Acknowledging the Need for Acknowledgment

"We are not punished for our sins; we are punished BY them."

- Elbert Hubbard

In a high-low stud game recently, I had the misfortune of being seated directly to the left of a man who regularly folds out of turn, often with three or four players yet to act. The moment he loses interest in his cards is pretty much the same moment he loses interest in consideration for his fellow players, which is in short supply to begin with. I won't use his real name here, so let's just say his name is Mud. When other players complain about the effect this behavior has on the action, Mud's tendency is to brush off their objections with the bogus excuse that they're taking too long to act (they aren't), and that he's only trying to speed things up.

Experienced players who understand the nature of position are all too aware of the inherent disadvantage of being stuck on such a player's left, for it's the players in front of Mud who are the beneficiaries of the advance information he so carelessly dispenses. In the yin and yang of poker, a positive edge for some players translates into a negative edge for others – but such edges are not supposed to come about because someone is allowed to habitually play out of turn.

I made a mental note to take a seat change at the earliest opportunity, but from the smell of chair glue in the air, I figured it would be quite a wait. What I didn't have to wait for, though, was Mud doing his thing. On my very first hand, he pulled his premature evacuation routine. As soon as he did, the dealer politely but firmly admonished him to act in turn. Mud responded with an unrepentant wave of his hand and a contemptuous grunt, which was typical.

But here's what wasn't typical: The dealer began the next hand by dealing him out, at which point Mud began screaming bloody murder. The dealer was unfazed, however, and explained in a steady, matter-of-fact tone that when a player fails to acknowledge an instruction regarding improper action at the table, the club's policy is to deal him out until he does.

"I should have been warned!" Mud bellowed, insisting that the dealer was out of line, that only a floorperson could have a player dealt out. Despite Mud's growing agitation, the dealer remained as cool as the other side of the pillow. "But, sir," he answered calmly, "you were warned – and that's the point. Your response to that warning was to wave it off dismissively. The club's new policy is to interpret this at face value – as an ongoing indifference and disregard for our rules. Until you let us know otherwise, you're dealt out automatically, with no need for a ruling from the floor. You see, that's the new policy – the automatic part."

A floorman was summoned, who upheld the dealer's actions. He explained that as of the previous week, standard procedure required that whenever a player is cautioned not to act out of turn, or not to expose cards (or push chips, or speak non-English, and so on), he will automatically be dealt out until he acknowledges the warning. The premise behind the policy is as simple as it is sensible: By ignoring the messenger, a player implies intent to ignore the message. This business of sitting like a lump with a defiant, petulant look on one's face is a clear indication, therefore, that the problem remains. And, of course, it's that much more obvious when the player does acknowledge, but in a negative manner – in other words, when he responds to a warning by waving it off and muttering something like, "Oh, it doesn't make any difference" or "What's the big deal?" In fairness to the other players, he explained, the club has an obligation to take pre-emptive steps to protect the game.

Given that this policy was still new and unfamiliar, the floorman was willing to take plenty of time providing a comprehensive explanation about it, but he also stressed that an integral part of this new philosophy would be to forego such discussions once the policy was firmly established. The club would not participate in recurring "arguments" about whether the rules mattered or not; nor would they indulge offenders in the notion that they were somehow victims of a too harsh penalty, given the fact that it's completely within each player's control to avoid such a penalty. After all, the choice of whether or not to acknowledge a warning is just that – a choice. And it's not as if we're talking about an abject public apology in the village square, just the simple courtesy of an acknowledgement. As the floorman pointed out, a respectful nod will do, or a simple, "Oops, you're right. Won't happen again." But there's got to be something – some indication that the warning has registered, is understood, and will be respected.

I couldn't have been more impressed. In recent years, tournament players have benefited greatly from similar policies featuring automatic sanctions against practices that threaten the integrity of the game. How nice, I thought, to know that such protections now exist for players in ring games as well.

And then I woke up.

It had been a daydream, a fantasy. In reality, Mud was warned by the dealer, then warned again – and then again. When a floorperson was called to the table, the pattern was simply repeated. But like a child who gets out of bed continually during the night and is constantly threatened with a spanking that never comes, Mud learned long ago not to take such warnings very seriously. Why should he?

About an hour later, something very unfortunate – and utterly predictable – occurred. In an absolutely enormous pot, there were four players left on seventh street – two obvious high hands, and two obvious lows. Of the lows, Mud's board was the smoothest, showing 6-5-3-A to his opponent's 8-4-3-2. When the first high hand led with a bet, Mud's opponent looked at his river card to see if he'd improved his smooth 8. The disappointment was evident on his face, but before he could muck his hand, Mud folded out of turn. Despite the formidable appearance of his upcards, Mud had missed his low completely. His failure to act in turn changed, well, everything. The holder of the rough low had wanted to avoid getting trapped for extra bets in what promised to be a raising war between the two high hands and Mud's superior low. But when Mud acted out of turn, this player went from being forced to fold to being a stone-cold lock for half the pot! What's more, he was the one who was now going to be doing the trapping, which meant that whoever had the losing high hand would be forced to pay extra bets. As to the winner of the high hand, there's no getting around the fact that if not for Mud folding out of turn, this player would have scooped the entire pot, for the 8 low had already decided to muck (he freely admitted this after the hand was over, and it was obvious anyway), and Mud had no low at all!

Players were abused here, in the most meaningful sense of that term. One of the culprits was out-of-turn action. But another culprit was inaction – the kind that reaffirms to players like Mud that they can do whatever they please, since the only consequence will be redundant, empty warnings. Tempers flared following this hand, and a game that should have lasted all night broke shortly afterward. The floorman was upset, and he had every right to be.

But did he have any right to be surprised?