Economics, politics and poker have a lot in common: leverage,
measured aggression, bluffs, traps, fakeouts, big holdings, a lot of
hoping and (in some dire situations) praying.
Psychologists have known for some
time that these various elements are deeply interwoven, but for the most
part, economists and politicians haven't - primarily because they
haven't fully grasped the fact that basic psychological principles form a
common foundation for all.
So, it was with interest that I saw an article in
The New York Times
by conservative columnist David Brooks arguing that one reason why
we're in this economic mess right now is the failure of economists and
politicians to pay attention to simple things that psychologists know.
I thought this was cool and nothing short of remarkable
marked cards, 'cause journalists just don't go down these kinds of scholarly paths.
What Brooks did not do (and who can blame him; after all, this was
The New York Times) was push the envelope on this analysis and use it to examine poker.
I suspect Brooks doesn't appreciate it, but the list of "Things" he presented ties directly into our game.
So,
let's take a look at Brooks' list, examine its connections to poker
and, of course, see if we can't learn something that'll give our games a
boost upwards.
In what follows, we're the "We" as Pogo, the immortal Sage of the Swamp, put it: "We have met the enemy and they is us."
1. We allow perceptual biases to distort thinking.
If we have been primed for anger, we tend to see people as angrier than they are.
Xenophobes
think all foreigners are dangerous. The young fail to recognize wisdom
in their elders; the elderly fail to appreciate the insights of the
young.
What can I say? Don't judge a book by its cover!
We
have decided that the guy on our left is a backwoods hayseed who
couldn't spell "poker" if we spotted him the "p-o-k." We think this
because he is dressed in a cowboy shirt with fake mother-of-pearl
buttons, a hat with dirty thumb smudges on the brim and worn
jeans over a pair of shit-kicker boots.
We will, once having formed this
image,
fail to recognize that a "weak" fold was actually a classy laydown and
that this fugitive from a pig farm is actually a pretty solid player.
The next couple of hours will not be pretty.
2. We tend to search for data that confirm our prejudices rather than data that contradict them.
A nonpoker example will help us see this.
I've
got a rule for producing numbers. Here's an example that fits my rule:
2,4,6, __. Try to find out my rule by filling in the blank. I'll give
you feedback.
Almost everyone picks 8 here.
I say, "Yup, that's right."
"Ah," you say, "the rule is ascending even numbers."
"Nope," say I.
Then you try 10 as an answer. "Also right," I say.
"OK, the rule is add the last two."
"No, again."
"All right, so let's try 12."
"Yup," I say.
"Aha," you say, "add all the preceding numbers."
"Nope." ...
See
the problem? You're trying to confirm your hypothesis. Almost no one
tries to disconfirm. (My rule? "Any bigger number," which is really hard
to discover unless you try something like 5.)
In
poker we frequently fall upon this fallacious sword, most often when we
continue to play in a manner that is nonoptimal because we tend to find
confirmation when it works and fail to appreciate the downside when it
doesn't.
Loose, overly aggressive
marked card tricks players are the ones most prone to fall into this trap.
3. We overvalue recent events when anticipating future possibilities.
As memories of the past fade,
current events stand out in sharp relief. This bias is seen most often
in our shifting vision of ourselves based on how we've been running
lately.
If we've had a good session or two we see ourselves as
solid, professional-level players; a couple of thumpings and our
confidence and sense of self take a pummeling.
We have a
lamentable tendency to downplay the significance of the historic
relative to the contemporary. The best way to counter this is to keep
accurate records, which will help keep you from getting derailed by
recent developments.
4. We spin concurring facts into a single causal narrative.
Oh, the self-serving myths we manufacture. The tales we tell that
mirror our hopes and desires and truth be damned. Poker players vie with
golfers and politicians in the use of this one.
Self-referenced
narratives are seductive because they are almost always laudatory; few
delude themselves into thinking they are bozos when they aren't.
They
can also be devastating because of their fragile ties with the real
world. We see them used most often by the "contributors" who weave
complex tales of their supposed skills in the face of reality.
The trick to preventing this is as simple (and as difficult) as just knowing yourself and accepting who you are.
If
you're a basically decent player who just about breaks even, then wrap
this mantle about your shoulders and wear it proudly. It actually puts
you in a rather select company.
Phil spends a lot of time applauding his own supposed skill.
5. We applaud our own supposed skill in circumstances where we've actually benefited from dumb luck.
This one comes from what psychologists call the
fundamental attribution error.
We have an unhappy, but perfectly understandable, tendency to
misattribute the causes of the good and bad things that happen to us.
The
fundamental attribution error is a general principle. It states that we
tend to attribute causes to internal, personal factors rather than
recognize the roles of external, contextual and chancy elements in the
world about us.
And, of course, it's closely related to #4 above. It's very much a part of the tales we tell ourselves.
Think
about your mental state after your last tournament. How much of your
success (if you cashed) did you attribute to your brilliance versus good old dumb luck?
