The result of all this thinking and feeling is exactly what you’ve been expecting. I made a call with A-7 that against most players and in most situations I would not have made.
MY READ PROVES RIGHT
Blank shook his head sadly and said, “Man, I don’t want to turn this one over,” and he showed K-10 offsuit, a hand over which I was slightly less than a 3-2 favorite—a nice position considering I was receiving those odds, not laying them.
A king hit the flop, and I was out. No big deal. Things like that happen all the time in poker; it wasn’t exactly like I’d had aces cracked. I stood up to leave the table without saying a word, but before I could leave, Blank said quite loudly (and again, remember this is a player with whom I have no negative history whatsoever), “That’s the worst call I’ve ever seen in my life. I can’t believe I got lucky enough to win after you did it.”
Remember, now, Blank had just busted me out of the tournament, not vice-versa. Although I don’t think it’s good form, had the reverse been true (i.e., had my call busted him out of the tournament), I would have just shrugged it off, because players often get very upset at the moment they bust out.
That wasn’t what had happened here, though. Blank had made yet another move with another weak hand, had run into someone willing to go with his read and call him down, and had gotten mildly lucky and busted me. I hadn’t said a single word to him, and now he was using his Famous Player status to insult my play as I left the table.
GUESS I’M LUCKY HE DIDN’T THREATEN MY FAMILY, TOO
“Excuse me?” I asked. “I read you correctly for having a weak hand, you draw out on me to bust me, and then you insult me by saying that’s the worst call you’ve ever seen in your life?”
“Yeah,” Blank replied. “That’s the worst call I’ve ever seen.”
I stood there, mouth agape, for about ten seconds, trying to figure out what if anything I wanted to do about this, and tried one more time.
“I’m going to give you another shot at this,” I said. “You’re really saying in front of all these people that this was the worst call you’ve ever seen in your life.”
“No,” he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “it was the best call I’ve ever seen in my life.”
At that I decided to walk away. This was just so bizarre, so unexpected, and such poor form on Blank’s part that it was simply outside my experience. I’ve covered countless tournaments, and in all that time, only once have I heard a player who busted another player out insult him in the aftermath—and that was a situation where the insult wasn’t nearly as nasty, and where the two players had a history of caustic remarks towards one another over the last couple of days.
“IT JUST ISN’T DONE”
How good or bad a call it was almost doesn’t matter. What Blank said just isn’t done. I had my reasons for making a call against him that I wouldn’t have made against 98% of the players in the room, pot odds or no pot odds, and those reasons turned out to be correct, even though Blank got lucky.
I decided I wanted to talk to Blank, so I approached him the following day and asked him if he had a minute.
“Sure,” he said.
“I just want to ask what was up yesterday, when you busted me out,” I asked.
“Oh, I cheated,” Blank said, obviously sarcastically.
“Come on, Blank, I’m serious,” I said. “I’m not used to seeing people insult people they’ve just busted out of a tournament. Is there something up between the two of us that I’m not aware of, did I do something to offend you?”
“No,” Blank said. “I just couldn’t believe you made such a terrible call. I’m sorry if you’re so sensitive that my remarks hurt your feelings. I’m sorry you felt offended.”
FAILURE TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY LEADS TO FAILURE
I didn’t see much point in carrying the conversation forward. Blank had made another sarcastic remark, insulted my play again, and made two “apologies” that clearly were not apologies for his actions but rather comments that added up to “Gee, I didn’t do anything wrong, but I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”
“OK, well that pretty much covers it,” I said, and I turned and walked away.
I reviewed all these events with a former World Champion (whom I also won’t name, and who also is not Phil Hellmuth!), on three levels. First, before I told him about any of the antics or histrionics, but merely described the hands, pot odds, and so on, he said he thought the call was fine. Then I added in the description of the Day One insults.
“That might sound strange,” he said, “but maybe not as strange as you think. You and I both know that Blank has been having a very hard time winning lately, and probably feeling pretty embarrassed about it. I think you experienced a combination of Blank feeling embarrassed that you outplayed him, and his general frustration about how his game has been going lately.”
Then I added in the results of the Day Two insults, and the Champ just shook his head. “Sounds like Blank is having a very hard time of it,” he said.
I agreed, and still do. Perhaps more than anything else, Blank’s failure to accept responsibility for his remarks the following day—shifting the emphasis to my sensitivity, rather than to his breach of etiquette—helps explain to me why he’s losing right now. I don’t like words like “must” and “always,” but one of the few times I’m willing to use them comes when it’s time to accept responsibility for your own actions and results.
To win in poker, you almost certainly must accept responsibility for your own actions and results. If you blame bad cards, bad luck, or other outside influences for what’s happening to you, you will probably continue to lose. From what little I know of Blank, he’s not a bad guy. He’s probably experiencing failure for the first time in his life, and like most human beings, doesn’t handle novel situations as well as he knows how to handle situations with which he has experience.
For Blank’s sake, I hope he learns to accept responsibility, and if you want to become or stay a winning player, I hope you’re willing to do the same. Failing to accept responsibility and trying to build yourself up by bringing others down is, with rare exceptions, a formula for defeat both in poker and in life.