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While math is master in poker, psychology is its devoted handmaiden. The turning point for me first day of The World Poker Tour Championship at the Bellagio was all about bad math and good thinking. The player two seats behind me had taken two big shots at pots that weren't meant to be his. In his second play, our guy fires big bullets at an obvious flush board. Evidently the guy is some WSOP big shot, one of the youngest bracelet winners ever, and he expects people to lay down before him like the Red Sea to Moses. Unfortunately for him, the player immediately to his left reads him like the proverbial illustrated comic and calls down a nice chunk of the guy’s stack with his own king high! Well, Young Turk goes ballistic and is now on mega-tilt. He screams, "How could you call that?" Opponent blithely replies, "If tournament rules allowed it, I would have mortgaged my house to make that call, that's how sure I was you had nothing." Bingo.
Tilt city.
The very next hand I am dealt Ac9c. Though I ordinarily eschew potential drawing situations in tournaments, I limp with the hand, knowing that Young Gun will play this pot. He is steaming so badly, he would call with two tarot cards! Of course he dives into the pot with a raise. Now I believe that A9 suited is only good for the flush and marginally for a nine high rag board. In this general situation I would never stand the raise, especially in first position. So while admittedly the poker is wrong, my "gut" tells me this guy needs to lose. He mathematically should not lose in this scenario, but I know as surely as God made little apples small, as my grandmother used to say, this guy is going to lose this hand and he is going to lose it to me.
The board flops perfectly: Queen of spades and two rag clubs. Since we are heads up and I am at best a 1.86 to 1 dog on the flush and three more outs with the ace (negated by my having put him on AQ), I should, of course, be done with this hand. I have, however, determined before the deal that if I choose to be in this hand against this guy, I am in all the way to the river and down to the felt.
I check.
He bets.
Having put him on AQ, I am not surprised with his bet. Because one of the three queens I cannot see is presumably in his hand, I am aware that one of my outs has a one in three chance of being in his hand, where it most certainly will be of no help to me. So I have 8 1/3 outs with two cards to come on the flush. Horrible math heads up. So what do I do?
Call. Of course.
I am wearing my Oliver Peoples big wrap shades and take a peak over at the guy. Did he just lick his lips? Is he at this very moment thinking, "Ahh, thank the lord for amateur celebrity donkeys who will play flush draws heads up to the river."? And, of course, he would be tight except for one thing: It is not a matter of whether I think he will lose this hand; I KNOW that he is going to lose this hand. He needs to lose it, and more importantly, he wants to lose it.
Seven of diamonds on the turn.
Hmmm.
Is this the moment when amateurs realize that thinking you KNOW you are going to win a hand is instead a horrible donkey style leak and this guy has just, courtesy of your hubris, taken a pot committed whack of your stack? Well, yes and no. True, the math is no longer my friend here and has just declared combatant status against me. My gut, however, is as sure as ever.
Now I take a deep breath and think things over. Follow my brain or follow my gut? Neither. My buddy Bosko once gave me the best poker advice I have ever gotten: Always make a decision before a game or tournament or sometimes (like now) even just a particular hand and stick with it. Math and instinct are now irrelevant. You have already planned your game in this hand. DECIDE AND STAY THE COURSE.
I check.
He bets. Big.
Deep breath.
Call.
He shakes his head ever so imperceptibly and smiles. The dealer slides the river card from the deck and onto the felt.
Seven of clubs.
Now here is why I personally am a big fan of the poker gods. There was never any real doubt that I would make this flush. None. But the old runner runner sevens gave me slight pause and reminded me that while the poker gods will smile from time to time in your direction, they won't like when you think you own them. So did Young Turk just hit his full house? Nah. He couldn't have bet a set that way.
I check.
He looks at me sideways. Thinks.
Since I checked, in his mind I probably have a weaker queen - QJ, KQ, even a suited QT. If he now bets, only way I can call is if I indeed have just made the flush. What I believe he should do is just check and take the pot if I have the weaker queen. Or just check and don't get hurt anymore by my now successful flush draw (by the way, he is too good a pro to have done all this also on a flush draw, since I am holding the flush ace). So the only thing he can do here is check and most probably win the hand, because if I had the flush, I would have to have already bet. It would have been my only chance for action. I checked, however, so just check, Partner, and let's turn them over.
He bets!
Poker gods, I will mow your lawns for you, paint your cute little celestial abodes, run whatever errands poker gods may require. He has me covered substantially and I realize that he has bet one chip more than my stack. One of those guys. I have so much saliva in
my mouth I can barely get the word out.
Call!
"Show cards, please."
And he literally throws his cards in the elderly lady dealer's face. This poor, sweet lady, literally looks like she could be Oprah Winfrey's mother, gets a mouthful of AQ off-suit.
"Floor!"
Yelling. Arguments. Recriminations. Not from me, by the way. I just sit behind the shades and rake the chips.
Twenty minute penalty for Young Turk for abusing the dealer.
As he walks away, he yells over his shoulder, "Do you like those chips, Donk?"
"I do," I say. "Thank you."
I have always been most appreciative of gifts.
~ James Woods
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