How much of your failure (if you got sent packing early) did you
attribute to lucky draws by "idiots" versus your own ineptitude?
See?
play professionally, you need more "good" days than "bad" ones or you're going to end up
looking for work elsewhere.
But,
at least to this here psychologist, the reason "good" is uninteresting
is because everyone pretty much reacts the same way, which I find
boring. When they're running good most folks do fine, play aggressively,
make money and are happy campers.
But
when the bad stuff happens, when the figurative s**t hits the fan,
that's when we peel away the layers of illusion and see the real "you."
Stop using me in your examples!
Do
you pull a "Hellmuth," ranting and raving and stomping around the room?
Do you sit there stewing in your own juice? Does your confidence wane?
Does a vague sense of anxiety and fear begin to creep into the caves of
your psyche? Do you see monsters under the bed?
From an online cash game (and I am not making this up; hell, I wish I were):
First hand after sitting down: Max buy-in. AA and get it all-in pre-flop against KK. Rag, rag, rag, rag, K. Reload.
Two hands later: A
♠ J
♠. Raise. Two callers. Flop: K
♠ 9
♠ 4
♠. Bet, one caller. Turn 6c. Bet, get raised, reraise all-in. Call. River 6
♦. Shows me K-6. Reload.
Twenty minutes later:
UTG with JJ. Raise. One caller. Flop: J-T-4. Bet. Raise. Reraise.
All-in. Call. JJ vs. TT. Finally! Nope. Turn rag. River case T. Shades
of Daniel and Gus (famous
High Stakes TV hand).
Four hands later: AA in BB. Everyone folds.
Being online is like being in a vacuum; they can't hear you scream - although my cat freaked out.
In
the next couple of hours I raised with A-K at least a half dozen times;
with A-Q another five and either raising or calling with medium pairs
to high pairs. I didn't hit a single flop. Not one. I stole a couple of
small pots but never even got a tickle from the board. Reload, one mo'
time ...
Doyle says a lot of things.
For
a good three hours I literally could not win a single hand of any
magnitude. Nothing worked. If I held decent cards someone would hold
better. If I did hit, someone would suck out. And, like Doyle likes to
say, "I got broke." A bunch of times.
Notice, this wasn't
"running bad" where you see endless hours of 9-3; K-4 off, J-6 off, etc.
I was getting quality hands, but I crashed and burned with them all.
Okay, so you've been there too. We all have. The question of interest is: "How did I handle it?"
I
took a whole bunch of deep breaths and reviewed my play. I was making
mistakes because, I realized, I kept seeing monsters under the bed, and
in the closet and the drawers of my night table. But, of course, like
the monsters of every child's nightmares, they were illusions, figments
of time past, of cards dead and gone. I needed to reaffirm the illusion,
block the tendency to reify.
If you think the monsters under the
bed are real you will not raise with 8-8 on the button because you are
sure the BB has 9-9. But, in truth, he has 9-3 and if you don't raise,
he'll hit his 9 and cement your belief in ghouls and goblins.
Be like Tom, have a bankroll.
If
you are certain the chimeras in the closet will get you, you will check
on a suited board and give the free card that runs your two pair down.
If
you let the harpies play with your head you will fail to draw when the
odds say you should 'cause "I can't hit anything anyway ..."
But,
since these are all mythical creatures and exist but in legends and
dark bedrooms, we need psychological tricks for surviving. Here are
mine.
I like 'em, but they're mine. I found them by thinking about these situations. You can use them or go find your own.
- Be sufficiently bankrolled:
If you've got a big enough roll behind you, these siren-filled
sessions shrink back into the natural flow of the game. If you're
letting yourself get a bit "short," their impact will be far
greater. Think of your bankroll as a number of "units," not a
dollar amount. Pay attention to the proportion of your bankroll
placed in jeopardy each time you sit down. If it's small (i.e., 5%
or less), then even the worst of monsters cannot hurt you.
- Remain calm at all times:
Panic is the mother of disaster. If you go on tilt and start
playing weak hands or hands out of position or, worst of all, hear
yourself saying things like, "He can't hit every hand; it just
isn't possible. I call." or "I'll show you, you rat, you can't push
me around," you are going to really find yourself gettin'
broke. Chant with me: "I can only play the cards I am dealt, I can
only play ..."
- Breathe: Yeah, breathe. Deeply
and slowly and then look for that quiet spot, the one on the gently
sloping beach, so quiet you can barely hear the water, with the
white sands raked by gentle curling waves. Check your hole cards.
Raise if that's best, fold if not. Breathe.
It's just
the natural variance of the game. Without it there would be no game.
Without the lows there would be no highs. Without the pain we would not
know joy. Without the monsters the game would be so much less
interesting.
Oh yeah,
I broke even on the night.
Editor's note: Click though and listen to Arthur Reber's guest appearance on the House of Cards radio show.
