Wither Thou TV Performances Goest?

If you followed my World Series of Poker web coverage, you saw that I encountered an embarrassing moment when I confused one Nordic youth who yelled "yaaaaaaaaa, yaaaaaaaaa, yaaaaaaaaa" when he hit a card that knocked out an opponent from another who gave exactly the same war cry. I've already apologized online, so there is no need to go into specifics here.

I really hated that I made that mistake, even more than I hate making mistakes normally, because the absolute need to apologize took some of the momentum out of what I think is an overall sound argument: Television is turning some people who would otherwise act as gentlemen or ladies into louts.

Poker is hardly the first venue where this has occurred. I was just watching ESPN's excellent special, ESPN25: Then and Now, and in a section about highlights, Charlie Steiner (or was it Starlie Chiner?) said, "We glorify a lot of what these 'hot dogs' do because it makes great video."

Let's face it. An entire generation has grown up watching end zone dances, chest-thumping, showing up your opponent as a way of getting into his head, and pre-planted end zone cell phones, and many players, especially many new players, are adapting these tactics to televised poker, not reacting spontaneously in the moment (which is certainly forgivable and even understandable one time), but instead giving some kind of goofy, attention-getting routine that makes for good ratings.

There is one big difference between the chest-thumping you see in the NBA (and other professional sports) and some of the behavior you have been seeing and will be seeing on TV, though. Most of the pro sports celebratory conduct happens during an event, when an opponent still has the chance to strike back in the only way that counts – winning, and when the opponent is sitting there after the game, crushed in defeat.

Indeed, no matter how bloody or hateful most playoff games or series become, once the series is over, you will usually see the same players hugging and shaking hands, just as two boxers who have just finished trying to separate each other's head from its respective neck often hug at the end of a boxing match.

There is no question that some of the more memorable antics we have seen and will be seeing on TV have come in midtournament. At that stage, I believe their applicability is more a matter of either good taste or a generational thing, and it's where I won't argue, at least strongly, with those who claim it is "good for poker" because it enlivens a broadcast, and the guy who has just lost the pot, for all his dismay, has a way to get even. He can (it's not necessarily the best strategy, but he at least has the option) target the dancing foe and do his best to knock him from the tournament. He who laughs last laughs best, and all of that.

Unfortunately, many of the newer (and sometimes, but not always, younger) players in poker have not drawn this distinction, and are going into their Dancing Harry routines at the precise moment they have busted out a foe. Busting out is virtually never a pleasant experience, and the bigger the tournament gets, the more it hurts.

When I have had to stand up at the end of my run in the last two WSOP "Big Ones," it has taken me a while to get out of the chair, and I've witnessed a lot of that. "But … but … it can't be over." (Or, in homage to Ralph Bellamy's great line near the end of the Eddie Murphy-Dan Aykroyd flick Trading Places, "Turn those machines back on. Turn those machines back on!"

If your agent thinks that adopting a colorful persona will do wonders for your new book or website, while I might not be particularly fond of your antics, I at least understand them, and realize there's room for more than one view about how it's appropriate to act when you win a big or unlikely pot in a key situation.

When I made a bad play but drew out on the river against Patti Beadles in the 2003 Big One, I sat there in shocked silence. Part of that reaction came from being unaccustomed to catching miracle rivers in big moments, part of it came from being almost embarrassed to take the money, and part of it came because I felt bad for Patti, who had done everything right, only to have the river card snatch a near double-up from her grasp, and instead leave her short-stacked. I must feel bad about this: It is the third or fourth time I've mentioned that hand in Card Player.

Nonetheless, Patti wasn't out, and had I started dancing and screaming in some kind of premeditated act, Patti might have decided I was a jerk, but she didn't yet have to stand up and would have had a little time to do something about it.

When you bust someone out of a tournament, the appropriate behavior is to do nothing or – if your opponent seems amenable – to offer some sort of condolences. Usually, I just say nothing in these circumstances, because it's such a tough moment, especially in a WSOP event and exponentially more so when the really big money and a chance for immortality is within everyone's sights.

In those circumstances, is it really so wrong to forego your dance just one time, and offer your beaten foe the chance to leave the table with dignity, instead of making him listen to a bunch of BS just when he feels the worst? Like I said, a spontaneous, surprised exaltation falls into a different category. It might be unfortunate, but it's understandable, especially if you haven't won big hands in such situations before.

My position on all of this might seem surprising to those who know I'm friendly with Phil "Hellmouth" Hellmuth, because Phil is certainly known for less than gentlemanly behavior while at the table (our friendship is based on matters away from the table). Even Hellmuth keeps respectfully quiet when he busts someone out. He might explode if he busts out (and I'd rather he not do even that, but he is who he is, and it's not my place to change him, but to accept him, the good with the bad), but at least the blast's recipient has the dual consolations of the pot and an "I busted Phil Hellmuth" story.

I think if I busted out of the Big One 15th (fat chance in today's huge fields), and some publicity-conscious opponent started doing back-flips, I'd be tempted to find the nearest baseball bat (metal, ideally) and give it enough of a swing so that he'd need to use at least part of his prize money on a set of dentures. That's not the case in midtournament, when I figure it's all just part of a plan to throw me off my game, and I accordingly go for just the opposite: I figure my opponent is the one who has lost focus, and I bear down and focus more.

After all, with a few exceptions, he's just handed me a key piece of information: He's not accustomed to making "the TV rounds," and is probably both nervous and anxious to remain on TV as long as possible. Each of these is an exploitable weakness.

There is a time and a place for colorful behavior in poker, but an opponent's bust-out hand isn't one of them. When they televise the Stanley Cup playoffs, they don't broadcast just the fights. They also almost invariably televise the hand-shaking ritual at the end. When you have your 15 minutes of fame, would you rather be remembered as a jerk, or as a colorful player who knew when to amp it down out of respect for an opponent?

Andrew N.S. Glazer, "The Poker Pundit," is Card Player's tournament editor, and he writes a weekly gambling column for The Detroit Free Press. He is the author of several books, including The Complete Idiot's Guide to Poker (Alpha Books, fall 2004). His tournament material and weekly e-newsletter appear at Finaltablepoker.com.