On one hand, perhaps 30 minutes into my session, I found myself holding 7-7 under the gun, and as I hadn't been playing many hands, I figured a raise from early position would probably mean I wouldn't have many opponents to deal with.
SO MUCH FOR MY RAISE GETTING RESPECT
Maybe I had a flashing neon sign on my head that said "weak hand" because, I kid you not, five players called two bets cold before the action came around to the player on the button, who decided to three-bet.
The two blinds folded, but I and the other five players each called the additional bet, something the button had to figure would happen. He also might have figured that I would cap it, but even if that happened, neither one of us could assume that any of the players who already had two bets in the pot were going away.
Although I wasn't thrilled about the third bet, with seven-way action, I was reasonably fond of 7-7. That many players probably meant the players were holding each other's high cards, although there was also a very good chance I was facing an overpair like 9-9 somewhere. If I flopped a set I figured to show a good profit, and I'd hang around with a flop like 4-5-6 or 5-6-8, but aside from that, I knew I'd be able to get away from the hand immediately, in bad position against so many opponents.
THE FLOP ENDS MY INTEREST
The flop came Q-J-4 offsuit, and I suffered an immediate attack of "no curiosity" about my hand's chances of winning. I checked planning on folding even for one bet. One of the middle players bet, the button raised, and I folded along with three others, leaving three players in for the Turn card. (Note that had I held the button in this situation, and known that I could see the turn for just one bet, it would have been right to see the turn even though I had only two outs, because the pot was so huge and because I would have stood a chance of making a lot more with a board of Q-J-4-7. Playing out of position, I had no such assurance of seeing a cheap turn card, and the fold was trivially simple.)
The Turn produced a King, and everyone checked. The river was a Two, the first player bet, the second player folded, and the button called. The first player turned over Q-9, and the button mucked his hand.
WHAT COULD THE BUTTON HAVE HELD?
I starting talking to myself, VERY softly, trying to figure out what in the world the button could have been three-betting six players with that could not beat a pair of queens with a bad kicker on a final board of Q-J-4-K-2. The call on the end meant it probably had to be something like 9-9 or 10-10.
I don't think three betting that hand is a very good play, because its best and probably only chance to win against that many opponents is flopping a set, and a flat call of the two bets cold, although usually not a strong play, could have accomplished the same thing. Nonetheless, the original play isn't horrible. The button is representing A-A, K-K, or maybe A-K (note, though, that A-K is greatly devalued when so many players are already in, for two reasons: first, the extreme likelihood that many of the aces or kings needed to make the hand were already unavailable, belonging to players who wanted to see the flop, and second, because that many calls probably also meant there were a number of pocket pairs looking at the flop, and so even if the lucky ace or king hit, you could be quite vulnerable to someone hitting a set), and perhaps he could push someone off a better hand with the right flop. But he forfeited that right when he checked the turn.
As I was doing this soft muttering calculation—I emphasize "soft" because there was no way the button could have heard me—the player on my immediate left turned to me and said, in a mocking tone, "What could he have, what could he have, maybe you should worry about what you have, raising in first position like that!”
"I could have a lot of hands," I replied, "I'm just trying to figure out what he could have to three-bet six players that couldn't beat that board." (Later, I figured out there wasn't any good way to ever put the button on a hand—he was terrible, and lost a lot of money.)
"You couldn't have a lot of hands," my critic replied. "You play much worse than button does if you raise in early position and then don't play on flop."
YOU WANT TO START, I'LL FINISH—MY OWN WAY!
I'm not really sure what started all this—this fellow and I had been friendly enough to that point, I hadn't criticized him, and I hadn't even really criticized the button, so much as I was just softly vocalizing my confusion. I figured there were three possibilities:
1) He and the button were pals; or
2) He was one of those players who figure he can get an opponent to play worse by irritating him; or
3) He was losing and felt the need to lash out at somebody.
I have a lot of rules for myself in poker, and one of the most important is "Don't do what your opponents want you to do."
This player was probably trying one of two things. As he was directly on my left, he had position on me, so perhaps he was one of those passive players who don’t like aggressive players raising pots before his turn. In that case, he was trying to shame me into not raising before him.
Alternatively, he was just trying to get me steamed, figuring that almost anytime I got into a pot with him, he would have position on me, and I would be stubborn, because he had been insulting.
DON’T CHANGE YOUR STRATEGY OR EMOTIONS
My solution? First, don't let an opponent's comment change my strategic game. If I think raising before the action gets to him is right, I'm sure not going to stop doing it just because my opponent plans on being a vocal critic of my actions. If anything, I might do it more, just because he doesn't like it – he might be someone who likes to limp into pots cheap and he couldn't do that if I was going to be aggressive – but in general I don't like player comments to impact my play in any way.
Second, don't let an opponent's comment change my emotional game. Sure, my opinion of this guy had changed, from "neutral" over to "jerk." But if I had let his remark anger me instead of amuse me, he'd have won the battle and probably the war. Instead of focusing on my game, and my eight opponents, suddenly I'd have been focusing on one opponent. That's almost always a recipe for disaster.
So I did what almost all obnoxious people hate the most. I ignored him. I didn't respond to his final comment, didn't respond to anything else he said, and didn't change my game plan in the slightest.
I did pay slightly more attention to his betting patterns than I probably otherwise would have, to see if he was the cheap limper type. It seemed likely he was going to try to attack me in some pots, so I tried dispassionately to collect as much information as I could. In this fashion, he wound up hurting himself, because while I was studying everyone, I was probably doing a slightly better job of studying him.
A PLEASANT OUTCOME
We only played two significant pots against each other the rest of the game (I only stayed another 90 minutes). In the first one, he kept popping me back, and ultimately lost a big pot when I showed him the nuts. In the second, he folded on the turn when I bet out, even though he'd raised me on the flop.
It was a good thing for me that he folded, because all I had was one overcard, an inside straight draw, and a very good read on where he was. I could practically hear his thoughts. "I attacked this guy and he's hardly played against me, and the one time he did, he had the nuts. He's only going to play against me with the nuts and I'll be damned if I’ll let him do that to me again." As they say in the horror movies, "Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha."
It was a pleasure doing business with him, and pleasure is the key word. If I'd let him throw me off my game, I'd have lost in more ways than one. Just remember, if your opponents want you to do something, you probably have a strongly vested interest in not doing it.