Inertia

Nat Arem had a post a couple of days ago in which he offered some ideas related to creating websites and marketing oneself over these here intertubes. The post looks to be the first part of series on the subject, and in this one he focuses particularly on “the idea” one is trying to sell, as well as how clients/consumers tend to behave in response to one’s idea.

Interesting stuff, but really I just wanted to quote his conclusion in which he recommends (in bold) to “Get inside the minds of your users and never forget that you’re fighting irrational levels of inertia.”

Nat’s point about human nature -- about how we tend as a species to resist anything different or unfamiliar -- has wide-ranging application. Will probably play some role in the 2008 Presidential election in November, I’d imagine. Has fairly obvious application to what happens at the poker tables, as well.

Was playing my usual H.O.R.S.E. game yesterday ($0.50/$1.00). Am doing okay; nothing too spectacular, though (making about a big bet per 100, on average). Still feel like Omaha/8 is my weakest link, but I continue to compile data to try to get a better idea. After each session, I’m recording how I’ve done in each of the five games. Once I get a decent sample together, I’ll share what I’ve found.

Yesterday I experienced several instances of players -- including myself -- exhibiting “irrational levels of intertia.” You know where I’m going here. I’m talking about the never-folds. The guys who cannot let a hand go once they’ve put that first chip in the middle. In H.O.R.S.E., the phenomenon is particularly obvious in the three stud games (Razz, Stud, Stud/8). You’d think the key moment (or “inflection point,” as Harrington says in another context) would usually be on fifth street, when the bets double. But in reality, it is fourth street -- or even third -- where a lot of players seem to commit to going all the way.

As I say, I, too, am guilty of this “irrational” unwillingness to stop calling from time to time. Here are a couple of examples showing me demonstrating such tendencies, then one more showing someone else doing so.

The first example is a Stud hand where I was dealt . With my 4 showing, I was forced to bring-in. There was one caller (), then a player with showing completed (to fifty cents). I called, as did the other player. Fourth street brought me the , giving me four to the flush, but also brought the to the fellow who’d completed. With his pair of aces showing, a double bet (of $1) was allowed, but he chose just to bet fifty cents. The other player folded and I called. The pot was now $2.50.

Fifth street brought him the and me the , and he bet ($1). I have good odds here, actually. It’s 3.5-to-1 to call, and, in fact, four to a flush on fifth street is a 1.75-to-1 shot to hit. (Of course, I could be drawing dead.) Not really thinking of any of that, though -- my interia ain’t letting me even consider letting this one go. So I call, and a nicely arrives on 6th street. End up getting three more big bets out of my opponent. He’d made three aces by 4th street, but failed to fill up.

“Good for you,” he types afterward. Then adds, “Just don’t leave.” I didn’t bother to defend myself.

A little later had a Razz hand where I again let inertia take over. This time I’d made a “rough” 8 by fifth street. In fact, it was as rough as it gets: 8-7-6-5-4. Meanwhile, my opponent, who’d raised on third and had been leading the whole way, had 3-2-4 showing. I called his fifth street bet, though. The pot was relatively big -- $5.25 when I put my buck in on fifth -- and I found it hard to let go. Then sixth street brought us both jacks. He bet out again. I decided it possible he’d paired one of those low cards and so now only had a jack-high. Of course, a more likely explanation for that read were those “irrational levels of inertia” guiding my behavior . . . .

Whatever the cause, I decided to raise. When he just called, I knew I was right, though of course I still had to dodge seventh street. I did, and ended up winning a ten-dollar pot. Got a comment again from my opponent: “terrible.” He might have been right.

My last example also shows me in a less than favorable light, though I think someone else provides a better illustration of Nat’s principle. It’s an Omaha/8 hand, and I was in late position with . An ace and a deuce, and single-suited. Playable, I guess, though that nine kind of kills the hand, really. I limped in with three others, and the flop came .

I was last to act, and all three checked to me. I decided to bet, expecting anyone with a ten (or full boat) to call me, in which case I’d be done with the hand. Two players did call. The turn was the , giving me Broadway. Again, both checked (kind of quickly). Maybe I’m good here? I bet again. Again, both players called.

