KISS-ing at the Meadows ATM

Yesterday, I mediated a lawsuit, and was able to get a good settlement hammered out in what was a difficult dispute.  Since the mediation ran long, I decided to call it a day and headed to the Meadows ATM for a short, impromptu session of 1/2 NLHE.  Thursday afternoons and evenings are generally good for fishing, with the evening tournament and the weekly 5/5 PL mix "big game" bringing in gamblers and bad cash game players; to this day, I'm continually amazed at how poorly some tournament players adapt to the cash game mileu.

I got right into a game (there were two 1/2 NLHE games running, along with a 3/6 LHE, and two tables of the 5/5 PL big game), which had an interesting mix of a couple of aggro regulars, and several passive newbies.  I got off to a good start when one of the aggros went on tilt and decided to stack off to me by semi-bluffing his middle-pair and gutterball draw into my altos dos pairs to the tune of about $275 profit.  I then had to endure the bad kind of Yak—the loud Yakker next to me who couldn't stop chatting with me with a base volume level equivalent to a Metallica concert.  My left ear was seriously aching when I finally busted him, flopping a pair and the nut flush draw and calling his all-in semi-bluff (he had a naked non-nut flush draw).  Sometimes, this game is easy!  But I have a new appreciation for dealers who are forced to sit next to chatty players, and simply grin and bear it.

There was one amusing moment early on, when a nice lady moved to our table.  She had $320 in chips, and the dealer politely told her that she could only bring on $300 because of the table change.  The lady said, "I'm so sorry!  I didn't know that rule.  I've never had this much money before!"  Another of the regular gals commented, "I didn't sleep very well last night" while another of the regulars was walking by; right on cue he said, "Well, you were sleeping like a baby when I left!"  Everyone cracked up; there's just something fun about playing with friendly folks.

I had an incredibly fun and profitable session (up four buy-ins in roughly five hours!).  But I never had any true monsterpotten after that initial near double-up.  Instead, I pretty much went to Value Town, getting paid off time and again by players who are unconcerned with kickers or are overly concerned about being bluffed, resulting in a steady stream of small to medium-sized pots.  I've been running well the past month or so, in part because of some timely good cards, but largely because I have adapted my game fairly well to the KISS concept—Keep It Simple, Stupid.

After several losing sessions a few months back, I decided I was facing far too many tough decisions, and those tough decisions were usually in big pots, which is not a profitable situation.  So, I've made a few adjustments:

• Bluff and continuation bet less—In many cases, players in the games I play simply aren't going to lay down top pair.  So, I've dialed the two and three barrel bluffs way back.  Also, if there are more than two other players to the flop with me and I miss the flop, I just don't c-bet.  There are so many better places to put that $25-$50 to use, usually in value-betting or stealing an orphan pot.
• Use more squeeze plays—This play has gotten a lot more lucrative recently, in part because of the trend by many players to limp-reraise with Aces and Kings in early position.  It's usually fairly easy to get a table trained to consider $12 a standard preflop raise, and to get 3-5 callers of a $12 raise.  Then, a healthy raise to $50-$60 usually can steal a nice pot without a flop.  I like to have a good hand the first time I make this move, so I can roll over something like AA-JJ, just to reinforce that I'm doing that trendy limp-reraise move.  Then, every now and again I'm able to make that exact play with literally any two cards.  I've found this to be a much lower risk-higher success rate play than c-betting on the flop, for roughly the same return on investment.
• Observing the "big pot-big hand" rule—Frankly, this might have been my biggest leak earlier this year.  It's easy to get caught up in an aggro war where second pair might be good enough to win a $300 pot.  But over time, it can be expensive betting and calling light.  So, generally speaking, if it looks like a big pot is brewing, I get the heck out of Dodge unless I have a real hand.  I may let the occasional nice pot slip out of my hands by folding, but this adjustment has been a definite profit saver.

Also, as I've logged more hours recently, I feel my reads are dialed back in, which has helped me with the rare tough decision.  But poker is much easier when I'm not putting myself in the spot of making a lot of tough decisions.  Of course, it doesn't hurt to also run well!

Speaking of running well, I didn't have any crAAKKer hands, but I did have one statistical variance box (SVB) hand.  I was on the button and it limped to me, so I raised to $12 with 88.  I got four callers, and we saw a flop of Q-5-5 rainbow.  Checks to the guy on my right, who bets $15.  Now, the guy in the 10 seat—the big blind this hand—was very tight and had folded to my raise.  But he was also a Chatty Kathy, and couldn't resist talking to his buddy in the 9 seat, even during hands.  As the flop hit, I saw him lean over and whisper to his buddy and shake his head, so I was pretty sure he had folded a 5.  I also didn't put the bettor on a 5, as he was a trappy player.  So I called, figuring he had a pocket pair or a queen, and I might be able to take the pot away on the turn.  But we got one other caller as well, so I figured he likely had a queen, and I would need to catch an 8 or bluff an Ace or King.  The turn came another 5!  Chatty Kathy positively radiated that he had folded the case 5, so I was pretty sure I was up against assorted queens and pocket pairs in my two opponents.  Same guy bet $15 again, and again we both called.  River was an 8!  Donkey Kong!  Same guy bets $15, I raise to $65, both guys call, both guys show 5s full of Queens, both guys mutter in disgust as I torpedo their U-boats.

Like wine, sometimes a hand needs to mature.

Poker Intuition—Going With Your Gut

How often are you at the poker table when you get a "gut feeling" that a player either has a monster hand or is bluffing?  Maybe you're in the hand, maybe you're just watching, but somehow, you just know that player's hand.  And, how many times have you started thinking more about the situation, and analyzed the hand until you convince yourself that your gut feeling is wrong?

Turns out, there's a scientifically valid reason to go with your gut instinct—the psychological concept of meta-cognition.  Meta-cognition is described as "thinking about thinking" or "feeling about knowing".  Meta-cognition is a self-awareness that you know a fact, without actually recalling that particular fact.

Meta-cognition is in the news this week because of an IBM computer named "Watson".  Watson is a project to develop artificial intelligence algorithms by training a computer to compete at the game show Jeopardy.  Watson essentially runs thousands of different kinds of searches on a vast array of textual data in its memory, attempting to draw necessary connections between different concepts to arrive at a correct answer to a trivia question.  The interesting thing about the Watson project is that Jeopardy questions often involve complex wordplay that is easy for a human brain to decode, but difficult for a binary computer processor to analyze.  Watson has had spectacular successes and equally spectacular failures, but it seems to be ready for its upcoming showdown in a real Jeopardy match.

So what does Watson have to do with poker?  An interesting finding from the Watson research is that human players have one inherent advantage over a computer—the ability to buzz in to answer the question without knowing the answer (or having the answer at immediate recall).  Instead, human players merely "know that they know" the answer and buzz in, trusting this gut feeling, and relying on their ability to actively remember the relevant fact within the time allotted.  Most of the time—in fact, an overwhelming amount of the time—the gut feeling is vindicated and the data is recalled correctly.

