Grandstand Overbets

I recently found myself in a cardroom where the only game being spread was $1-$2 blinds no-limit Texas hold’em, nine-handed. This is not my first choice of games; these days, I’d rather play higher, and shorthanded. But as everyone who’s sick with it knows, a bad poker game is better than no poker game. Being sick with it, of course I plunked myself down to play.

One of the first things I do in any new game is note the going rate for raises. While we all know that three times the big blind is a standard raise for many players, each game has its own dynamics. In some games, an opening raise of five times the big blind might draw five callers, while in others, a min-raise — a mere doubling of the big blind — might fold the field. In this game, it quickly became clear to me that while most of the players preferred to limp and see flops, a raise of three or four times the big blind would not noticeably narrow the field.

So, I started to experiment with the size of my raises, in order to find out what it took to fold the field. I raised to $10, then $12, then $15, and ultimately $20 — a raise of 10 times the big blind. Of course, I don’t need to tell you how dumb a bet this is. Given that “it works great every time until it doesn’t,” such a large bet, a grandstand overbet, puts way too much pressure on the bettor. You have to be right many more times than you’re likely to be right in order for such an inordinately large bet to show a profit. Still, you will win most hands without a fight, and when they do play back at you, you can be pretty sure of where you stand.

This is especially true when a limper calls a grandstand overbet, for a reason so simple and sensible that it deserves to be put in bold text: It’s hard to be a $2 hand and a $20 hand at the same time.

Think about it: What hands do limpers call with in games like this? Suited paint. Unsuited connectors. Any ace. Any pair. Sometimes anything at all. Can these hands stand the pressure of a grandstand overbet? The big pairs and the big aces can. Everything else is probably pretty much what it’s represented to be: a loose call from a loose player trying to take a flier on a mediocre holding and hit a flop. In the main, a hand that can call a $2 bet can’t call a $20 bet. So, when a limper calls a grandstand overbet — or bets back into it — he defines his hand as one that was limping to trap. Apart from just flat-out bad calls, this is the only one that can be a $2 hand and a $20 hand at the same time.

Raises, we know, yield information. They define our opponents’ hands. Small raises narrow our foes’ ranges somewhat; big raises define their hands more precisely. In the case of a grandstand overbet, the raise almost perfectly defines the caller’s hand.

So then, why don’t we grandstand overbet all the time? Two reasons. First, as previously noted, the price of this information doesn’t come at a good value. You earn too little when you’re right (they’re weak) and pay too much when you’re wrong (they’re trapping). Second, there is, in fact, another sort of hand that can be a $2 hand and a $20 hand at the same time, and that’s a naked bluff. When you grandstand overbet frequently, your savvy foes know that you’re in there with thin values. Should they limp-reraise either with or without a hand, they’ll know that you’re unlikely to call, because you’re unlikely to have a real hand. The grandstand overbet, then, exposes you to trouble in two ways: It leaves you way behind when they call, and it imperils you greatly when they raise.

In a sense, though, this problem is self-canceling. If you’re in the sort of game where players are good enough to play back at your grandstand overbet, it’s not a tool that you’re likely to be using in the first place. Really, you can use it till someone proves that you can’t.

But there’s another downside to using the grandstand overbet in weak-loose games like the one I’m describing: It’s a real buzz-kill for the other players. Let’s say that you’re in there every time making these massive preflop raises, and your strategy is working. You’re scooping up the blinds and limpers on hand after hand. Apart from the fact that it’s hard to get rich $3 or $5 at a time, this pattern of betting is bound to royally cheese off the rest of the players. Remember what they’re there for: Primarily, they want to see cheap flops. It’s where their pleasure in the game lies. Take away that pleasure, and you make your foes unhappy.

Is this a problem? Maybe, maybe not. We know that there’s such a thing as The Law of Conservation of Fun, which states, basically, that if one person (in this case, the grandstand overbettor) is having all the fun in a poker game, the rest of the players are having none at all. Of course, you’re not responsible for anyone else’s good time, but you do have to consider the consequences of your actions. After all, you want your foes to have some fun. Mike Caro noted years ago that happy, relaxed players are more likely to lose than players who are serious and paying attention. Push the grandstand overbet too far, and you make your foes stop having fun, which will not be good for your profit in the game.

Here’s how I strike a balance: I grandstand overbet with all of my OK hands from late position. I can be as weak as K-10 offsuit here. I also grandstand overbet with my very strong hands, because the overall frequency of my raises disguises their strength. I don’t grandstand overbet with pure junk (although I could, and probably could get away with it), and I don’t grandstand overbet when out of position (although I could, and probably could get away with it). By using this tool only from late position, and only with an OK hand or better, I raise with appropriate frequency: often enough to maintain control of the game, but not so often as to make people want to jump me in the parking lot.

Think about the grandstand overbet the next time you’re in a loose, passive game in which players just love to limp and see flops. It’s a dynamic and interesting strategy, and one that you should know how to use when the right situation occurs.

John Vorhaus is the author of the Killer Poker book series and the new poker novel Under the Gun, in bookstores now. He resides in cyberspace at vorza.com, and blogs the world from somnifer.typepad.com. John Vorhaus’ photo: Gerard Brewer.