes how even though the sites do track this information closely, “they are not about to publicize the results.” (Kind of relates to the point I was talking about yesterday with regard to tracking and reporting how people do in tournaments.)

Thus does Schoonmaker present some relatively hard evidence that yes, indeed, most players are losers, at least online. The rest of the book then discusses numerous qualities that the winners possess, providing a lot of useful advice and strategies for self-assessment along the way. A good read, and definitely helpful, I’d say.

I was very glad to see this reference early on, though, as I remember reading something very similar in an issue of Card Player about three years ago. It was an article about the booming online poker scene -- this was prior to Bush signing the Unlawful Internet Gambling Enforcement Act of 2006 into law (in October ’06). I remember distinctly reading how an online site manager who wished not to be named said that only 7 percent of the players on the site finished the year with any profit whatsoever.

One has to assume a good number of those among the players being tracked are those who make small deposits, lose it all, and never return. Even so, of those who make another deposit and stick around, one can probably assume the winners are in the minority.

I’ve mentioned that statistic on Hard-Boiled Poker once or twice, and have noticed when looking at traffic that a number of people have found those posts after searching for stats about winners and losers online. Some people want to know this stuff, it seems. Have more than once searched back through the old issues of Card Player to find the exact reference, but never could.

So I was very glad to see Schoonmaker’s quote of Lovinger at the beginning of his book confirming that statistic. Indeed, reading it kind of felt like finally solving a long-term mystery for me.

So if you happen to be up online -- even just a few berries -- welcome to an exclusive club. Even if the forums suggest otherwise.

The Worst Hand Ever

Had a weird little session of pot-limit Omaha yesterday toward the end of which I believe I might have played my Worst Hand of Poker Ever. We’re talking major league stinker. Just horrific.

Oh, I won the hand. Of course I did. Why else would I bring it up?

I generally keep a level head at the tables. (Heck, just yesterday I was writing about I wasn’t prone to taking too much risk at the tables.) I’ll make mistakes, of course, but usually am able to avoid any real serious blunders. Looking back on yesterday’s session, I can see how a combination of factors led to my slipping into a wild little haze of irrational play right near the end of the session that led to the Worst Hand. Yes, I was most definitely on tilt.

In Your Worst Poker Enemy (2007), Al Schoonmaker includes a terrific chapter about “Preventing and Handling Tilt.” I’m rereading it again today, and am finding myself appreciating it even more after yesterday’s incident. He gives a list of tips for avoiding tilt, including keeping good records, identifying “your triggers and warning signals,” asking yourself questions about your motives as you “constantly scrutinize both your play and your emotional state,” avoiding the impulse to try to get even, and, of course, leaving the game at the first signs of tilt.

Running through the entire chapter is the general notion that the player who is on tilt frequently doesn’t realize it -- thus is it very difficult to leave the game at the first signs, since by definition tilt is a condition generally unrecognizable by the person suffering from it. Writes Schoonmaker, “Some people have even called a brief period of tilt ‘alien-hand syndrome.’ They feel that their brains have lost control over their hands. They watch, almost helplessly, while their hand does something stupid with their chips or cards.”

Man, that was me all right.

Have another book here on my shelf called The Poker Mindset by Ian Taylor and Matthew Hilger (also published in 2007) which features a chapter on tilt. The authors talk about how “tilt has many layers and nuances” and “can lead to the deterioration of a player’s game into a loose uncontrolled mess.” They also do a good job identifying different types of tilt, including loose tilt (playing too many hands), passive tilt (checking and calling, checking and calling), formulaic tilt (too much “by the book”), aggressive tilt (betting and raising, betting and raising), tight tilt (losing confidence), and FPS tilt (where becomes overly affected by Mike Caro’s “Fancy Play Syndrome”).

During my little tilty period yesterday, I did spend a few hands in the “passive tilt” phase, then had one hand where I probably demonstrated “FPS tilt,” then, in the Worst Hand Ever, it was pure “aggressive tilt.”