Jonah Lehrer at The Frontal Cortex delves into the meta-cognition phenomenon:

These feelings of knowing illustrate the power of our emotions.  The first thing to note is that these feelings are often extremely accurate.  The Columbia University psychologist Janet Metcalfe, for instance, has demonstrated that when it comes to trivia questions, our feelings of knowing predict our actual knowledge.  Think, for a moment, about how impressive this is:  the metacognitive brain is able to almost instantly make an assessment about all the facts, errata and detritus stuffed into the cortex.  The end result is an epistemic intuition, which tells us whether or not we should press the buzzer.

The second important feature of these feelings of knowing is their speed.  As Thompson makes clear, it's the speed of these inexplicable hunches that allow the human contestants to defeat Watson.  Although our meaty computer only requires 12 watts of electricity—we are a damn efficient information processing device—we're still able to react before the supercomputer, which requires a massive air-conditioner to cool itself down.  In the human brain, these primal emotions have been bootstrapped to self-awareness, so that many of our feelings are short, speedy summaries of our own vast hard drive.  They are what urge us to raise our hand, or keep on trying to remember a name, or press the buzzer.

In other words, what we often refer to as "gut feelings" are actually our brain's signal that we in fact know the answer to the problem confronting us.  We may not be able to articulate the precise answer without further thought and reflection, but we nonetheless do know the correct answer.  In poker, based on our experience and knowledge of the game and players, our gut can often tell us our opponent is strong or weak, without our being able to explain that conclusion in analytical detail.  With some thought, however, we can probably point to factors that led us to that conclusion—the bet size, the board texture, the action on prior streets, how the player is acting, etc.  So next time your gut tries to tell you something, make sure you listen.

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For those of you interested in the IBM Watson project, here's an interesting video summary, including some footage of Watson in action during training rounds against former Jeopardy champions:

ET vs. Hannibal Lecter—Heads Up for Rolls!

Hannibal Lecter:  First principles, Clarice.  Simplicity.  Read Marcus Aurelius.  Of each particular thing ask:  What is it, in itself?  What is its nature?  What does he do, this man you seek?*

Clarice Starling:  He kills women.

Hannibal Lecter:  No.  That is incidental.  What is the first and principal thing he does?  What needs does he serve by killing?

Clarice Starling:  Anger, um, social acceptance, and, uh, sexual frustrations, sir ...

Hannibal Lecter:  No!  He covets.  That is his nature.  And how do we begin to covet, Clarice?  Do we seek out things to covet?  Make an effort to answer now.

Clarice Starling:  No. We just ...

Hannibal Lecter:  No. We begin by coveting what we see every day.  Don't you feel eyes moving over your body, Clarice?  And don't your eyes seek out the things you want?

—The Silence of the Lambs

I have often thought of this movie scene when confronted by one of poker's extreme playing styles—the calling station.  When confronted with an uber-calling station—an ET, if you will—the standard poker advice is:  "Never bluff a calling station."  Why not?  Well, what do calling stations do?  They call.  Clearly, an opponent calling is a poor result if you are bluffing.

Although this is sound advice, the tactical analysis is misplaced on the proper response to calling stations, without focusing on the reason calling stations call.  Calling is regarded as an independently meaningful action, a product of rational thought, when it is actually a mere reaction, a manifestation of a player's underlying psychological state.  A calling station isn't calling because it is a logically sound play.  Instead, a calling station calls because something in his nature makes him call excessively, to his detriment.

But why should we care why an opponent is a calling station?  Because knowing the underlying reason for excessive calling can help us tweak our tactics at the table to maximize our value from these players.  Consider these different psychological types of typical calling stations:

• Donkey Calling Station—The classic calling station, this is the player who calls because he has an irrational fear of folding a winning hand.  The Donkey calls preflop with marginal cards, because if he folds and the flop would have hit him with two pair, trips, a straight, or some other monster hand, he feels he has made an error.  Postflop, the Donkey calls with any draw or pair, because he fears if he folds, his hand will improve to a monster.  On the river, the Donkey calls because he is afraid of being bluffed.  Being bluffed means you were hoodwinked, and the Donkey fears looking like a fool; losing a pot is not just losing money, it's losing face.  A Donkey calls out of fear. 

"Oh well, maybe he's bluffing again." 

• Scrooge Calling Station—This is a slightly different kind of donkey, usually a decent to good player who has allowed catching a string of bad hands or being slapped around by a table bully to alter his natural style of play.  The Scrooge calls preflop with a wide range of hands, because he has seen his premium hands lose to "junk", and he is desperately trying to connect with flops to get some momentum rolling; surely this is the hand that turns it all around and gets his money back.  Postflop, when the Scrooge connects with the board at all, the Scrooge eschews betting and raising because he is afraid of building a big pot he will only lose, or because he is afraid he will get raised back and be forced to lay down his hand and give up his investment.  The Scrooge also calls much more loosely than he usually would, because he is looking for a reason, any reason, why he might win the pot just this one time—just this once, his opponent won't have pocket Aces, an overcard won't flop, he'll catch his draw, or his middle pair will pick off a bluff.  The Scrooge is calling solely because of the money; he can't lose every hand, can he?  A Scrooge calls out of greed.

"Call big or call home!"

• Hero Calling Station—This player should be regarded as a particularly aggressive caller.  Although that concept may be a bit counterintuitive, the Hero is not calling out of fear of being bluffed, but because he enjoys picking off bluffs.  Preflop, the Hero calls with a wide range because he expects to outplay you postflop, rather than beating you with a better hand.  Postflop, the Hero is not a player who upon occasion analyzes a hand and concludes he is most likely up against a bluff.  Rather, the Hero is a player who actively seeks opportunities to strut his stuff like a poker peacock, calling big bets with bottom pair or King-high just to show off his superior poker hand-reading ability.  The Hero loves to "put players on a hand" he can beat—Ace-King, busted draws, "air"—and will often go to extraordinary lengths to rationalize making a spectacularly thin call.  A Hero calls out of hubris.

Captain Hero makes the call.

Each kind of calling station requires a slightly different response.  Preflop, if you are playing a relatively tight style with good starting hand selection, you should raise more liberally against a Donkey or a Scrooge, as both of those players are playing too many marginal hands, just hoping to connect with a flop.  There is good money to be made by building pots knowing that the Donkey or Scrooge will miss the flop and fold to a c-bet more often than not, and that even when they hit a flop, they will likely still be behind.  You should want to play big pots against calling stations willing to chase draws or call down with less than top pair.  By contrast, a Hero is not paying much attention to hand strength preflop, and building a big pot might play into a Hero's aggressive postflop style.  The key to maximizing value from a Hero is to have a good hand by the time the big bets get made on the river.  So, raise only your very best hands, and limp the rest.  There will be plenty of time to build a hand after the flop.

