Eleven O'Clock Always Comes

Knowledge comes in different forms – theoretical, practical, intuitive, and so on. Along with different ways of knowing, there are also different levels of knowing. I know, for instance, that "war is hell." My father knows this, too. Of course, since my knowledge that war is hell is derived from books, films, news, and conversations, while my father's knowledge is derived from having fought overseas, it's safe to say that this is something my father knows in a different way than I know it, and on a different level.

Abstract knowledge can certainly be useful, but there's no teacher like experience. A poker player, new to the game and serious about learning, can carefully observe the action, read books, and seek the advice of knowledgeable players in order to facilitate the learning process, but the real education doesn't begin until he sits down in the classroom of live play. A novice, for example, looks at his holecards to find the first playable hand he's seen in two hours, an unsuited K-Q. Hallelujah, he thinks, at last, a pot I can enter. Before the action reaches him, however, the pot is raised by a tough player and reraised by an even tougher one. Although he knows it's not a good situation, he finds himself cold-calling three bets. When the flop brings a king and the turn and river bring rags, and his top pair comes in third behind A-K and pocket aces, he chastises himself for getting involved in the first place. After all, he knew better. But his knowledge of this or any other situation, the first time he encounters it, is only theoretical. Having never before experienced such a long stretch of unplayable starting hands, it hasn't occurred to him to factor in the negative effect that boredom or impatience might have on his decision-making ability. Since he hasn't anticipated such a possibility, he's as yet unequipped to successfully guard against it.

The experienced player, by contrast, dumps the hand without a second thought, because he knows, in a different way than the novice knows it, that he's in a situation of negative expectation; the fact that he hasn't seen a proper starting hand for an hour or so does nothing to alter that assessment. The decision to muck comes easily, not because he's inherently smarter than his inexperienced tablemate, but because he's been in the situation many, many times before, and the experience has taught him that his boredom isn't going to be alleviated one bit by committing his hard-earned chips to a situation in which he's getting the worst of it.

Experience, for those who are willing to learn from it, translates into knowledge, and knowledge equals power. This is true in virtually every sphere of human activity. And yet, many poker players strip themselves of their own power by not only failing to act on their knowledge, but by denying that which they know. Why? Most of the time, it's because they're more interested in the moment than they are in the money.

For instance, I was playing recently with a friend who, like the neophyte above, hadn't seen a starting hand in more than an hour. When he finally picked up pocket tens, he raised before the flop, only to find himself three-bet by the woman to his immediate left – at which point, the rest of the table couldn't fold fast enough, for the reraiser in question never three-bet a hand in her life with anything less than pocket kings. Indeed, my friend himself has often described her as being "tighter than the backdoor of the bank of Scotland."

Despite this awareness, however, he bet into her when the flop brought rags, and when she raised, he put on the brakes, and proceeded to meekly check-call the rest of the way. After she'd turned over the utterly predictable higher overpair (aces, as it turned out), a couple of players, also familiar with her play, couldn't resist slipping my buddy the needle. "Gee, Rog, what did you put her on?" someone asked, with as innocent an expression as he could muster. "Well, I couldn't very well put her on aces, now could I?" Roger replied, tongue firmly in cheek. "Why not?" a second needler chimed in. Roger's self-effacing reply – "Because I couldn't beat aces!" – produced hearty laughter all around.

It was a funny line, but it reveals all too well the mindset of many players who, because they're more caught up in the moment than they are in getting the money, engage in poker denial – the failure to utilize information that's right in front of them. Frustrated by sitting on the sidelines, my friend was determined to play the hand to the end, and since he held an overpair to the board, convinced himself that he was justified in doing so. When reality, as it so often does, intruded inconveniently on his plans – not just in the form of a higher overpair, but an overpair held by an opponent more predictable than death and taxes – well, he was just too caught up in the moment to let a little thing like that reality spoil his fun.

In poker, circumstance dictates everything; nothing is automatic. One of the most liberating moments in the life of a winning player is the moment he realizes that he doesn't have to do anything. He doesn't have to raise with Big Slick, he doesn't have to call to the end with an overpair, and he doesn't have to play a naked A-2 in Omaha eight-or-better. In fact, certain tournament situations being what they are, he doesn't even have to play pocket aces. The only thing he has to do is make good decisions – that, and never lose sight of what he's there for; namely, to get the money. That's easy when things are going smoothly; when the ride's bumpy, it can take a little work.

There's an old saying that theatre actors use to help themselves through a rough night. Most curtains go up at 8 o'clock, and plays usually run between two and three hours, but to an actor, a bad show or an indifferent audience can make the evening seem like a nightmare that will never end. On such occasions, performers invoke an old theatre cliche to remind themselves of a comforting truth: "Eleven o'clock always comes."

In the theatre, no matter how badly things are going, you're forced to act out the script to its predetermined conclusion. At the poker table, you're under no such obligation. Although you don't get to choose what cards you're dealt, you do get to choose how to play them. In that sense, at least, you're the author of your own destiny. The next time you feel yourself getting caught up in the moment of a negative situation, you might want to remind yourself that it's your script, and you can edit it any way you want.

Knowledge is power, and there's no point in having it if you're not going to use it. If at any given moment your heart doesn't like what your head's telling you, remember this: The next hand always comes. In fact, the sooner you get off that loser you're holding, the sooner it will be on its way.