The session had begun with two fairly rough beats that took most of my original $50 buy-in. The first came on the very first hand. I’d been dealt A-A-x-x single-suited and raised preflop, getting a caller from a short stack who had about $15 to start. Flopped an ace and bet it, and my opponent called me with a gutshot to a wheel. He’d get there on the turn, at which time we got the rest of his chips in the middle. So a quick hit down to $35. About four hands later I lost most of that (about $30) after flopping a straight, then trapping a different opponent into putting his entire stack in on the turn with bottom set. He filled up on the river, and I was gonna be playing uphill for a while.

Managed to battle back (thanks largely to the very poor play of the short-stacker who’d won that first hand), and was close to even for a long stretch. Then I tumbled back down after losing three or four hands against a new, crafty player who’d come to the table. There was some misfortune involved in those hands, but really the guy just plain outplayed me (repeatedly), basically earning the maximum from me on his made hands.

So I was losing, but really was doing just fine mentally. Then came a weird succession of unlikely -- and costly -- bad beats. Not gonna recount them in detail, but there were no less than three hands, each against different players, in which my opponent rivered me with three, four, and eight outs respectively.

That’s what unhinged me. Might’ve been different if all of the beats had come from one player, but it seemed like the whole table was full of lucky SOBs who’d managed to pilfer my chips unfairly (so went my irrational train of thought). That’s when I passed through a short period of “passive tilt,” had a dumb blind-vs.-blind hand in which I’d flopped trips then mangled it (my “FPS tilt” hand), then cruised seemlessly into that scary “aggressive tilt” that led to the Worst Hand Ever.

Actually won and lost a couple of big pots first before getting to the hand, including receiving one absolute gift of a hand when my overpair of kings somehow was good against two other players who checked down a fairly big pot. Then came the hand. For those who are squeamish or easily upset, I ask you now to look away.

I had just about exactly $50 when the hand began (having rebought). I’d had a second table going for some of the session -- where things had been going better -- and so overall was only down about $25 at this point.

The hand started with me limping UTG with . (Already suspect, I know.) The fellow in the cutoff raised pot to $2.25, the button called, then a player in the small blind who only had $2.55 to start the hand reraised all in. It folded to me and as I knew the betting was no longer open to further reraises, I went ahead and made the call, as did the cutoff and button. So there are four players in the hand vying for the main pot of $10 or so, three of whom would be playing for a possible side pot.

The flop came . No flush draws. Not much in the way of straight draws, although someone could have a Broadway wrap. I have top and bottom pair. I checked, and the cutoff -- the original raiser -- checked as well. Then the button bet $6 into the dry side pot.

I’d seen the button make a couple of stabs at orphaned pots before, as well as some other cheeky plays, and so in my unreasoning state decided this must also be a similarly insincere bet. So what did I do? Reraise pot! (Channelling Jamie Pickering, there.) I pumped it to $28.20, it folded back to the button, and without hesitation he reraised me pot right back.

Oof. I have just $18 left, the pot has swelled to $80, and I know, know, know I am beat (by a set of jacks, probably). Well, I say that now. At the time I had no idea what was happening. My brain had lost control of my hands. So I called.

What did my opponent have? A set of aces, actually. He’d just called the preflop raise rather than reveal his hand with a reraise, and had trapped me fairly soundly. He held to my . So with an flop, what are my chances?

Exactly 7%.

Well, you know already how the story ends. The came on the turn, improving me to a whopping 10%. And the came on the river, giving me the straight and the entire three-digit pot.

Suddenly up for the session, I left immediately, almost frightened by my actions and the redonkulous good fortune of that undeserved runner-runner miracle.

As I said at the start, the Worst Hand Ever. Which I’m sure I wouldn’t be writing about today had it turned out the way it was supposed to.

But I did win, and so am therefore able to share it with all of you as an object lesson. Watch for the signs of tilt! Don’t put yourself in these spots. Just because someone else hits that three-outer on you, don’t make that an excuse to go for your own three-outers!

I feel like some sort of penance is definitely in order here. Think I might just have to take a day or two off from playing altogether after that applesauce. Maybe longer. Give me a chance to reread these chapters. Anyhow, I hope sharing my embarrassing play helps someone out there.

Now that I think about it, though, the fact that I won the hand doesn’t really help that much in the lesson-learnin’ department, does it? Ignore that last part of the story, everyone! Wipe it from yr minds, if you know what’s good for you!

(I am a crazy person.)