Popstflop, the Donkey and the Scrooge are fairly similar before the river, willing to overpay on the flop and turn to chase draws (including two pair "draws"), just in case they "get there".  By contrast, a Hero calls (or "floats") on the flop hoping their opponent is continuation betting with "air" or a weak hand, and might show weakness on a later street.  If their opponent bets the turn, the Hero calls, certain that their opponent is still weak, maybe even being a bully and trying to buy the pot.  In any event, all three kinds of calling stations will call larger than normal bets on the flop and turn.  The Donkey and the Scrooge will call up to pot-size bets because they want to get to the river and see if they make their draw or their hand is good.  The Hero calls because he is looking for weakness, and an overbet of more than the pot looks weaker than a standard half to three-quarters pot sized c-bet. 

On the river, the differences between the kinds of calling stations truly become important.  The Donkey and the Scrooge are willing to pay off a moderate value bet, usually up to about half the pot, with a marginal hand.  But neither will pay off a large bet on the river, as paying off a big bet loses face for the Donkey and money for the Scrooge.  However, because the Scrooge is generally a better player and more motivated by money, he is less likely to call with a weak hand unless presented good odds, so dial back the size of the value bet more for a Scrooge than for a typical Donkey.  By contrast, in the case of a Hero, it pays to overbet for value on the river, as the Hero is more likely to smell a bluff, is actively seeking out a bluff, and will seek the bigger psychological thrill from picking off what looks like a big bluff. 

Looking at it in terms of postflop betting patterns, the different styles might look like this in terms of percentages of the pot:

• Donkey:  Big-big-medium (75-100% / 75% / 50-65%)
• Scrooge:  Big-big-small (75-100% / 75% / 25-30%)
• Hero:  Big-bigger-huge (75-125% / 100-125% / 75-150%)

One other major difference between a Donkey and a Scrooge is how they react to winning.  A Donkey will continue to be a calling station regardless of results, as his calling is driven by a fear of being shown up, of being wrong.  A Scrooge who wins a few pots, however, is highly likely to revert back to his "normal" playing style, whatever that might be.  After all, once he's won a few pots, the monetary incentive for irrational calling is alleviated.  So, with a Scrooge, be careful how you handle him once he has money; you'll likely find he's "switched gears".  The Hero, of course, will continue to find opportunities to show off for the crowd no matter how many times he is wrong, so long as he occasionally gets to preen after a successful call of a bluff (hopefully someone else's!).

Calling stations are the most lucrative type of opponent over time.  Extracting maximum value from the ETs you encounter is a major key to profitable poker.  Doing so is certainly easier than dealing with maniacs!

ET tries to cure Isildur1's bankroll "Ouch".

After that donkey sucked out on the river, I ate his

liver with some fava beans and a nice vodka-Red Bull.

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* Lecter was apparently referencing this quotation from the Stoic philosopher:

This thing, what is it in itself, in its own constitution? What is its substance and material? And what its causal nature [or form]? And what is it doing in the world? And how long does it subsist?

—The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius (translated by George Long)

Poker Judo at the Meadows

"We know you can fight fire with fire, but what is wrong with fighting it with water sometimes?"

—Bob Ciaffone at CardPlayer.com (hat tip to Poker Grump)

Judo is a martial art form based on the concept of using an opponent's aggression and momentum against him.  A classic example is where an attacker charges at an opponent and, rather than striking out at the attacker, the opponent steps aside and trips or throws the attacker to the ground, using the attacker's momentum to aid in the throw.

Judo can be loosely translated into English as "the way of gentleness".  Poker strategists have hammered home the exact opposite strategy—aggressive poker is winning poker.  In fact, the two profitable styles of poker—tight-aggressive (TAG) and loose-aggressive (LAG)—each directly state that aggression is a key component of the underlying strategy.  But, there can be such a thing as excessive aggression, even in poker.  Sometimes, a gentle approach is the most profitable.

Last night, I played a short session at the Meadows ATM.  After donking at 3/6 LHE for 30 minutes, I finally got a seat at one of the two 1/2 NLHE games; let's just say limit is not my best game.  In any event, I quickly discovered that there was a three-way cock-measuring battle going on at the NL game, with three aggro guys trying push people—mostly each other—around.  At least one of these guys raised nearly every hand, and most of these raises were called by at least one of the other aggros.  Check-raises, pushing with draws, floating to steal, position raises, these guys were doing it all, but doing it with pretty average stacks of $150-$250, as the rest of the table played nitty and took chunks of the aggro-stacks when they hit the rare monster hand.  These guys also made it pretty clear this was all about machismo, with lots of table chatter about why they made plays, why their plays were great, and why their opponents were idiots.  I found the whole situation amusing and potentially profitable.

In my experience, the macho LAG player might run over passive opponents, but his excessive aggression offers an opportunity for a trap play for his stack, or at least a large chunk of it.  Two big hands from my session illustrate this point.  In the first hand, I limp in middle position with 97s, a classic trapping hand.  Uber-aggro makes a standard button raise to $12, the other two aggros call, and I call to close the action.  The flop is K-9-3 rainbow.  Interestingly, it checks around.  The uber-aggro passing on a c-bet here likely means he hit the king and wants to get tricky.  The turn is a 7—Donkey Kong!  Checks to me, and I throw out a weak looking half pot bet.  I want it to look like I'm just taking a stab at the pot, in case one of the aggros wants to try to bluff me off the hand.  Sure enough, aggro on the button insta-raises to $60, folds to me, and I call, wanting to look weak and not scare off my prey.  River is a deuce.  I know aggro can't help but bet a king here, nor can he help trying to bluff if he has nada.  I normally value bet this river, but here, I check.  Uber-aggro obliges me by betting about half the pot, which is roughly a third of his remaining stack.  I raise all-in, uber-aggro calls, and proceeds to whine about how his top pair got run down (though he never showed his hand).

Aggro guy goes to the ATM, returns with $300.  He is clearly on tilt, and spews off a little over $100 in the first orbit, getting resistance to all of his plays.  In early position, I find pocket 9s and limp, looking to play for set value, or possibly a preflop squeeze play.  Aggro guy again raises in late position, gets called by the two fellow aggros and another player, so I call as well.  This is not a bad spot for a squeeze play, but even aggros get hands, my call closes the action, and the implied odds from a set are huge, so I opt for the conservative play.  The flop comes out K-K-4 with two spades.  Checks to me, and I decide this is not a bad board to bet at, so I fire out for $45 into the $60 pot.  Aggro insta-pushes for ~$200 total.  Folds back to me.

Now, this is a pretty polarizing bet.  Aggro is representing a king, which would leave me drawing to two outs at best.  But, if he has a king, why push here?  If he flat calls, he may get more action from the aggro players behind, and one of them may even make a move.  Pushing feels like he wants the field to fold, though he may also be afraid of flush draws.  But, why not make it $100 straight, with $100 to push on the turn, if he wants to fold the draws?  If he has a king, how can he expect to get called by a weaker hand?  His play really felt a lot like a nut flush draw.  I finally called, and the board ran out 3-9 (both red)—Yahtzee!  Aggro guy asks, "Miss your flush?"  I just sat there and waited for him to show.  He again asked if I had missed the flush.  Although the 20 questions routine is a pet peeve of mine, given the strength of my hand, I said, "I hit the river, but I'm pretty sure I didn't need to."  I rolled my boat, and aggro came unglued.  He started muttering about "getting two outed again", but he didn't show his cards.  Aggro continued to fume about having his trip kings run down until he left to hit the ATM again.  I'm almost positive aggro had a flush draw, not that it really matters.  Aggro managed to tilt off another two min-buys before calling it a night.