The river was the and both players again checked. Well, now I must be good. I bet again, and again both players just called. Talk about inertia. What could they have?

Turned out neither had a ten at all. One mucked -- a lower straight. Then the other showed . Wha? He’d rivered one of the two sixes to make the baby boat.

How could he have called that flop? And turn?

Nat has the answer.

On Poker Mags

I like Gary Wise’s podcast, Wise Hand Poker. Took me awhile to decide, but I realize I’ve come to look forward to listening to the shows whenever they turn up in the feed.

(Of course, Rounder’s Radio could upload them suckers more regularly. And more quickly. As I have mentioned before, I don’t generally sit around the computer waiting to hear live shows, so if it ain’t available as a download, I probably will miss it.)

Wise writes for Bluff Magazine, ESPN, and some other outlets, and so has a lot of connections in the poker biz. His two-hour shows generally consist of a couple of lengthy interviews with fairly well-known guests. The long format suits Wise -- he does like to talk . . . a lot. But he gives his interviewees a lot of room, too, to respond to his usually thoughtful questions. And ultimately I almost always feel like I get something out of the interviews.

On the February 6th episode of Wise Hand Poker, Wise had recent Women’s Poker Hall of Fame inductee Linda Johnson on as a guest. Johnson is another highly likable and thoughtful person (I recommend the interview, which takes up the second half of the episode). She is sometimes called the “First Lady of Poker” thanks to her important contributions to the industry, as well as her accomplishments as a player. Besides helping establish the Tournament Directors Association and being the publisher and owner of CardPlayer from 1993-2000, Johnson also has over a quarter million in tourney winnings to her credit, including a WSOP bracelet in the 1997 $1,500 Razz event.

About a half-hour into the conversation, Wise asked Johnson some questions about her prior experience overseeing CardPlayer. I was particularly interested in his question “Was CardPlayer intended to be a journalistic magazine, or was it intended to be . . . more entertaining?”

Without hesitating, Johnson answered that the magazine was not intended to be “journalistic.” “At least when I ran it,” explains Johnson, “we never made the pretense that were [producing journalism].” Rather, the primary purpose of the magazine “was to support the poker industry.”

Johnson then immediately brought up how this orientation affected the way CardPlayer would address, say, a scandalous story that might reflect poorly on the industry. (Her example was of a tourney director who was stealing from the rebuy pool in his tourneys.) Johnson explained how CardPlayer wouldn’t necessarily publicize such stories, “because I felt like we were sort of a ‘good will’ part of the industry.” Besides, if they did report such stories, “the advertisers would not support us, and unfortunately you have to have advertisers’ support to make it go.”

Makes sense, frankly. And such is most certainly still the case today, with advertisers having an even greater influence (I’d argue) over the editorial content of industry mags like CardPlayer, Bluff, All-In, and the like.

I mention all of this because I noticed the latest issue of CardPlayer (Vol. 21, No. 3) does, in fact, include an article on the Kahnawake Gaming Commission’s January report of the Gaming Associates’ audit of Absolute Poker. And yes, the article comes just ten pages after a two-page spread featuring Serinda Swan (in a Wicked Chops-esque get-up) encouraging us all to sign up over at Absolute (when we’re done lookin’).

The article (by Bob Pajich) is a straightforward summary of the report of the audit, with no editorial reflections on what the report says (or -- more importantly -- fails to say). Nor is there any attempt to address the relationship between the KGC and AP, or how that relationship perhaps makes that paltry $500,000 fine even less meaningful that it would be otherwise.

I suppose I appreciate CardPlayer’s having at least acknowledged the story. Still, rhetorically-speaking, a simple report might be read as implicitly arguing that all is A-OK at AP and we needn’t worry ever again about entrusting our moneys over there.

