There are clever players, who by exquisite design manage to be laid back, posturing with the lowest game profile. They have great reluctance to show their “true speed,” and for a special and specific reason: They have a significant edge.
They are cardroom spiders, quietly but busily spinning and weaving their webs, anticipating the inevitable arrival of the foolish fly. They are the KGBs of poker: misdirection and misinformation experts. Nothing unethical about it, just a touch devious, thus not exactly kosher. Technically speaking though, it is still part and parcel of the winning poker package. Also, nothing ungermane: They populate and are indigenous to any given cardroom. Any giveaway clues? Yes, sir.
These guys never throw you the soft catchable straight pass; they always manage to put a little spin on the ball then gloat mildly when you muff the catch.
When they give you the cold knife (smart play), you don’t feel the thrust. Magically, they anesthetize you by their game table dignity into a subdued and graceful loser. “What a capital treat gaming with, and even losing to, a splendid fellow like your good self; many thanks, indeed, for the hands-on clinic.” But from the dank recesses and crevasses of your brain comes a voiceless scream, “May the fleas of a thousand camels inhabit your armpits and groin.”
They are never a stationary target. Bob and weave, shake and bake, they give you a good dose of vertigo by their serpentigenous gyrations. Nerve gas them all, I say, menaces to the wallet and sanity that they all are. Any other clues? Only if you happen to drop a chip and look for it under the table. For there you will make three startling discoveries.
- The lower torso of our man is constructed of chiseled granite. Yup, you guessed it, the very same louse who was once engaged to the Statue of Liberty.
- Lichen and moss have already anchored his feet to the floor.
- Nearby, a pitched pup tent, well-provisioned.
Then you know our man is encamped for the day waiting for them darn aces.
What was just described is the classic “hard rock”: A living, breathing, sitting statue. A poker dead-piece sculpture for brother, he ain’t movin’ for nothin’ ‘cept for dem darn aces, and sometimes kings if he is in late position. Then he comes to life; sometimes even talks. (The marbled folks at the mall of Caesar’s Palace are all his family.)
Another geological poker gem is the “soft rock” (categorically a stone). This is the guy that is forever and ever talking a great game: “A good loose game.” So, “Boys, one time, today, let’s do a rip-roaring Dodge City shootout!”
Wow, you think, this is gonna be a whale of a game. Great!
But when that hard-sell perfume evaporates in the winds of time, you begin to smell that “there is something rotten in Denmark.”
It’s him, the phony cheapo, a con-man without style. For when the shootout at Dodge was staged, he was at home in Chickamauga, Georgia, grooming the blessed dog.
He is the same guy that at the start of the game and on first opportunity will let go one loose call with the LOUD announcement that “I’m calling you on principle so you don’t get the idea that you can bluff and rob me anytime!”
He is particularly and precisely the guy you can rob all day and all night because he cannot stand the pain of calling with weak hands. So, merry larceny boys, and try to talk him into playing short-handed.
The hardrock — specifically the stoic, uncommunicative, deep thinker — analyzer type is not easy to rob. Make no mistake about it, he is perfectly aware that folks are forever trying to rob rocks. Ya gotta play him legit. Anytime he crosses Turn Street, he’s not out for a drive shooting the breeze. He has a real hand and is a real contender for the pot. So if you’ve got a marginal hand, dump it babycakes, ‘cause you’re already taking the worst of it (unless the pot is very large thus giving you correct odds to call.)
He is also aware that he is not particularly endeared by gamesters, for his kind represents the very antithesis of gaming, thus he remains aloof, self-contained and conducts himself chiefly by a quietous dignity.
He is a loner in and outside the game, speaking only when spoken to, and in that, briefly, with no further ceremony. For if there were a cave handy, he might be instantly recessed, a hermit, a monk, so isolated and far removed is he socially from the processional flow of the card-playing rabble.
How do you deal with a hard rock?
Well, you could write to the U.S. Bureau of Mines for the latest in dynamiting techniques because brother, that’s what it takes to crack ‘em wide open.
Yet another poker geological (pseudo) mini-rock is the pebble on the edge of quicksand. He is a guy that is afflicted with a common-cold type cardroom disease which I diagnose as Poker-Schizophrenia — a genuine poker split personality. He wants to be somebody that he cannot be: He wants to be a rock but can never be one, because it is not his basic makeup or temperament. For at heart and by inclination, he is a cavalier poker renegade, successfully disguising himself only to himself.
The first time I ran into one was a real beaut. He informed me before the start of the game, (and of course, “confidentially, it’s a big secret”), that “the only sure-fire way of beating poker is by a tight and conservative, but aggressive approach, to the game.”
For the first two hours, he was as advertised, true to form: Fold, fold, fold all junk and marginal hands.
Then he began to be antsy, shifting on his seat’s tent, restless, his eyes wandering here, there, and everywhere; drumming, tapping his foot and hand noticeable. He looked like the great white whale that needed to come up for air.
Poker ennui or boredom began to set in which he tried to relieve by all the false moves. He began calling more than he was folding. And when hands were showed down, he was in fact barging in the pot with such hands as 7-9 suited in bad position and in a raised pot.
The pebble was now nearer the edge of the quicksand. After one bad-beat, the pebble tilted over and fell into the quicksand.
Unbelievable, in a flash, he shed off the put-on personality of a rock and bared himself to what he really was Dr. Poker Kevorkian Death and Destruction was now his central theme, raising or reraising practically all pots.
Annoyed and financially hurting, I leaned over, cupped a hand and whispered to him — “What happened to the game plan, pardner?”
He gave me a strange look as though I was something the cat dragged into the house, and whispered back, “Man ya gotta adjust to the game conditions otherwise the antes will eat you up. ” As he said that I saw more of his teeth and noticed his hands were clenched.
I make it unofficial policy to try not to talk to this type again because you’ll never know where you’re at — anytime — with this guy. Besides, I fear what disease he has is probably contagious.
But here’s his best kicker: Straightfaced, he now tells me that, “I’m this way, guy: I gotta be stuck pretty good then I play better.”
Then I suspected that he’s gotta have something else, something more awful, like cancer of the arse for what else could make thinking that warped.
[Many players during the first few rounds of a game are the same way: pseudo-rocks. In fact, many weak players equate playing tight to playing good. It usually turns out that they can’t do either. Bored potless, break in discipline, bad-beats, whatever, their true colors eventually are displayed.]
Doyle Brunson opens denunciation and annoyance with extra tight players by the observation that, “There’s something about a rock that tends to irritate accomplished players.” How do the experts deal with rocks?
Doyle continues, “Guys like Bobby Baldwin and (the late) Johnny Moss will really get to studying a rock. They’ll gauge his temperament, weigh his weaknesses and then, just when the man makes a move, they’ll destroy him with an all-in bet that’s bigger than his determination to call.”
Finally, Doyle points out precisely where the soft spot is in a rock. “Sure, rocks start with good hands, but they seldom have the courage to follow through, and world-class players take advantage of this fact all the time.”
Coming Soon: Dealing With Sharks!
Poker Digest Magazine – Volume 1 Number 2