So, two hands against an uber-aggro player, two feltings.  Just a routine double-ippon for a red-belt poker judo player!

ADDENDUM (20 JUNE 2010):  Somehow in the editing and posting process, I lost a reference to Poker Grump's excellent take on taking on table bullies.  His words of wisdom (and some from Mike Caro) are worth a read.

Poker Leaks—Psychological Anchoring

“It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data.”

—Arthur Conan Doyle, Sr. (creator of Sherlock Holmes)

It is common in poker for a player to to make a river call with nothing more than a small pair, when to the rest of the table it seems obvious the bettor has a monster hand.  Often, the caller will shake his head and wistfully say, "I put you on Ace-King," or "I thought you had a busted flush draw".  Make this mistake a few times in a session, and those loose calls can be the difference between a profitable session and trekking to the ATM for a rebuy.

Assuming a player is not a degenerate calling station, what leads to this leak?  The mistake often begins early in the hand, when we put a player on a narrow range of hands.  Then we compound the leak by sticking with that initial read, even in the face of contrary evidence.  For example, we have a tight image and raise in early position with Kings.  Our LAG opponent calls on the button, and we figure he has a pair or a big ace.  The flop is good for us, say 8-6-3 with two to a suit.  We bet the pot, our opponent thinks and calls.  We figure our opponent would raise with a set or an overpair, so we put him on a big flush draw with overcards.  Turn is another 3. Good card for us, as it doesn't complete a draw, and counterfeits our opponent in the unlikely event he had 86s.  We bet, he min-raises, and we call, figuring our opponent was making a stab at stealing on a junky board.  River is an offsuit deuce.  We figure we have to be good here, so we put out a value bet, and our opponent moves all-in for roughly the pot!  Hmmm, now what?  We can beat overpairs, the unlikely two pairs, and busted draws.  About all we can't beat is a flopped set (that improved to a boat or quads), and if he has that, well gawd bless him and pay him off.  We call, and our opponent shows ... Ace-trey suited for trip 3s!?!?

What went wrong?  We made two crucial errors.  First, although we know our opponent is loose preflop, we still assumed he would have a certain range of hands because he should respect our preflop raise.  But our opponents don't always play the way we think they should play.  Second, we made a big mistake in not crediting our opponent's line as showing a strong hand.  Our line (preflop raise, big bet flop, bet-call turn, value bet river) looks like a big overpair.  Our opponent's line (call, call, min-raise, raise all-in) screams strength by the river.  If we are honest with ourselves, that line is so strong, our hand truthfully is no better than a bluff-catcher.  But, we failed to adjust our thinking when we gained additional evidence as the hand developed.  Instead, we figured our Kings were good preflop, and we wanted to find a hand we could still beat on the river so we didn't have to fold the river and give up the pot.

What got me thinking about this "thin hero call" leak was a recent blog post by Jonah Lehrer at The Frontal Cortex, part of ScienceBlogs.com (a must-follow for science geeks).  Lehrer discussed a concept called "psychological anchoring" in which we are reluctant to give up our initial assumptions and conclusions, even in the face of new, different, and even contradictory evidence:

I think we simply need to be more aware that our initial beliefs about a [situation]—those opinions that are most shrouded in ignorance and uncertainty— will exert an irrational influence on our subsequent actions, even after we have more (and more reliable) information. The end result is a kind of epistemic stubbornness, in which we're irrationally anchored to an outmoded assumption.
….

The only way to avoid anchoring is to know about it. We need to be more aware that anchoring is a fundamental flaw of human decision making, and that our first reaction to an event will continue to shape our ensuing thoughts, even after that reaction is no longer relevant or valid. Our old beliefs might be wrong, but their influence lingers on, an intellectual anchor holding us back.

Although Lehrer's post examined psychological anchoring in the context of our reactions to crises, I think the concept has application to other situations where decision-making requires ongoing analysis and adjustment to new data.  In the context of poker, we gain information with every action or lack of action at every point in a hand, and from every hand or event in a session.  Although we must, of necessity, begin each hand with a certain "default" set of assumptions, we must be ready to reevaluate, adjust, and even jettison those assumptions in the face of new evidence.  Analytical stubbornness or laziness can become an anchor dragging down our profits.

Physics & Poker—Lesson 2: Black Holes

One of the more fascinating modern scientific discoveries is the existence of black holes.  Black holes are superdense objects created from the gravitational collapse of sufficiently large stars (at least three times the mass of our sun).  Essentially, at some point, the star's fusion process runs out of the fuel necessary to maintain the thermal energy required to resist the gravitational force of its remaining mass.  The star then collapses back in on itself into a core known as a gravitational singularity, where the mass of the star essentially becomes infinitely dense.  Around the singularity is an event horizon, which marks the point where any particle or wave is unable to escape the gravitational field of the black hole.  Thus, the black hole is "black" because no light (including any form of electromagnetic radiation) can escape from inside the event horizon.

A significant implication is that it is impossible to ever directly observe a black hole from outside the event horizon.*  That's right, you will never see a black hole.  So, how does one observe a black hole?  Thankfully, due to the nature of black holes, scientists have developed several effective methods of observing black holes indirectly, essentially deducing their presence and properties by the black hole's effect on other, observable phenomena.  Some of these techniques include:

• Gravitational lensing—Strong gravitational fields will cause light (including all electromagnetic radiation) to curve as it passes by a massive object.  In a way, the light trapped within a black hole's event horizon is simply light whose path has been curved by gravity to such an extreme that it bends completely back around on itself inside the event horizon.  Light passing a great distance from the black hole will be unaffected.  But light passing near the black hole will indeed take a curved path, and this curving can be detected by observing objects (such as stars or galaxies) that are out of their expected positions or by noticing multiple images of one object (known as a gravitational mirage).
• Accretion discs—Black holes will attract gas particles, which will then form a disc spiraling into the black hole which can be observed directly.  Although many cosmic bodies can create an accretion disc, the presence of an accretion disc with no observable center object is indicative of a black hole.
• X-rays—As gas is drawn into the black hole from the accretion disc, it will superheat, releasing energy, in particular X-rays, which can be detected.  In fact, this is one of the most energy-efficient processes ever observed, transforming up to 40% of the matter to energy.  This process occurs just outside the event horizon, enabling the x-rays to escape the black hole's gravitational field.  In many cases, the x-rays will be released from electromagnetic poles perpendicular to the accretion disc via relativistic jets (often shown on diagrams of black holes, such as those below).
• Black hole binary star systems—In some binary star systems (where two stars orbit around a common point), one of the stars is a black hole which cannot be seen, but its gravitational effect on the companion star can be detected.  A famous example is Cygnus X-1.
• Gamma ray bursts—These are short bursts of high energy radiation which occur when a large star collapses into a black hole after a supernova, or when two black holes or a black hole and a star collide to form a bigger black hole.
• Quasars—Quasars are supermassive black holes at the centers of young galaxies that emit a high volume of x-rays from a large accretion disk.
• Gravitational waves—Fluctuations or distortions in space-time are caused by the movements of certain massive objects, including black holes, and those distortions then ripple out from the object.  Although the techniques are still experimental, scientists hope to eventually detect black holes by detecting gravitational waves.

