The Courage to Fold

"The great virtue in life is the courage that knows how to face facts …"

- D.H. Lawrence

In a recent column, Rolf Slotboom recounted a poker confrontation with an old foe, breaking down the thought process that went into the playing of a particular hand. In describing the strengths of his opponent, he wrote: "He likes to push small edges and often bets with marginal hands if he senses the opposition may be weak. At the same time, he isn't afraid to fold … good hands if it seems likely that someone holds a better one."

It would be easy to glide over that second sentence and overlook how precisely it expresses an important concept. Note that he did not write: " … he is disciplined enough to fold," or, " … he has the ability to lay down a big hand." Rather, he wrote: " … he isn't afraid to fold."

Equating fearlessness with folding will strike some readers as incongruous; after all, to fold is to surrender. It is essentially an act of submission, of capitulation – a necessity for survival, to be sure, but hardly a feat to be characterized as brave. By the same token, an extreme unwillingness to lay down a hand has more to do with being too reckless, or too stubborn, than with being "afraid," right? So, what the heck is Slotboom – and now Mulholland – talking about?

Indeed, usually when we read about a player being fearless, it's in reference to his willingness to make a daring play with everything on the line, to go for broke with all of his chips – that sort of thing. And that's understandable, for there are many who feel such urges at pivotal moments, yet can't pull the trigger – because they're afraid. When the moment of truth arrives, they lack the right stuff – that inner something that enables men to jump out of airplanes, and to walk alone across wide rooms to speak to beautiful women.

But poker, like life, presents us with many different contexts, each offering the potential of an optimal or less-than-optimal response. In many of those situations, conceding the battle in the interest of winning the war is the best way to go. And while it's true that many players' inability to fold when they should stems from a lack of knowledge, of patience, or of self-discipline, it's also true that some players don't fold simply because they're afraid; in some cases, in fact, they're scared to death.

The precise nature of such fears and phobias can vary tremendously. I've known recreational players who subscribe to the notion that they're granted a finite amount of luck, and if they throw away a winner – never mind how much of a long shot or for how little pot value – they have squandered a piece of their predestined good fortune, a portion that can never, ever be reclaimed. With such cosmic consequences at stake, it's no wonder they're afraid to fold.

But then, it's an open question as to whether such a premise begets the fear in the first place, or if it's the other way around, with the irrational belief springing into existence as a rationalization to justify the fear.

More common are the symptoms an old buddy of mine displayed. He had a thorough understanding of the game, good analytical skills, and a better-than-average ability to make a read and put an opponent on a particular holding. But if he started with a strong hand and started by playing it strongly, those skills went flying out the window when confronted with an opponent who played back at him strongly. No matter how solid the grounds for believing he held a loser, he couldn't lay down his hand. When I used to ask him questions afterward (away from the table), such as: "How could you not know that so-and-so was holding an overpair/set/flush in that spot?" his answer was always: "Oh, I knew he had it, but I just couldn't back down – not after raising. I could never forgive myself if I folded and he showed me a bluff." And his tone of voice revealed that he was terrified of such a prospect.

"But wait a minute," I would continue. "When the pot offers you the right price to call with a drawing hand, the possibility of missing the draw doesn't make you afraid to make that call. You simply recognize that a call is the percentage play in that spot, so that's the play you make. If you can make the percentage call, why can't you make the percentage fold? The fact that you might lay down a winner ever so occasionally shouldn't be any scarier than the prospect of missing a draw."

"I know what you're saying, Brian, and you're right, of course … it's just that … since I was the one who started the raising, to back down would be … to lose face. You just don't understand."

Boy, am I glad I don't – but not as glad as my bankroll. It's staggering to think of how many bets this fellow throws away in this fashion over the course of a year.

(Of course, it goes without saying that there are some instances when calling is correct even though you think you have the worst of it – if you suspect, for example, that your opponents have come to think they can run over you. But that is a reasoned tactical decision, based on rational criteria.)

Folding is a decision like any other in poker, in that it requires the courage of your present conviction. At times, however, it requires more courage than the other options, since it is necessarily the last decision you get to make in a hand. This element of finality is a large part of what makes people afraid. Years ago, when I was just learning the game, I went through a period when I was afraid to lay down a big starting hand, no matter how obvious it was that I was beaten. Sensing that I would never become a winner if I allowed this habit to become ingrained, I went to my local cardroom one afternoon, found the lowest-stakes game they had, and played a session in which I intentionally mucked winners – at the showdown. I did it as a one-time exercise to prove to myself that the earth wouldn't shake and the sky wouldn't fall – and guess what, they didn't. Indeed, the sun set that evening and rose the next morning upon a future whose possibilities were no less glorious for my having over-folded a few times in a poker game.

I don't recommend that drastic little exercise for others, but if you're a foldophobic, you need to find some way to face your fear. Confronting fears head-on tends to shrink them to manageable levels, at which point you'll no longer require courage to fold. Oh, you'll still need discipline, restraint, the serenity to trust your own judgments and accept them, and so on – but it's much easier to summon those qualities once you've eliminated anxiety and dread from the equation.