I hope that no fellow columnist is insulted (or accuses me of kissing too much butt) when I say that Daniel Negreanu is hands down the best columnist in the world of poker. He is a top pro in both tournaments and cash games, and he gives detailed insight into both worlds. In addition, when he offers his opinions or perspectives, he is consistently on the money.
Recently he wrote a great column describing two different types of professional players, "Larry" and "Johnny" (issue No. 17 - "Why Do Sharks Eat Other Sharks?"). Larry is risk-averse, plays in games he knows he can beat, and makes a steady living. Johnny is a risk-taker, plays against tougher competition, and often goes broke. However, he gains the necessary experience to eventually beat higher-limit games. Larry will continue to make a solid living, but he'll never make significant strides toward becoming a world-class player, simply because he doesn't challenge himself enough or take necessary risks.
After reading Daniel's column, I was forced to ask myself, "Which one am I?" The interesting thing, though, is that I've clearly been both.
For the first few years of my poker career, I was unquestionably a Johnny. All that mattered to me was gaining playing experience. I worked eight hours a day at a regular job, then played poker for eight hours, then slept whenever I found the time. I consistently tried to play in bigger and tougher games. If I went broke, I'd take my daily pay of $150 and go fire it up in a $3-$6 game until I had the money to play $5-$10 or $10-$20. I was a firm believer in Mike Caro's astute observation: The easier your bankroll is to replace, the more you should be willing to risk it.
After four years, my strategy was clearly paying dividends. I was making more money playing poker than at my job, so I was able to quit and play full time. Then, I won a couple of big tournaments. After years of working at it, I finally had some real money to my name. But that was when things changed. Now, my bankroll wasn't as easily replaceable as it once was. For the first time, I suddenly had something to lose.
Over the next year or two, I made the transformation from Johnny to Larry. I didn't recognize it at the time, but there's no other way to describe it. I stopped risking my bankroll, and played games that were well within my means. I openly declared to my poker-playing friends that I was never going to go broke again. True to my word, I've been the quintessential Larry for the past six years. Was it the right decision? I hope so, but Daniel has inspired me to look at the pluses and minuses of my choice.
The Downside of Being Larry
1. I have not gotten significant playing experience in big games. Over time, I expect to continue moving up gradually, but my realistic chances of becoming a true high-limit player get smaller and smaller as time goes by. I used to take my shots in bigger games all the time. Now, I do it only once in a while.
2. Without testing myself regularly, I don't really know if I could be earning more on a regular basis. I might be on the correct "Larry Level," but perhaps I should be playing higher. I've basically fallen into a comfortable rut. I'm happy and fairly successful, but I am not really pushing myself to do better. Over time, that almost certainly will hurt my bottom line.
The Upside of Being Larry
1. I'm making a living playing poker. I have several secondary goals, but that has been my primary goal from the beginning. I'm not risking my bankroll on a daily basis, so I'm also able to remain stress-free and continue to enjoy what I'm doing. Even when I'm having a bad day, and might not outwardly appear to be loving my job, all I need to do is take a step back and think that I could be working a nine-to-five job in an office five days a week, and that puts a smile back on my face.
2. I'm able to maintain a balanced lifestyle. I spent a few years doing nothing but playing poker, and that clearly improved my game, but it was at the cost of neglecting other areas of my life. I'm still not a picture of perfect health, but I'm living a much better life than I ever did as a Johnny.
3. I have kept the support of my family and friends. Winning consistently and staying solvent will accomplish that. I'm sure that you have heard the saying, "You have a gambling problem only if you are losing." By minimizing my losses, I don't have to undergo any nagging suggestions of having a gambling problem. Let's face it - most of us have a touch of the gambling sickness. Successful high-stakes poker players, by necessity, have it more than most. My problem is that I have plenty of gamble, but I've cut down on the sickness, and that's counterproductive when it comes to eventually playing for high stakes. Ten years ago, a $100 loss bothered me. I never thought I'd reach the point where I could comfortably absorb a four-figure loss, but I'm there now. It stands to reason that eventually I will reach the point where I can cope with five-figure losses. I'm not sure that I ever want to reach the point where I can shrug off a six-figure loss.
4. I don't have to deal with the anguish of going broke. It's mentally and emotionally exhausting. In Daniel's column, Johnny sets aside part of his bankroll to play in tougher games. In my experience as a Johnny, I was willing to risk my entire bankroll, and I know many people who act the same way. A true Johnny isn't putting aside money just in case. He's risking it all, and when it doesn't work out, he has to hope to get staked just to be able to play again. It's a humbling, humiliating situation, and I'm thankful that I'll never experience it again.
5. Here's the clinching argument: I don't know if I would have been a successful long-term Johnny. I'm not so egotistical as to believe that I would have succeeded in a situation in which almost everyone fails. Maybe I could have gotten lucky as a Johnny, but I'm not going to waste any time wondering, "What if …?" The way I see it, I've gotten plenty lucky already. I appreciate the opportunities I've received, and I believe that I've made the most of them. I'm thankful for what I have, and at this point in time, I'm not going to risk it for some low-percentage shot at glory.
Once upon a time, I might have found that point of view uninspiring. Now that I'm there, I just see it as smart.
Matt Lessinger is the author of The Book of Bluffs: How to Bluff and Win at Poker, available everywhere. You can find other articles of his at www.CardPlayer.com.