So, what do black holes have to do with poker?  Well, other than the obvious analogy that poker seems to suck all of the interpersonal skills and human decency out of the souls of some players ...

Black holes came to mind during my last live poker session because of the concept of indirect detection.  I sat down at a 2/5 NLHE table, and there were a few regulars as well as a few players I did not know (which is rather unusual for the Meadows ATM).  Two of the regulars are players whose games I respect.  One is rather loose preflop, the other is rather tight, but both players are solid postflop players, aggressive when possible, cautious when necessary, but rarely putting chips into the pot without a good reason.  Early on, I was fairly card dead, so I wasn't playing a lot of hands.  However, by watching the two players I did know, I got a feel for the table.  Two of the newbies could be bullied.  One was a calling station.  Most importantly, there was one newbie with a bigger stack who was given respect by the players I knew.  When this newbie played a hand, the regulars showed respect to his bets and raises, and never made moves on him.  Clearly, then, two players who I respected felt that this newbie was a solid player and stayed out of his way. 

So, about an hour into the session, I found AQ on the button.  Limped to me, I made a standard raise, solid new guy was the only caller in early position.  Flop was A-K-Q rainbow.  Yahtzee!  New guy checked, I bet 1/2 pot, new guy check-raised for 3x my bet, his standard raise.  Now, there are some players who check-raise that flop with any two cards, hoping I have a pocket pair under the board.  But given that the regulars respected him, I was worried about the check-raise.  A hand that limp-called preflop out of position, then check-raised the flop could easily be something like AK or QQ, possibly JTs.  There weren't many hands a tight player would play that way that I could beat.  I finally laid it down, deciding there were softer spots at the table.  Though I rarely do it, I mucked face up, and the newbie smiled and obligingly showed AK.

So, even if you don't have personal history with a player, you can still get a read on him from observing how he interacts with other players, and how other players react to him.  Also, a cool way to deal with table d-bags is to throw them into a black hole.

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* It's also pragmatically impossible to observe a black hole from inside the event horizon, even setting aside the impossibility of ever sending a signal from inside the event horizon to anyone outside the event horizon to describe any observations that might be made.  As an observer crossed the event horizon, he would be destroyed as gravitational tidal forces caused spaghettification—essentially, if falling feet first, his feet would be accelerate faster than his head due to stronger gravitational forces, causing his body to be stretched and eventually ripped apart.  However, all the observer's matter would eventually join the singularity, which would be a rather cool way to go, if you ever get to pick the way you go.

Physics & Poker—Lesson 1: Special Relativity

I've always been a big science geek, even though my career took me in other directions.  My all-time favorite test question from every course I took in college and law school was this gem from my honors physics course:

You are driving down a highway and see a stoplight in the distance, with a police car stopped on the side of the road.  The light is green, so you keep driving.  Suddenly, you see the police car in your rearview mirror, lights flashing.  You pull over and get a ticket for running a red light!  Now, assuming you and the police officer are both telling the truth about what happened, do you have a defense to the ticket for running a red stoplight?  If so, why should you probably not use that defense in court?

Now, the answer is fairly straightforward if you've been studying special relativity for a few weeks.  The question is simply a dressed-up inquiry regarding the different frames of reference for the car driver and the police officer, as expressed in terms of a redshift / blueshift of the color of the stoplight.  The police officer is stationary relative to the light, while the car driver is approaching the light and thus experiences a blueshift—the light from the stoplight appears more compressed to the car driver, so the light shifts to a higher frequency (the more common redshift is the opposite effect—as a light source moves away, it will shift to a lower frequency).  If the car driver is driving toward the stoplight at a fast enough speed, the color of the stoplight will shift from red to green.  So yes, it's entirely possible that both the car driver and the police officer can tell the truth about whether they viewed the stoplight as green or red.  The only problem for the car driver is that he would have needed to be driving at something approaching 2/3 to 3/4 the speed of light (relative to the police officer) for that magnitude of blueshift to have occurred—which would mean getting one heck of a speeding ticket just to prove one hadn't run a red stoplight.

The arms of a spiral galaxy exhibit redshifts and blueshifts

as the galaxy rotates relative to an observer on Earth.

So what do special relativity and redshifts / blueshifts have to do with poker?  I was reminded of the importance of recognizing different frames of references in what turned into a big hand Friday night.  I was in the cutoff with Ts9s, and a fairly tight player in early position raised to $12, pretty standard for the table.  There were a couple of callers to me, so I called as well.  The flop was T-8-3 with two hearts.  The original bettor made a half pot bet, it folded to me, and I called.  Now, I often raise with top pair in these situations, but I wasn't sure where I stood and I wanted to keep the pot small and reevaluate as we went along.  The turn was an offsuit 6, giving me a gutshot straight draw as backup, but I still wasn't too excited about the hand, so I flat-called another 1/2 pot bet, and began to wonder if I could even make a crying call on the river.  The river, however, saved me, putting out a non-heart 9 for top two pair.  My opponent led out again for the same bet as his turn bet, looking like a value bet.  I raised enough to put my opponent all-in.  It wasn't a lot more, and I was fairly confident I was ahead, not to mention I had pretty well committed myself to this raise for value by how I played the hand.  My opponent thought a bit, then called and showed KK.  He seemed genuinely shocked to see my hand, saying several times, "I thought you had a busted flush draw."

So what does this hand have to do with special relativity?  Well, the common connection is the concept of "frames of reference".  Things that appear one way for you may not appear the same way for another player.  I was playing small ball with top pair-weak kicker, and value raised the river when I caught top two pair.  My hand, T9s, seemed fairly obvious to me, but I figured an overpair would still make a crying call.  I certainly didn't think my opponent would be all that shocked to see T9s given the way the hand played out.  To my opponent, however, my line of calling the flop and turn, then raising the river, looked exactly like how he would have played a busted flush draw in late position.  Also, my opponent would never have flat-called with top pair on the flop or the turn.  So, from his frame of reference, my hand was almost certainly a draw, and the only credible draw was the flush draw, which didn't hit.

A lot of poker commentators have talked about a concept related to frames of reference—"levels of thinking".*  Here, my opponent seemed stuck on Level 2—"What does my opponent have?"—and made the determination I had a flush draw based on how he would play certain hands in my position.  What my opponent forgot—and what we all tend to forget—is that other players may play hands differently than we do, or differently than the "standard line".  In fact, I would argue that assuming another player shares our frame of reference at the poker table—i.e., plays hands the same way, has the same level of poker knowledge, has the same regard/disregard for money, or is playing for the same reasons—is one of the biggest errors a serious player can commit.

