I used to work in a trauma intervention program run for the benefit of emergency services responders. The program provided trauma related services following emotionally difficult events, like dealing with the aftermath of 9/11 or arriving on the scene where a child died. We often used a seven-step model that guided participants through the difficult event. The forth step was called the “reaction step.” It might have just as well been called the “feeling step” or phase, but the word “feeling” seemed to cause outsized reactions for the participants. We came to joke that the F word was actually feelings and not the usual word associated with it.
I've found that in poker feelings also seem to be an F word.
The standard thinking goes that having emotions and exhibiting feelings while we play are both a distraction and a tell: A distraction that leads us away from sound analysis and into the realm of impulsive over- or under-reaction, and a tell in that other players will read our emotion and know, for example, that we are overexcited by the cards we hold and withdraw from the hand or that we are fearful and thus know to increase the pressure and take the hand away from us.
Rather than acknowledge our feelings, we go to all sorts of lengths to hide and distract. We wear hoodies, dark shades, engage in distracting banter or try to embody the ever-cool and detached. The problem with this strategy is that when we disconnect from what we are actually feeling, we are lying to ourselves and becoming disconnected from what is really going on inside.
CLASSIC EXAMPLE
In October, I played in the preliminary event of the inaugural Poker Pro Magazine Classic at the Taj Mahal in Atlantic City. About a third of the way in I lost the first of two hands that exemplify the problem of not identifying and acknowledging feelings during the course of poker play. Four of us called the big blind, me with Q-J of spades. The flop came K-10-3 with two spades. I was last to act and bet. The small blind then reraised me for what would have been about half of my remaining chip stack. He got one caller and after thinking for a long time I decided that I did not want to risk my tournament on a draw, even a wonderful one like mine with 15 outs, so I folded.
Sure enough the 9 of spades came on the turn and I would have won a very large pot and crushed my opponent’s kings. While I had acted in a fearful way, I don't believe that my fear was actually the problem here. It was really that I detached from my fear because I didn't like the way it made me feel. If I hadn't detached, I would have been far more likely to stay calm and analyze my fear on its merits. In that case my thinking would have probably gone like this: “Yes I could be putting my tournament at risk, but the odds of winning the hand trumps this fear.”
Nevertheless, I held on to my stack and starting winning hands again. By the time a third of the field remained I was back in the hunt and had about an average size chip stack. At that point, one of the aggressive and excellent players at the table noticed that me and another man were both doing quite well and that we were “the tightest players at the table.”
The hand after he said that, I had A, Q unsuited in the hole. I was on the button and first to bet. I raised four times the big blind and the young man who had just made the comment about my play called from the small blind. The flop came up Q-J-6 with two spades, almost the mirror image of the hand that I had folded and lost earlier. This time he acted first and raised about 12,000, which was about a quarter of my remaining stack. With top pair and an ace kicker I was very strong and thought that he was trying to push me off the pot. I raised him all-in.
He called, exclaiming that unless I had trips that he was the favorite. He showed K-10 of spades. I had gotten my money in with the lead on the board, but his eighteen outs gave him the advantage. A three of hearts came on the turn, but then he got a nine on the river and I was toast. Not only had my unacknowledged fear cost me the first hand, but because I wasn't honest with myself I believe that it led to me overcompensating in this hand and as well. My opponent’s comment that I was tight also probably didn't help. Again, still reeling from my earlier play where I detached from my fear, I probably wanted to prove to him and myself that I was bold and not tight or fearful.
FEELINGS ARE INEVITABLE
There are so many ways that we can win or lose a hand or a tournament. There are, in fact, lots of reasons to be fearful or experience other emotions. Queens with an ace kicker, as in the hand above, is a strong hand, but certainly not a clear winner on that flop. If I had been OK with feeling fearful and the useful information that my fear was giving me about the hand, I believe that I would have been better able to make the right play. In that case, instead of raising all-in and putting the entire tournament at risk, I could have simply called, keeping both my hand and my options open, and saw the turn. When the 3 came up I could have assumed that the 3 missed his hand and made me a much stronger favorite. If I hadn't over-bet because I didn't want to be afraid earlier, I could have gone all-in at that point with much greater confidence that I had the better hand and that my bet would not be called.
While showing our fear while we play is problematic, having feelings is inevitable and human. While it is true that some people have difficulty containing their feelings under stress and therefore will either over- or under-react to them, not being ale to experience and identify feelings and thus benefit from the information they convey is a more serious mistake.
Our brains actually read the lack of identification of normal and appropriate emotions as confusing: It is like we are saying to ourselves that what we are experiencing actually isn't taking place. Kind of, “Say what, are you or aren't you?”
By feeding our brain mixed signals, our brain gets busy trying to figure out what the hell is going on. As it tries to resolve this situation, it can't apply its full attention to the game. We forget, or don’t understand, that there is a difference between having fear (and acknowledging it to ourselves) and showing it to our competitors. Our brain actually works more efficiently when we can be more accurate and honest with ourselves. It is not the emotion - fear in this case - which is problematic, but the concern we have over experiencing it. The concerns breeds a lack of calm and a compromised ability to use all the information before us.
BEING HONEST
As in the examples above, I lose far more hands trying to detach from my fear and act cool then when I simply admit to myself that I'm afraid. If in the hands above I had accepted the reality that none of my options were a sure thing and therefore that I had good reason to be fearful, than I believe I would have indeed calmed down and in both cases made better plays. So if wearing the hoodies and the shades helps you to keep calm and feel safer (because you believe that your opponents can't read you), by all means continue to wear them. Don't put blinders on when it comes to your own feelings, however, because if you do you will be confusing yourself far more than you will be deceiving your opponents about the hand taking place right in front of you.
In that case, rather than having the normal feelings that are part of playing winning poker, the F word will be fuhgettaboutit: winning that is.
No comments:
Post a Comment