Which is fine, if we all understand how the relationship between CardPlayer and its advertisers means it cannot be a reliable source for unfettered, “journalistic” treatments of the poker industry. There’s great stuff in there -- the strategy columns, book reviews, and many of the other features all make it a worthwhile magazine, as far as I’m concerned. But for actual news about the industry, we still need to look somewhere other than in CardPlayer -- even if it does refer to itself as “The Poker Authority.”

Robbe-Grillet est mort

The French novelist -- or “anti-novelist” -- Alain Robbe-Grillet died yesterday at the age of 85.

It has been a long time since I’ve thought about Robbe-Grillet. I read his first published novel, Les Gommes or The Erasers (1953) ages ago. I remember it as a kind of an inside-out, experimental detective novel with a lot of long, meticulously-detailed descriptions that tended to put one on the wrong track. I also remember something about the detective turning out to be the murderer, or the murder not having happened yet, or something strange and altogether against the usual rules for detective fiction.

I started his next novel, The Voyeur (1955), though I don’t believe I ever finished it (despite its scandalous rep). Read a few short stories, too, which also could loosely be described as experimental mysteries or detective stories. And, of course, I remember seeing Last Year at Marienbad, the 1961 Alain Resnais film for which Robbe-Grillet wrote the script.

Robbe-Grillet came to be associated with a group of writers who explicitly rejected the realistic novel of the 19th century in favor of a more experimental style that called into question assumptions about things like plot and character. Their creations were referred to as the “new novel” (or “nouveau roman”). Robbe-Grillet ended up being regarded as the leader of the movement, thanks largely to a series of essays he wrote that were collected in 1963 under the title For a New Novel.

Robbe-Grillet was fascinated with games and puzzles, and a lot of them turned up in his writing. In fact, what I remember most vividly from Last Year at Marienbad was a game that gets played more than once in the film, a game I’ve since learned is called Nim. The game can be played with coins or matchsticks or dominoes or anything. In fact, over the years I’ve introduced the game many times to folks as a fun time-waster.

A character in the film proposes the game, saying it is a game he always wins. In fact, this is a game you can just about always win if you know how to play it and your opponent does not.

Let’s say you’re playing with poker chips. (Looking around online I’ve discovered that Robbe-Grillet has them using poker chips in his script, though I don’t think they do in the film.) Start by arranging the chips in four rows of seven, five, three, and one. Nim can be played with different arrangements, but that’s how they play it in the film. Players then take turns removing chips from the table. One can take as many chips as one likes, but only from the same row. The player forced to take the last chip loses.

Doesn’t matter too much if you go first or last, although technically speaking, if you go last you will always win. So invite your opponent to go first. Doing so has the added benefit of making it seem as though you aren’t controlling the game as much. If you opponent refuses to go first and makes you start, it is possible you could lose, but only if your opponent doesn’t make a mistake. And trust me, unless you are playing Bill Chen or Chris Ferguson, your opponent is probably going to need to play this a few times before catching on to what is going on.

Now there’s a way to master Nim that involves converting all of the amounts of remaining chips to binary numbers, but I ain’t even gonna try to explain that one. (True math geeks can go see for themselves.)

Basically all I’m telling you to do is try early on to leave your victims three rows with 7-5-2, 6-4-2, 5-4-1, or 3-2-1. (Also, leaving yr opponent four rows of 3-3-1-1 is a winner for you.) From there it should be obvious how to win the game. Also, if possible try to leave ’em two rows with the same number of chips in each -- from there, all you have to do is mimic your opponents’ moves until one of the rows has one chip left, then take the other row and leave the last chip.

Easy enough to remember, yes? If you want to try it out, here’s a neat site where you can play Nim online against an animated, wise-cracking opponent. He doesn’t play it the 7-5-3-1 way, but these winning moves will still work. (You’ll notice him using them, too, if you give him the chance.)

As far as the film goes, while it’s certainly an important moment in La Nouvelle Vague, it ain’t for everyone. Same goes for Robbe-Grillet’s novels, too. Still, for lovers of games and/or detective fiction, his passing is worth noting.

Meanwhile, please remember to toss Shamus a percentage of any coin you happen to scam from yr friends playing Nim.