So, when trying to interpret an opponent's play at the poker table, the relevant question is never "How would I play my opponent's hand?" or "What would Jesus Ferguson do?" (WWJFD).  Instead, the correct question is "How would this player play this hand?"  Sometimes, the answer may surprise you.

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* Short-Stacked Shamus penned a classic discussion of "Level Zero" poker thinking.

The Absurdity of Poker

The gods had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence the stone would fall back of its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor.

—Albert Camus, "The Myth of Sisyphus"

Once upon a time, I was a philosophy major, spending my days thinking deep thoughts (my nights were mostly spent drinking beer with friends at the recently closed West End Lounge, thinking less than deep thoughts).  Strangely, when I read my friend Poker Grump's post today, one of those deeply buried philosophy neurons fired across a synapse that escaped those college Jagermeister shots:

Last night I played there [Excalibur]--for the first time in six months--for 5 1/2 hours. The best hand I made was two pair. No trips, no straights, no flushes, no full houses. I had two pair twice, never even top two, winning with it once, losing to a straight the other time. As for starting hands, the only big pair I ever had was K-K, and of course that lost to A-Q when an ace flopped.

I don't even know how one might begin to calculate the odds of that sort of run of near-nothingness, but it seems astronomically improbable.

There's really no way to describe to a non-poker player the feeling of incredible frustration that can build up when you are folding junk hand after junk hand, and when you do get a hand, you either miss the flop or you flop a draw that doesn't get there.  There's a reason poker players refer to "grinding" when talking about long poker sessions, and why they talk about being "card dead" when faced with Poker Grump's situation.

I recently did some random calculating when I was in a card dead slump of my own.  Let's say I average five eight-hour sessions per month (40 hours/month, or 480 hours/year), and four Vegas trips where I average fifty hours per trip (200 hours/year).  Just to be safe, let's round it up to 750 hours a year spent playing poker.  Now, let's assume I see an average of 30-35 hands per hour, which means I probably see roughly 24,000 hands of poker every year, or 2,000 hands per month. So, using the odds for hitting various poker hands, I should expect to see roughly the following hands during the course of a "typical" month:

• Pocket Aces:  9 times, and one set of aces.
• Pocket Kings:  9 times, and an ace will flop 2 of those times
• Pocket Yaks:  9 times, and an overcard will flop 5 of those times (and Yaks will lose every time)
• Pocket pairs: 118
• Flopped sets or better (assuming all pocket pairs see the flop): 14
• Sooooted cards:  480 times
• Playable sooooted cards:  160 times (estimated; your mileage may vary)
• Flopped flushes:  4
• Flopped flush draws:  17
• Made flushes:  10

The numbers don't lie—poker is going to be a Sisyphean task most sessions.  So why bother playing?  Why go through the tedium, not to mention the agony when your rare good hands lose?  To me, poker is is rewarding precisely because it is a struggle—a struggle to improve your skills, a struggle to beat good opponents, a struggle against your own emotions and doubts, and yes, sometimes, a struggle against Fate itself.  Sitting down at a poker table, winning hand after hand, session after session, might be every poker player's dream, but in reality no player would ever enjoy the game of poker if it were so easy.  Card death, missed flops, bad beats, and suckouts are certainly agonizing, but they make the hot streaks, well-timed bluffs, hero calls, and monster pots all the sweeter.  To enjoy poker, one must suffer.

All Sisyphus' silent joy is contained therein. His fate belongs to him. His rock is his thing.

—Albert Camus, "The Myth of Sisyphus"

For better or worse, poker is my thing.  Because I love the game, I must learn to love the boredom and the painful losses that are part of the game.  Of course, I don't wish too much poker suffering for myself or my poker friends!  As for Poker Grump, when he finally breaks out of this card death slump, I hope he takes the opportunity to rebrand himself as "Poker Zombie" ("Poker Jesus" probably risks a trademark lawsuit or a playing card thrown through the carotid artery).

Striking Gold at Treasure Island

Last week, I was in Vegas for Spring Break; well, I was in Vegas because the spousal unit was on Spring Break (he’s a teacher), and he and a couple of his friends decided to do Vegas this year. I could get them a room at Aria for $109/night, but I had to be present at check-in. So, my role was limited strictly to checking in and paying for the room. Otherwise, I was on my own to play poker while the crew (“Jack”, “Karen”, and “Will”) roamed the Strip in search of adult beverages and childish pranks.

Friday was our last night in Vegas, and I had been running poorly at Aria. Jack suggested I play at Treasure Island (excuse me, "TI"), since I usually have run well there. Although I rarely listen to Jack’s thoughts on poker, I was already at Mirage (we had all met for dinner at BLT) and TI is one of my favorite small rooms, so I trammed it over to TI. Well, I wanted to tram it, but a family decided to take group photos on the sidewalk out front of Mirage as the tram was loading, blocking me from the tram just long enough I could have risked severed limbs by attempting to squeeze on board. People blocking sidewalks or aisles to take photos may need to go on the taserlist; it’s under consideration. Anyway, too lazy to wait for a tram, I hoofed it down the Strip to TI (and frankly, I needed the exercise).

I must have arrived a little after 9:00 pm, as the 7:00 pm tourney was winding down to the final table, and the 10:00 pm tourney was starting to get some entrants. There was only one 1/3 NLHE table going, but there was a lot of money in play, so I waited 15-20 minutes until a seat opened up. Unfortunately, this table was not a typical TI fish fry. The two gents to my immediate right were very tight-aggressive, and clearly rather formidable opponents (I later learned they were AVPer SoCalMike and his friend John). There were a couple of tight-passive tourist types, and a couple more maniac-style regulars at the opposite end of the table. Early on I stacked off to SoCalMike with A8s, when he flopped a set of 9s, I turned Aces up, and the river 8 filled us both up, letting me drive my dinghy into his destroyer. But I recovered quickly, doubling up a buy-in through John when my AsKs turned a flush to crack John’s AA. I also won a couple of decent pots from one of the LAG regulars with good reads, and a refusal to be bullied (well, he considered me a calling station—tomAEto, tomAHto—I got the cash).

About an hour and a half into my session, there were enough tourney bustouts to start a new 1/3 NLHE table. Surveying the table, it was more to my liking, with several obvious drunks, tourists, and generally weaker looking players. It’s kind of a strange skill, but recently I’ve found my ability to sniff out weaker opponents is getting much better. Probably the result of years of playing experience letting my subconscious pick up on little tells in how players handle themselves, plus noticing how drunk they are. Anyway, I requested a table change, but was told the new game was a must-move game for at least one hour. Strangely, though, they let our game drop to 6-handed without moving any players over.

