Mob Rule on Misdeeds

I received several e-mails in response to my recent column "Can Open, Worms Everywhere" (Jan. 8, 2005), most of it in enthusiastic praise of the principle cited by John Tadich, a floorman at Hawaiian Gardens Casino. John is one of the friendliest guys I know, but unlike many who've been rushed into service without adequate training during the current poker boom, he understands that friendliness is more than a smile. He also knows that in the world of poker, where disputes are an inevitable fact of workaday life, friendliness toward one player must never come at the expense of fairness to all, and that being firm with those who would compromise fairness is essential to the interest of authentic long-term harmony.

In that previous column, I quoted John as saying, "Running the room for the customers doesn't mean letting the customers run the room." This is an important distinction, and those who e-mailed me thought so, too. In fact, each had a story to tell that further illustrated the problems inherent in ignoring John's precept. One that particularly struck me was sent by a young man by the name of David, who only recently arrived in this country; unfortunately, since his English is a work in progress, it's too jumbled to reproduce here. But he raised the issue of "false misdeals," which is something I've been meaning to address in this space for some time. David described a situation similar to something I had witnessed only a couple of nights earlier, and the incident dovetails nicely with the theme of "letting the customers run the room."

As the dealer was completing his pitch at a hold'em table featuring a shuffling machine, I noticed that the winner of the last pot had failed to turn in his cards from the previous hand, which meant that two cards from the blue deck were still on the table, even though the red cards were currently in play. I pointed this out to the dealer, and several players heard me. Since this room has had shuffling machines for almost two years, it is common knowledge that this is not grounds for a misdeal. The club's procedure in this spot is simply for the dealer to: (a) take the two strays and insert them into the shuffling machine, reuniting them with their 50 blue brethren, and (b) proceed with the hand. This procedure saves time and is perfectly sensible; alas, there was a fly in the ointment. The player in the big blind was a notorious angle shooter, and he aggressively asserted that it was a misdeal. The dealer, who was bright but inexperienced, sensed that he was being snowed and glanced at me to confirm it. When I shook my head, he took the cue and stated that he was pretty sure it wasn't a misdeal, and summoned a floorman to make it official.

While the floorman was en route, a discussion ensued in which the angle shooter objected that the four cards in question might have been mixed together, which objection surely qualifies as a final nominee for the 2005 "So What's Your Point?" Awards, for even if they had been "mixed," it's not as if blue-backed cards can't be distinguished and separated from red ones. When his comment elicited a laugh from the other end of the table, he realized how inane it sounded, so he switched gears and adopted a bullying tone, as if sheer determination could substitute for an actual substantive argument. A couple of other players joined in, and sensing growing support, the angle shooter threw in his hand, as if belated action – in the midst of a still unresolved dispute – could somehow render it a misdeal after the fact. His intention, of course, was to start a domino effect, but the dealer had good instincts and reiterated that there was no misdeal until ruled otherwise. In other words, hang on to your cards, folks.

Unfortunately, the floorman's instincts were not as good – and the players knew it. So, no sooner had the dealer begun relating the facts to the floorman than they decided that their best chance for a "do-over" was simply to clamor, "Misdeal! Misdeal!" then throw in their cards and feign confusion, claiming that they "thought" it was a misdeal – whatever the heck that was supposed to mean, given that they'd specifically been instructed to wait for his ruling. Those of you who've seen this kind of thing know how the final step in this artful dodge goes: Everyone acts as if, oops, there's nothing to be done, because even if we shouldn't have folded, we did fold, so it's too late, it's a misdeal, what can you do? And on this night, as so often happens, the floorman fell for it. He said: "Guys, there's nothing I can do this time, but for future reference, this technically wasn't a misdeal." Meanwhile, as is also invariably the case, there was one poor fellow left holding the bag. Well, holding cards, actually – pocket kings – and since it was the first playable hand he'd seen in nearly two hours, he had a few questions, like: It technically was not a misdeal? What can you do? It's too late? Um, why's that?

Let's be absolutely clear about what happened here. These players simply didn't like their cards, and they wanted new ones (without the blinds advancing any closer to them). They also knew what the floorman's decision would be, and they didn't like that, either – so they deliberately took steps to subvert it. They willfully chose to sabotage the process of due process, indifferent to the basic unfairness of their petty, childish tactics. The gentleman with the pocket kings was understandably upset for a couple of very good reasons.

For one thing, he knew that although his opponents held trashy starting cards, that didn't mean one or two of them wouldn't have played them, for their play tended to be as loose as their ethics, and he had every right to take his shot as a favorite in this hand. But what really exasperated him was that the floorman had allowed this little mob to dictate the terms of the outcome.

For his part, the floorman was exasperated because he thought these objections were unrealistic under the circumstances. After all, although "ideally" he may have agreed with the objector, there was nothing he could have done once everybody had ignored him and mucked their hands, right? "For heaven's sake, listen to what I'm saying, sir," he asserted. "They folded, they folded. I can't change that; what don't you understand?"

Over the years, I've seen variations of this same scene played out many dozens of times, and I continue to be amazed that so many dealers and floormen assume they're helpless to thwart this angle, when it's the easiest thing in the world. What's ironic is that the only thing required here was for the floorman to listen to his own words – and take them at face value. Yes, these players folded – that is precisely correct. Well, what do you normally do when players fold? I'll tell you what you do: You take their action at face value, too – by gathering their cards and pushing the chips to the player who hasn't folded. It's called poker. Then, you go on to the next hand, since there's no legitimate reason for playing this one over again. What could be simpler?

If he had forfeited his blind without seeing a flop, I guarantee you that our angle shooter would have thought twice before pulling this again. In closing, let me add that it's less likely that this floorman would have called a misdeal if only one or two players had mucked. It was the pressure of people acting en masse that prompted him to surrender his decision-making power to the players. This brings us to another important principle, a corollary to John Tadich's original maxim. If players do not have the power to veto (or subvert) a floorman's ruling individually, they do not acquire such power by acting collectively. If they did – well, it would be a mistake to call that an "invitation" to mob rule. It is mob rule.