Subjective Reality

Whenever we step up to higher levels or limits, or to bigger buy-in tournaments, we naturally do so with a certain trepidation, a fear based on the assumption that since our new foes are used to playing for more money, they must necessarily be playing better poker. This may be true … but then again, it may not. To grow in the game, of course we must move up, but if we move up with fear in our hearts, we will get crushed. So, we need to find some way to circumvent or neutralize our fears. We need, in other words, to test or challenge our assumptions, and to set aside the ones that prove false.

We have, of course, tested such assumptions many times before. We've moved up from smaller games to bigger ones and found that while some of the players were a little better or a lot better, mostly they were players just like us, with the only real difference being the bankroll size or tolerance for risk. Often, as we move up, we find ourselves asking, "What took me so long? What was I afraid of?" The answer lies in the shifting sands of something I call subjective reality.

Can you remember being in grade school and looking at the sophistication and intelligence of middle-school students and thinking, "Geez, I'll never be that smart"? Then, middle school came and went, and by the time you got to high school, those middle schoolers seemed quaint, trivial, childish. That's subjective reality, and it's the same with your poker. If all you play is $2-$3 blinds, the $5-$10 game looks huge, and the players look like champs. But if your regular game is $25-$50 blinds, the $5-$10 game looks insignificant, and the players in that game seem more like chumps or chimps than champs. To quote the sage, "What you see depends on where you stand."

And if that's true for you, it's true for your opponents, too. Their appraisal of you is based on incomplete information and untested assumptions - their own subjective reality. Knowing this, you can actually use subjective reality as a tool of manipulation. Think, for example, of the psychological impact of buying into a game for an amount much greater than the norm (assuming such a big buy-in is allowed). From your perspective, you're just putting some money in play - the same fixed part of your bankroll that you'd be willing to risk whether it was on the table or in your jeans. As others view you through the filter of their own subjective reality, though, they're not sure what to make of you. Maybe they think you're a bully. Maybe they think you're a showboat. Maybe they think you're insane. In any case, they're making the fundamental mistake of thinking about you, and your choices, instead of focusing on their own play - a mistake that you induced by taking an action outside the norm, calling attention to yourself, and demanding a reaction. Nor is this response limited to players who are present when you first sit down. Those who follow you into the game will look at your big stack and, as a function of their own untested assumption, will judge that money as won, not bought. According to their subjective reality, you bear the title of winner, whether you deserve it or not.

Here's a fun experiment in subjective reality, one that I call the table dance. To run the table dance, simply take a table change, and when you get to your new table, make sure that everyone knows you're not a new player, but one changing tables. Chances are, they'll (mis)judge you as a juicy target. Why? Because a player taking a table change is assumed to be a player in retreat. Why would he change tables unless he couldn't beat the game he was in? He must be a capital L loser. With this idea in their heads, foes who routinely get out of line will now get extra out of line because they mistakenly make you for an easy mark. You then prove them wrong with superior play, and they find themselves wondering how they could have misread you so badly. Answer: You guided them to a false conclusion. You put their untested assumptions - their subjective reality - to work for you.

But you have to be careful with subjective reality. "It's a powerful force that can only be used for good or for evil."

Contemplate, for example, the distinction between junk and junque. Junque is a word I use to describe hands that look like junk, but can be played profitably in certain situations, especially in concert with subjective reality. Suppose that you've just table danced into a new hold'em game, and you pick up 9-8 suited. Most players wouldn't raise with this hand, and mostly, I wouldn't, either. But if you've painted a picture of yourself as someone who's running scared or tilty from another game, you might take a shot with it. If your hand hits, you have the benefit of huge deception, and you can generate some real perceived chaos. And if it misses, you can get away from it cheaply enough, no real harm done.

But that's junque. What if it's junk? What if that hand is 8-3, and you try to make the exact same move? Then you're in there running a pure bluff from the start. That's actual chaos, as opposed to perceived chaos; not so good.

This subjective reality business, then, cuts both ways. As you study yourself, your opponents, and your relationship to the game, understand that things are not always what they seem. For instance, players in bigger games may not be as dominating as you think. Therefore, of course, be cautious when you play higher, but leave your fear behind, for nothing colors perception like fear. Test your assumptions and keep testing them. At the same time, recognize that your less-informed opponents may not be testing theirs, and that you can use their flawed perceptions against them. Just don't confuse the two. Don't confuse junque with junk. Don't justify a bad move by calling it elegant misdirection. Dig a little deeper and you may find that your primary motivation is not to win money but just to be in action. In that case, you have crossed the line from deception to delusion, and subjective reality will start to work against you, eroding your play and your stack.

Be tricky. By all means, be tricky. Just don't become so tricky that you lose sight of why you're doing what you're doing. Your goal, after all, is to trick them, not you. Remember: Deception is what you do to others; delusion is what you do to yourself.

John Vorhaus is the author of the Killer Poker book series. He resides in cyberspace at vorza.com, and in the blogosphere at somnifer.typepad.com. John Vorhaus' photo: Gerard Brewer.