Posturing Actually Worked?

I think I've discovered my greatest poker pet peeve: players who posture endlessly. You know the ones I mean. If you bet, they spend at least five seconds in disbelief, wondering how someone would actually have the nerve to bet into them. Then they pretend to go deep into thought, and, as we know, thinking can be painful for such players. They usually know what action they plan to take, but they always must appear as if they are in agony, with a tough decision confronting them.

The worst posturing occurs when they are caught bluffing. They bet, get raised, and then sit there wasting everyone's time. They obviously know they are going to fold, but want to act like they have a real choice to make. I mean, what's the point? We all bluff at one time or another, and if you get caught, just man up. Acknowledge that you got out of line and lay down your hand.

I try to keep my posturing to a minimum. If I'm bluffing and get caught, I may not fold instantaneously, but I'm not going to sit there for 15 seconds, either. I'll pause briefly, then throw my cards away. It's just the right thing to do. I don't want anyone wasting my time, so I'm not going to waste anyone else's time. And besides, what does posturing really accomplish? Just because you act like you have a decision to make, I don't think that's really going to affect how your opponents view you.

But here's the funny thing: The main reason that I rarely posture is because I don't think it serves much purpose. Recently, however, for the first time (and probably the only time), posturing actually accomplished something. It happened while I was playing in a very loose stud game. The player to my left (whom I'll call "Ned") was clearly a novice, having needed help with the correct betting amounts several times. He seemed serious, and was a little too nervous to be enjoying himself. He was losing, too, which made him even more uptight. And that's when this particular hand came up.

The Hand
Ned was dealt the low card, the 3, and started the action after some prompting from the dealer. The A, to his left, completed the bet, two other players called, and I called with the 4 showing and the A J in the hole. Ned called, as well.

Fourth street brought me the pretty Q. The A caught a blank, but continued to lead the betting. The next two players called. I considered raising, but with the 4 Q showing, the first thing people usually think is "flush draw," and in this case they'd be right. I chose to call and see what happened. Ned caught the 6 and also called.

On fifth street, I caught the 4, giving me the only open pair. I led out and got called in three places. Ned was now showing the 3 6 5.

On sixth street, I received an unexpected surprise, the 4. I bet my trips, and Ned was the only one who called, having caught the 5. His 3 6 5 5 now had me worried a little, and I thought I might need to improve in order to win. Still, with trip fours and four diamonds, ace high, I wasn't too worried yet.

As the last card was being dealt, I quickly peeked at it and saw that it was the useless 2. There was no reason to bet when the entire strength of my hand was visible, and Ned would certainly call with any hand that could beat trips, so I checked. Now, to my dismay, Ned bet.

This presented a most unusual situation. There were approximately 13 big bets in the pot, and I obviously had a pretty decent hand with trip fours. But even with the big pot at stake, I was still pretty sure I would fold. I figured him for a spade flush, fives full, or maybe just trip fives, but any of those were good. Plus, would he really be bluffing? I mean, would he expect me to lay down trips for one bet?

Mentally, I had all but conceded the hand. Still, part of me didn't want to fold trips so quickly, just because of how weak it would look. So, I did exactly what I hate: I postured. I sat there, hemmed and hawed, looked at his hand, looked back at my hand, sighed, and basically did everything useless I could possibly do. After about 20 seconds of inane activity, I finally uttered a drawn out, "Allll right."

Apparently, Ned either took that to mean, "All right, I'm calling," or he couldn't take it anymore. He flipped up his cards and said, "OK, OK, I'm bluffing. Here, take it," and he showed sixes and fives for two pair! I threw in the chips to call, and then had the pot pushed to me while getting strange looks from everyone else at the table. I don't blame them! It was one of the strangest things that has ever happened to me at the tables, and I'm sure that people were wondering why I was the beneficiary of Ned's kindness, especially when everybody could see that I was about to fold! But, I didn't stop to question it. I stacked my chips and left the table for a couple of hands, hoping that the other players would not openly embarrass Ned.
For what it's worth, this hand didn't change my opinion on posturing. It still annoys me, I still don't think it serves much purpose, and I'm going to continue to do it as little as possible.

On the other hand, if it means getting handed pots like this a few more times, maybe I'll have to change my opinion on its usefulness.

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.