How Can You Tell Who’s Better?

Among the most common five or ten questions that I inevitably get asked at parties when a non-poker player—a civilian, if you will—finds out what I do for a living, there’s one that always proves the most difficult to answer: “How can you tell when another player is better than you? What does he or she do that makes them so good?” I’ve tried responding to this question a lot of different ways over the years, and I’ve often been unconvincing. The truth is that most players are tremendously reluctant to conclude that another player is better than they are, which makes the civilian’s question trickier than it might first seem.

Serious poker players have spent hundreds or even thousands of hours coming up with what they consider the best plays for as many situations as they can think of. So when an opponent does something different from what they would’ve done, the natural tendency is to assume that opponent made a mistake. For example, if Player A has crafted his strategy around three-betting a lot from late position, he might assume that Player B, who flat-calls a lot from late position, is playing suboptimally. After all, if it were better to flat a lot, then player A would’ve realized it when he was spending all those hours coming up with his game plan!

“Okay,” you might tell the civilian, “I know another player is better than me when he or she has ten million dollars in tournament winnings. That person must be doing more right than I am.” But the civilian comes back with, “What if you didn’t know who they were? What if you just sat down at the table? Would you be able to tell from their play alone that they’re better than you?”

In fact, many people can’t tell. Many people have no idea why their opponents do what they do. Misunderstanding opponents’ play is so common that virtually every successful online player has, at one time or another, been called the, “dumbest poker player alive,” (or something similar) in the chat window.

When we see a play we don’t understand, it’s best to study it, and to see if maybe we can learn something from it. That’s what we’re supposed to do. What we often do instead is say to ourselves, “wow, what a big mistake that guy made.” Even in our best moments, when we go back and look at the opponent’s play later and realize that what looked silly to us was actually rather clever, we still don’t usually come to this conclusion until long after the session is over. In other words, we didn’t know while we were sitting at the table that this other player was better.

It’s at this point in the conversation with the civilian that I might admit partial defeat. “You’re right,” I’d say, “I can’t always tell it from their play, but I’ve gotten to know some great poker players over the years and I can tell from talking to them that they’re better at this game than I am.”

That explanation goes over relatively well. Civilians, too, know smart people, and they can tell when someone knows more about a subject than they do. They understand that even if they excel at their chosen field, they occasionally meet someone who has read more, or has more experience, or simply has more talent than they do. They get that even if you’re good at something, you’re eventually going to run into someone better. “But still,” the civilian then says, “if you don’t know who they are and you’ve never spoken to them, a really good player could still sneak up on you at the table, right? Aren’t you worried about that? Why would you play poker if you might be up against a bunch of sharks and not know it?”

Two things here, civilian. First, while it’s difficult to tell if someone is better than I am, it’s very easy to see that someone plays reasonably well. I’m pretty much going to stick to my own core strategy against anyone who proves themselves competent. My particular style of play doesn’t involve a lot of trying to read an opponent’s mind, especially not a strong opponent. I’ll take advantage of weak opponents by making unorthodox plays against them constantly, but against strong players I’m going to play a solid, balanced game so that they can’t take advantage of me. This holds true whether the good player is slightly better or slightly worse than I am. We don’t make our money in poker by butting heads against good players. We hold our own against them, while making ATM withdrawals against the fish.

Second, we don’t play poker in a vacuum. You might think I’m always entering a seedy backroom and sitting down with nine strangers, but the actual poker world exists in brightly lit casinos, where the same faces constantly circulate. I know who most of the best players are already, and if there’s someone I don’t know who’s playing well, I can usually find out their identity within minutes. It’s fairly safe to assume that I’ll be better than an unknown player, but if occasionally I run into an opponent who has an edge on me without my knowing it, that doesn’t mean I should give up playing the game. We don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater.

The final answer to the civilian’s question is, “Yes, it’s hard to tell when someone might be better than I am, but I don’t play poker in fear. I have a plan for dealing with the toughest competition, and I trust my abilities against everyone else so that I remain confident in my chances to make money in this game.”

The civilian now walks away, more or less satisfied. And then I spend the rest of the party trying to convince myself that I believe my own answer. ♠

Matt Matros is the author of The Making of a Poker Player, and a three-time WSOP bracelet winner. He is also a featured coach for cardrunners.com.