by RANDY MURRAY
I have never played a full game of Monopoly, all the way to the end. Or Risk. I’ve never liked Scrabble and find those party games like Pictionary to be forced and artificial. I’m not a chess player, although I appreciate the idea of the game. And although I’ve had fun playing games like Hearts or Spades or Euchre, I’ve never been any good at them.
I think I know why. Although I’m smart enough to understand the rule and strategies, the artificially of games keeps me from taking them seriously enough to care about winning. My attention wanders. I don’t engage. It’s not something I seek out. They’re fun for a few minutes and then in the way of interacting with the people I’m with.
That’s why I’ve been surprised to find out that I’m actually pretty good at poker.
I started playing a few years ago, right about the time poker and Texas Hold’em started taking off. I sat in a few friendly games and found that not only did I enjoy it, but that I could win. It was a very different experience.
Why? First of all, there are stakes. There’s something on the line. Even if it’s only a few dollars, having something at risk brings my mind into focus. I’ve also found that when you play against other people who equally rate the risk, it’s more fun. When you play against people who don’t care about the stakes, the game falls apart.
The second and more important reason I love poker is this: it’s not about the cards. It doesn’t matter what cards you have in your hand at any moment. It’s about learning to read your opposing players and making it difficult for them to read you. It’s a game of psychology and theater. It’s where you learn about people under pressure, at their highs and lows. It’s right up my alley.
I can teach anyone a handful of simple rules and you can begin playing fairly well. You don’t need to learn complex strategies or calculate complex percentages to try and figure out what cards are at play. None of those things are important unless you’re playing at the highest ranks of competitive poker, which you or I will probably never do.
But learning to understand people and how they react is a much more complex and interesting problem. Watching players evaluate their options, choose how much to put at risk, and react to the turn of the cards is far more interesting that moving playing pieces around a board. I find it thrilling, even when things don’t go my way and I bust out.
Chess may be the game of kings, but poker is a game of life and living. I could never sit down with a grand master of chess and have any expectation of winning, but there’s a chance, an ever so slight one, but a chance nonetheless, that I could sit down at a World Series Of Poker table and win it all. And not because of the random whim of the cards, but because of the human factors, the people sitting across the table. That’s what’s interesting and exciting.
If you ever get a chance to play with me I’ll give you a tip: the shaking of my hand is not a tell (a “tell” is a give away, a sign). It’s an essential tremor or “familial shake”. And don’t forget, I’m a trained playwright and actor. So can you really be sure that I’m excited or nervous about the cards I’ve been dealt? Thinking through what you see in my face, how I played the last few hands, and thinking about what I might do is so much more interesting than the two random cards in your hand.
I have never played a full game of Monopoly, all the way to the end. Or Risk. I’ve never liked Scrabble and find those party games like Pictionary to be forced and artificial. I’m not a chess player, although I appreciate the idea of the game. And although I’ve had fun playing games like Hearts or Spades or Euchre, I’ve never been any good at them.
I think I know why. Although I’m smart enough to understand the rule and strategies, the artificially of games keeps me from taking them seriously enough to care about winning. My attention wanders. I don’t engage. It’s not something I seek out. They’re fun for a few minutes and then in the way of interacting with the people I’m with.
That’s why I’ve been surprised to find out that I’m actually pretty good at poker.
I started playing a few years ago, right about the time poker and Texas Hold’em started taking off. I sat in a few friendly games and found that not only did I enjoy it, but that I could win. It was a very different experience.
Why? First of all, there are stakes. There’s something on the line. Even if it’s only a few dollars, having something at risk brings my mind into focus. I’ve also found that when you play against other people who equally rate the risk, it’s more fun. When you play against people who don’t care about the stakes, the game falls apart.
The second and more important reason I love poker is this: it’s not about the cards. It doesn’t matter what cards you have in your hand at any moment. It’s about learning to read your opposing players and making it difficult for them to read you. It’s a game of psychology and theater. It’s where you learn about people under pressure, at their highs and lows. It’s right up my alley.
I can teach anyone a handful of simple rules and you can begin playing fairly well. You don’t need to learn complex strategies or calculate complex percentages to try and figure out what cards are at play. None of those things are important unless you’re playing at the highest ranks of competitive poker, which you or I will probably never do.
But learning to understand people and how they react is a much more complex and interesting problem. Watching players evaluate their options, choose how much to put at risk, and react to the turn of the cards is far more interesting that moving playing pieces around a board. I find it thrilling, even when things don’t go my way and I bust out.
Chess may be the game of kings, but poker is a game of life and living. I could never sit down with a grand master of chess and have any expectation of winning, but there’s a chance, an ever so slight one, but a chance nonetheless, that I could sit down at a World Series Of Poker table and win it all. And not because of the random whim of the cards, but because of the human factors, the people sitting across the table. That’s what’s interesting and exciting.
If you ever get a chance to play with me I’ll give you a tip: the shaking of my hand is not a tell (a “tell” is a give away, a sign). It’s an essential tremor or “familial shake”. And don’t forget, I’m a trained playwright and actor. So can you really be sure that I’m excited or nervous about the cards I’ve been dealt? Thinking through what you see in my face, how I played the last few hands, and thinking about what I might do is so much more interesting than the two random cards in your hand.
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