Poker “Reality”

About a year after publishing Lolita in 1955, Vladimir Nabokov wrote a short afterword “On a Book Entitled Lolita” in which he offers a few remarks regarding the furor caused by his novel. While that piece is primarily concerned with responding to some of those reactions to the novel’s controversial subject matter, Nabokov also takes the opportunity there to share some details about the circumstances under which Lolita was composed.

Nabokov had emigrated to America in 1940 and shortly thereafter began writing in English. By that time he’d already written nine terrific novels in his native Russian. My favorite of those is probably Despair, although I have a soft spot for The Defense (about a mentally-troubled chess player). (Most rank his last Russian novel, The Gift, as the best of his Russian works.)

Lolita was Nabokov’s third novel in English -- stunning, really, to think such a verbal tour de force could be written by someone composing in a language other than his native tongue. It is also his first novel to be set in the United States, and in that afterword Nabokov talks about how he had to play catch-up to research the novel sufficiently. “It had taken me some forty years to invent Russia and Western Europe,” he says (referring to his earlier novels), “and now I was faced with the task of inventing America.”

Then comes one of my favorite quotes in all of Nabokov. Speaking of what it took to gather enough information to write Lolita, Nabokov admits that “obtaining of such local ingredients as would allow me to inject a modicum of average ‘reality’ (one of the few words which mean nothing without quotes) into the brew of individual fancy, proved at fifty a much more difficult process than it had been in the Europe of my youth when receptiveness and retention were at their automatic best.”

The contrast between youth and middle age is in itself a good point (and one I’m paying more attention to now than I did when I first read it as a naïve, fresh-faced frosh). But what I like most here is that observation about the word “reality” requiring quotation marks around it. Nabokov tucks that point inside parentheses as if it weren’t all that important, but conceptually-speaking you can’t get much heavier than that.

People sometimes speak of poker as a game especially grounded in “reality.” The observation usually has something to do with the definitive way the cards “speak” (so to speak). That is, no matter how we might later characterize a hand, a session, a career, the “reality” of the cards persists through whatever elaborations, embellishments, or enhancements we might try to give to them. (Sorry for the alliteration -- thinking about Nabokov has temporarily infected my prose, I think.)

This so-called “realistic” nature of poker is a commonly-struck theme in Al Alvarez’s The Biggest Game in Town. According to Alvarez, poker is “one of the most realistic of all disciplines.”

Illustrating the point, Alvarez tells the story of a losing player, referred to only as Joel, whose primary flaw is his inability to assess “realistically” what happens when he’s at the tables. Joel “was cursed with a childish imagination and the inability to distinguish its workings from reality.” As a result, Joel “invariably reported large poker losses as small wins, small wins as fortunes,” thereby dooming himself to be one of the game’s “providers.” He even goes so far as to make up stories about the mob setting him up as a way of explaining his repeated misfortunes. Eventually he hightails it out of Vegas, “trailing bad debts” behind him.

After the Joel story, Alvarez quotes Mickey Appelman explaining how “There can be no self-deception for a poker player” if he or she wants to win. “You have to be a realist to be successful,” says Appelman. By which it is understood that one simply must accept the “reality” of whatever the cards happen to say when one sits at the table.

But so many of us don’t. Most of us. Maybe all of us.

Dr. Alan Schoonmaker discusses this phenomenon at length in Your Worst Poker Enemy. “The gambling industry is based on a denial of reality,” says Schoonmaker. “Without it the entire industry would collapse immediately.” As the example of Joel suggests, players with less skill tend to have a less “realistic” idea of their own abilities. “The worse people play,” writes Schoonmaker, “the more likely they are to deny reality about themselves.” He quotes an article from the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology in which a study confirms “the less skilled people are, the less aware they are of their own limitations.”

Those less-skilled players also tend to misunderstand their opponents’ abilities and/or limitations, thus denying the “reality” of the game situation when they sit down to play. Or -- another way of saying the same thing -- they create a “reality” for themselves that is different from the one created by the better players.

But think about it. No matter how good poker players are, each of those sitting at the table has his or her own idea what the “reality” of the game is. Such is one of the game’s paradoxes. Poker might well be “one of the most realistic of all disciplines,” yet poker also relentlessly challenges our ideas of “reality” at every turn (or flop or river).

See how those scare quotes come in handy?