Eventually, after opening another new 1/3 NLHE table, the manager asked me if I wanted the table change. I gladly took it, since there is no reason in Vegas to sit in a tough game, no matter how well you are playing. Boy am I glad I moved! One table drunk was insistent on trying to bully everyone. I picked up a few timely hands and picked off several bad bluffs for at least $600 in profit. I also won several pots with well-timed bluffs of my own, mostly from betting the turn after everyone checked the flop. Basic play, I know, but at a passive table, no need to get fancy.

The other big pot I won illustrates an interesting betting pattern tell that can be exploited in certain players—the flop overbet. Most typical flop bets are 1/2 to 3/4 of the pot, particularly when the pot was raised preflop. Certain players will overbet the flop when they have a good hand, but the flop worries them. Often this means they have a pocket pair, but are worried by an overcard on the board, or a flush draw. In this hand, a decent young player (DYP) raised preflop in early position to $15, standard for the table. DYP’s raise most likely meant a pocket pair AA-88, or a big Ace; he didn’t seem the type to raise in early position with more speculative holdings. I called in late position with AhTh, as did one of the blinds. Flop was Ac8c4h. DYP led out for $50, which was just over a full pot-size bet. I read this as either: a) being a big pocket pair KK-JJ trying to represent the Ace and find out if either of us had an Ace, too, or b) a big Ace scared of the flush draw. Although I’m almost certainly outkicked if DYP has the Ace, I’m not yet convinced he does, and I may be able to represent the flush and bluff if a club hits, or even hit Aces up by catching my kicker. Plus, he had nearly $300 behind at the start of the hand, so this was potentially a big pot. So, I elected to call and reevaluate on the turn.

The turn comes another small club. DYP looks at his cards, then checks. I decide to represent the flush and bet $50. DYP thinks, then pushes all-in for ~$230 total. This puts me in a tough spot. If my read has been correct to this point, DYP might have the following hands that beat me: a) a set, most likely Aces or 8s; b) a big Ace; or c) a flush. Sets and big Aces are possible, but most cautious players probably don’t check-push the turn, particularly after I’ve represented a flush; the more common line for sets is to check-call the turn, and hope to pair the board, while a big Ace is more likely to check-call twice. A flush is possible, but with the Ac on board and DYP’s preflop raise, a flush becomes much less likely (though he could have KcQc). A hand that makes sense is a big pocket pair with a club, something like KcKx, or a big Ace with the Kc kicker, which are I-might-be-good-but-I-have-outs-if-I-need-them sorts of hands, which are nice hands for applying pressure when you aren’t sure if your opponent has a hand or is making a move.

So, I’m dead if he has a set or made flush, and drawing thin if he has AxKc/AxQc. I’m ahead of a hand like KcKx/QcQx. This is where the flop overbet comes into play. Hands like a set, nut flush draw, or top pair good kicker generally don’t overbet the flop, as they want action from weaker hands. The flop overbet is an overly aggressive move for true big hands. Instead, it is usually a sign of a weaker hand trying to look strong, like the animal defense mechanism of trying to look bigger and meaner to scare off potential predators. Now sometimes this defense mechanism is also used by a truly dangerous animal, like a cobra, or a savvy poker player mixing up his play. But for most recreational players, the overbet is a fairly reliable tell of a scared hand. Given this tell, along with the rest of the play (no tell is useful in isolation), I decided DYP most likely had KcKx/QcQx, possibly AxKc/AxQc, and I was doing fairly well against that range. I called, the river was a blank, and DYP just stared at me. I said, “All I have is the Ace.” DYP nods, and mucks. I said, “Kings with a club redraw, huh?” DYP jerks back a bit, stares at me, then nods. That hand goes into the books as Kings cracked, with an asterisk.

I finished my session moving to another table which included four friends from Orange County on a poker/drinking/sports betting weekend. Strangely, one of the guys was married to a lady from McCook, Nebraska, which was the nearest “big” town to my home town in rural southwest Nebraska. So, I fly a couple thousand miles to Vegas, only to play poker with a guy who’s been through my little hometown of 200 people. Truly a weird “only in Vegas” moment. Anyway, these guys were yucking it up, playing crazy, tilting some “serious” players, and having a blast; they would fit right in with the Ironmen. At one point, they were calling the clock on each other so much, they were banned from calling for the floor (presumably they could have called the floor for a rule issue). So, they started calling for “Grandma” when they wanted a floor. I ended up making some good money from the table, but I also had a great time.

All told, this TI session was easily my most profitable session of my trip (the always enjoyable four-rack cashout), and my most entertaining. There are several reasons I don’t play as much at TI as previously (mostly related to the ownership change), but I still enjoy the room’s dealers and managers, and the room is still a fun and profitable spot on the Strip. Oh, and where else will you find this nice lady playing at 3:00 am?

An Onside Kick for Poker

“Fortune favors the bold.”—Roman proverb

The day after another in a recent string of entertaining and memorable Super Bowls, the buzz in the sports world is all about New Orleans Saints coach Sean Payton’s “gamble” to open the second half of the game with an unusual and daring onside kick. The Saints recovered the kick, and took advantage of the resulting great field position to score a touchdown and take the lead. Although the Indianapolis Colts would answer the Saints’ score with a touchdown drive of their own, the Saints had established the momentum that would carry them to the victory.

Of course, it wasn’t just that one play that carried the day. Several other key turning points in the game included:  unsuccessfully going for the touchdown on 4th and 1 late in the first half (but pinning the Colts deep, leading to a field goal and momentum to close the first half), successfully challenging an official’s ruling on a two point conversion play (risking a crucial timeout in the process), calling blitzes against Peyton Manning (who is one of the best QBs in the NFL against pressure), and a interception by Tracy Porter who jumped a receiver’s route as the Colts were driving for the tying touchdown late in the game (if he misses the pick, the Colts likely score and tie the game). Although many commentators refer to these critical plays as “gambles”, in fact they are better regarded as calculated aggression—high risk, high reward decisions that take the initiative and force their opponent to react to them.

Aggression, of course, is widely touted as a key to success in poker. In the past, I’ve been widely regarded as an aggressive player. As one of my poker buds put it, “It’s not the $15 preflop that I mind. It’s that I know it’s going to be another $50 on the flop.” But, after a string of bad sessions last summer and fall, I have to admit I started shying away from aggression. I dialed the c-bets way back, and started running scared from raises. I still generally played a marginally profitable game by relying on getting paid off on big hands, but I knew I was leaving a ton of money on the table. The nadir came in November when I lost a big pot in a 2/5 NLHE game at the Meadows ATM, failing to c-bet with AK on a whiffed flop and check-calling a bet, turning a pair and check-calling again because the turn completed a flush, then losing to a rivered runner-runner straight. As I shook my head at the weird conclusion to the hand, an older gent whose game I respect quietly said to me, “You never gave him a chance to fold.”

That short sentence was an onside kick to my poker ego. At some level, I knew I had been playing passive, scared poker. I knew I was folding way too often, giving up on hands to avoid big losses, and in the process giving away chips $15 to $50 at a time. But, I justified it to myself by thinking of my play as "tight", "cautious", or "prudent". Over the long haul, that is a recipe for losing a lot of money. So, after that old gent's gentle critique, I made it a point to begin dialing the aggression back up. Not necessarily to a maniac level—being overly aggressive can be devastating both in poker and in football. But I definitely wanted players to fear me again when they call a preflop raise.

