Behavioral Economics, Politics and Poker

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.)

Dario? Overaggressive?

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.

1. 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.
2. 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 ..."
3. 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.