Decoding the Code

Time for a baseball analogy. Earlier this season, Curt Schilling of the Arizona Diamondbacks was pitching a perfect game against the San Diego Padres through seven full innings. With the Padres trailing 2-0 in the eighth, Ben Davis laid down a bunt and beat it out, thus ending Schilling's flirtation with the record books. Afterward, Arizona manager Bob Brenly told a roomful of reporters that it was "chicken- – – -" of Davis to have bunted. It's a breach of the code, he asserted – an unwritten understanding that at that point, you're supposed to "earn your way on" by swinging away. He was pretty angry, but in a more forgiving moment, he chalked it up to inexperience, even predicting that after being around the game longer, Davis would look back and realize what a cheap, dastardly shot he had pulled on that day.

Now, keep in mind, the score was only 2-0. Get one lousy base runner and you've brought the tying run to the plate, which was exactly what Ben Davis did. And isn't that what players are supposed to do, try to get on base and score, so that their team wins? When did employing the element of surprise become a blackhearted misdeed? Many folks asked these questions, but there were others I didn't hear. For instance, (1): Suppose that the no-hitter is broken up "legitimately" with two outs in the ninth inning – by a solo home run, let's say – which makes the score 2-1. Are Ben Davis, his fellow teammates, and their manager just supposed to scratch their heads and say to themselves, "Well, he didn't get a no-hitter after all. Hmm. Gee, I guess maybe we should have tried to win the game back in the seventh inning when their infield was playing back and we had a chance to get a base runner. Oh, well …"? (2): What if a team in that spot finds itself one game out of first place at the end of the regular season, or one game out of the wild-card race? (Gosh, there was a game back in May that we had a chance to win, but we decided to play with one hand tied behind our backs that day.) What does the code say about that? And if the shoe had been on the other foot – that is, if the Padres pitcher had been the one pitching a perfect game against Brenly's Diamondbacks – wouldn't Brenly have owed it to his players, as well as to the Diamondback fans, to do everything he could (within the rules) to try to win? If not, what are the implications of that position? If you were the Arizona owner, wouldn't you expect your own team's interests – not the personal glory of the opposing pitcher – to be where your manager's loyalty should lie? I sure would – but that would go against the code.

Also, is the code explicit about where the "proper" lines are drawn? If it's an act of wickedness to bunt when trailing by two with two innings to go, how about a one-run deficit with two innings left? Tie score with three? If three innings is OK, how 'bout two and two-thirds? These questions might seem facetious, but if the code is so holy, shouldn't we examine it as precisely as possible, all the better to comply with its every sacred feature? Of course we should.

It becomes pretty clear pretty quickly that such codes don't stand up very well to any real scrutiny. Examination and analysis tend to expose them for the contradictory nonsense that they are. They survive by mindless inertia – you're just not supposed to think too much about them. In fact, you're not supposed to think about them at all; rather, you're supposed to feel about them.

The world of poker has its own code cultists. There are those who make quite public their belief that check-raising is an insidious, snake-in-the-grass act, and anyone who does it heads up must be a wife-beating, dog-kicking Communist. There is no actual argument for this assertion; there is only the assertion itself, as if it were self-evident and axiomatic. An articulate answer never appears when the following question is posed: "What is improper about employing a strategy that the rules identify as perfectly legal?" (But, again, you're not supposed to ask such questions. You're supposed to feel the incoherent, uncongealed answer in your gut.)

Thankfully, as more people are introduced to public casinos and to the concept of poker as a positional game, this particular crotchet is falling by the wayside. But another one is dying harder – in fact, it seems to be gathering strength. I'm talking about the notion that you're not supposed to bet a hand when there are only two players left in the pot. Many of you, upon reading this, will say: Huh? What on earth is he talking about? But in some parts of the country, there actually are thousands of players frequenting public cardrooms who consider a bet into a single opponent to be a violation of common courtesy. It is an article of faith with them, and they consider it a personal affront when someone breaks this code.

I received an E-mail from a reader named Michael, who wrote: "Because of my schedule, the only time I can go to the cardroom is during off-peak hours, which means that I find myself in some shorthanded games. I play small limits, never higher than $8-$16 kill hold'em, but that game is enough to pay my rent, even playing part time, so it's not small to me. I often find myself playing against the same bunch of regulars, who are all pretty poor heads-up players, but there's a lot of intimidation and peer pressure exerted at the table not to bet when heads up. When I do, I regularly hear insulting comments about how I'm not a 'friendly' player. Sometimes they're pretty nasty about it. It seems silly to me. If they didn't want to play for money, why even venture out to a public cardroom? Why not stay at home and play for 'funsies' with their kids? What do you think? Should I fit in and bet only when there's more than two players in the pot?"

Not in a thousand years, Michael! You're playing poker. Courtesy is something that happens within the game – it is not a suspension of the game. These "friendly" players are freerolling on a code that looks downright silly in the face of some awfully basic questions. For example, (1): Isn't it obvious that in a shorthanded game, you're consistently going to be facing heads-up situations? Are you never supposed to get a bet in, and just let the blinds and the table drop eat away at your stake? (2): In any given session, the only good cards you might get could come in heads-up situations. After losing five hands in a row to a three-way field, should you be expected to forego betting when you finally have the best of it, just because there are only two players left? That's absurd, and so are the answers to lots of questions that I've run out of space for – but spend five minutes thinking about it and I guarantee you'll be able to come up with a dozen of your own.

As to the best way to deal with it, I suggest this: The next time an opponent scowls at a heads-up wager and informs you that it's "a friendly game," just smile pleasantly and say, "It was a friendly bet." Maybe that will break the ice. You might even get a laugh and win him over.

If not, leave him to his code and settle for winning the money.