Being aggressive is tough and risky, but it’s the difference between being a champion and finishing in the middle of the pack. Always give your opponent a chance to fold.

Finding Gold in the Dirt

Last night, I played a session at the Meadows ATM. My first hand, I post in late position and call a small raise with Js6s. I flop a pair with a flush draw, and hit the flush to crack QQ. A couple of hands later, I play 75s, and again call a small raise. I flop a flush draw with gutshot straight draw, and turn the straight to crack KK. Establish tight image—check. I complete the first orbit when my QQ holds up against Yaks on a junky board. One orbit, three hands, and I’ve already doubled up! Sometimes I play so good.

The next few hours are pretty much a wasteland. Either I get junk cards or I whiff the flop. I take down a few small pots, and give it back one preflop raise or bad c-bet at a time. I crack KK once again when my 54o flops two pair and rivers a boat. But, I give that back when I make a tough call with TPTK holding AT on a Ten-high board, only to have the Q6s flush draw spike a Queen. Eh.

I was thinking about leaving early and locking in the double up when a regular sits down—let’s call him “JT”. JT is a known action player, has pretty good game with a style ranging from LAG to maniac, depending on the table. JT promptly starts playing nearly every hand, raising many hands, which was a big change for the table. JT also made and showed several big bluffs, which helped get him paid when he flopped big with a weird hand. JT’s pièce de résistance, however, came when he cracked a tight young player’s KK with 32s, flopping trips and turning a boat. The kid storms away in disgust, fuming, “That’s just a dirt hand! All you play is dirt!”

Hardly three hands later, the tight old regular sitting next to Dirt Boy raises to $17 preflop. I call with 64o on the button. Flop is 6-5-6. Donkey Kong! Old Grump bets the pot, I raise $50 more. Old Grump points at JT and says, “I’m glad he’s not in the hand.” Old Guy then gives the going home speech and raises to $200. I pretend to think a bit, then push all-in for his last $125. Old Grump snap calls and proudly rolls over his AA (duh! never saw that hand coming). Old Grump looks at my hand and asks the dealer, “What does he have?” The dealer says “six four” and old guy says, “He called $17 with that?” Old Grump says “good hand” dripping with sarcasm, and wanders out of the room. Dirt Boy had returned by this point, and he and a few others at his end of the table continue to murmur amongst themselves, presumably about my “stupid” play. I stack my chips—slowly—then play another orbit, before heading home with a nice profit.

So yeah, you might wonder, why am I boring y’all with another day at the poker office? After all, it’s pretty standard fare for me to crack Aces or Kings. Well, the comments by Dirt Boy and Old Grump are fairly typical of the kinds of comments I often hear after cracking Aces or Kings—“You called me with that trash?” and “You called $X preflop with that crap?” Depending on my mood, I either ignore them or make a snarky comment. But what these crAAKKer victims fail to understand are some important principles of poker that explain why they are bitchy and broke, while I’m happily stacking their chips.

First and foremost, these players place far too much emphasis on preflop hand strength. For many of these players, if they get AA/KK preflop, they feel they are entitled to win the pot, and if they lose, it is only because of some horrendous bad play by their opponent or pure bad luck. I think a lot of this mentality comes from televised and online tournament poker, where players emphasize starting hand strength due to the relatively short stacks in play forcing frequent pushes preflop. But in deep-stacked cash games, starting hand strength, while still important, fades and becomes only one of many factors to consider. As two leading poker analysts put it:

“In deep stack no limit, preflop hands derive most of their value from how well they extract money after the flop from opponents. Comparing hands based on how often they win a showdown or on their poker ‘hand rank’ is worse than worthless.”

—David Sklansky & Ed Miller, “No Limit Hold ‘Em Theory and Practice” (1st Ed., p. 124)

One of my favorite dealers at the Meadows ATM is a bit more pithy—“There are no bad hands, just bad flops.”

Now even I won’t play the extreme “any two cards” style of some maniacs, but hands like connectors and one-gappers Ten-Nine/Eight and below have some useful traits. First, assuming I can put my victim on a premium hand, my hand will almost never be dominated. Thus, I will never be faced with a tough decision, as I will know to a high degree of certainty where I stand postflop. Conversely, my victim will be in the dark as to the relative strength of my hand postflop, and he will be the one facing the tough decision—does my check-raise mean I flopped two pair or trips, or am I on a draw, or am I bluffing? Second, these hands are relatively safe, in that I can get away from them relatively easily postflop, while my victim may feel married to his AA/KK. So, my victim is at much greater risk of stacking off or losing a big pot than I am. Third, these kinds of hands often flop draws, pairs with a draw, or combo draws, giving me great semi-bluffing opportunities. Finally, showing down a few of these hands often sets up good bluffing opportunities on junky boards against other players later in the session.

The second critical error my crAAKKer victims make is to assume no rational player would call their preflop raise without a hand recognized as having a certain showdown “strength”. My victims assume that I would never make the “mistake” of calling a big preflop raise with “just” 75 suited. But, I am a logically oriented person. Why would I make a play my victims regard as irrational? Because my victims are overlooking what may be the most basic principle of poker:

“The key to no limit hold ‘em success isn’t to play perfectly. It’s to swap mistakes with your opponents. You trade small mistakes to your opponents if they will trade back big ones.”

—David Sklansky & Ed Miller, “No Limit Hold ‘Em Theory and Practice” (1st Ed., p. 178)

I don’t play speculative or “dirt” hands against just any opponent. Ideally, my victim is tight preflop, so that a raise means a fairly narrow range of “premium” hands, and a big raise means AA-JJ or AK. This is important because if I can put a player on a hand, but they can’t do the same for me, I have an advantage. Also, the victim should be a player who has trouble laying down Aces or Kings, especially heads up and on a “junky” board. Finally, the victim should be fairly deep-stacked, both to give good implied odds for when I hit (helping my risk-reward ratio), but also for those cases where he gets away with some or all of his stack intact, he may still tilt over getting his AA/KK cracked and give me a second crack at crAAKKing him.

So, when I crack someone’s AA/KK, and they rant on about how I called their $15 preflop raise with “junk”, they are absolutely correct—I did make a small mistake by calling their raise when I knew I was behind their hand. But—and this is key—they made a huge mistake stacking off for $200, $300, or more with only one pair, no matter how big that pair might be. It’s funny how my crAAKKer victims always blame me for the $15 bad preflop call, but rarely acknowledge their bad $200+ play postflop. I’m more than happy to trade those kinds of mistakes all night, or until their ATM card is maxed out.

Finally, let’s be quite clear. I play poker to make money. Cracking AA/KK with “junk” hands is merely a method for getting chips away from tight players, often in large chunks at a time. Although hilarity often ensues, the amusing story is just a fun bonus and is not the point of crAAKKing. Unless of course, my victim is someone annoying; then crAAKKing them is a matter of public service.