Consolation Prize

Limped to 15th in the Saturday’s with Pauly PLO tourney. Found myself playing against the likes of AlCantHang, Iggy, Stewman, and Change100 this week. Kind of a bummer not to break through into the cabbage, but again, had a fun time.

Had a big hand with Change during the first level, actually. (She mentions it over on Pot Committed.) She was on my left, having arrived there right after doubling up to 2,990 at her previous table. Meanwhile, I was still hovering right around where I started with 1,480. I picked up in the SB -- a decent PLO hand, but lousy position -- and watched as a couple of players limped. I completed, and Change checked from the BB. Pot 80. Flop came , giving me the Broadway wrap. I checked, Change bet 80, the others folded, and I called. The turn was the , giving me the nut flush draw as well. I bet out 120, and Change quickly raised 480 to 600.

The pot was now 960, so I was facing exactly 2-to-1 to call. With my two draws, I surmised it was just about 2-to-1 against me hitting -- I figured I had the eight hearts, plus the remaining aces, queens, jacks, and nines (11 more outs, I think). So I called. The turn was the , giving me my straight, and I pushed my remaining 780. Change thought a bit and looked me up with her two pair, and now I had 3,000.

Within a couple of hands of that the two of us got it all in again when we both were dealt A-A-x-x, but we chopped. Then a couple of orbits later I gave back a chunk to Change in an ill-conceived flush chase. Eventually I was moved from that table, but never could get things going again, finally getting unceremoniously bounced late in Level 6. Meanwhile, I was glad to see Change made it all of the way to the money, finishing in fourth.

After getting knocked out, I decided I wasn’t ready to quit and so jumped onto a PLO25 table. Often joining a ring game moments after being eliminated from a tourney is a recipe for failure, but things worked out for me Saturday. Why? Because I had the good fortune to play with one of the worst PLO players I have ever encountered.

He arrived a few hands after I did, buying in for $15 (the default buy-in on Stars for PLO25). On his third hand, he was felted after a turn card that gave him two pair also gave his opponent a flush. A pretty obvious misstep, but when I checked his hand I noticed he had made a pot-sized reraise on the flop with nothing but top pair. Hmm, I thought. Better pay attention to this guy.

He rebought for another $15, and within 10 hands or so had bled down to $3 after a bunch of passive calls of raises. He added $10 to his stack, then started raising pot preflop every hand. He made a couple of bucks this way, then came this hand: Someone raised pot preflop to $1.10, and three players called, including our hero. Flop came , the preflop raiser bet pot ($5.25), our hero raised the rest of his stack ($14.15), and got a call. Turns out preflop raiser had a set of kings (which improved to a boat by the end). What did our hero have?

. That’s right. He’d flopped top pair (with no draws whatsoever). He’d played about 20 hands, and was already down 40 clams. And look! He’s rebuying for $15 more.

I sat up in my chair. I wanted to play a hand with this guy.

This time he wasn’t so aggressive, but sure enough, about a dozen hands later he was felted once more. Two pair versus a flush again. And again, all the money was going in after the flush had hit. He rebought again for $15 more.

Within two hands I finally get to play a pot with the wild man. I have , and the flop comes , giving me the monster wrap plus a flush draw. I bet a buck on that flop, which he called. Then the turn brought a most cooperative 7, giving me my straight. We got it all in (total pot just under $30), and my hand held up. He mucked . Once again, he’d made two pair on the turn, then got his money in bad. He was down $70 at this point.

And, answering the silent prayers of everyone at the table, he rebought yet again.

He took about five hands to lose the next $15. Then he rebought for $20, lost about $10 of that, and finally left the table, having dropped nearly a hundy in about 50-55 hands. I left the very next hand.

Such a phenomenon doesn’t happen that often. When it does, my read is that these guys are probably Hold ’em players dropping down limits to experiment a bit with PLO.

Wherever they come from, it’d be nice to have one waiting as a consolation prize every time we get bounced from a tourney. Wouldn’t you say?