Hang around the poker world long enough, and you’ll see the guy who qualified for AARP before you were out of 5th grade was on to something when he said, “poker is a game of life.” All of the best and worst traits of the human condition really do carry over to the green felt. The emotions, hopes and dreams, and constant bitter disappointments are occasionally interrupted by flashes of pure elation. It’s these moments that remind us just why it is we choose to play the game.

After a recent downswing I decided to take a step back. I wanted to accomplish three things. The first was the most obvious, stop giving away my money. It seemed no matter how good I was getting it in, the two-outer or runner-runner always came. Next, I figured there was always some work to be done on my game – no time like the present. Complacency is the enemy of profit. Lastly, I wanted to be sure it was just the ugly side of variance causing so many horrific beats, not some element of my game springing a leak. In short: take stock, cut the dead weight, maybe add a trick or two and come out fighting.

The question was easy, how was I getting to be so friendly with the bad beat monster haunting my dreams? Any true poker player understands there are going to be horrific downswings, but I had to be sure that I wasn’t in any way to blame for extending them. After reviewing hand histories from the good times and comparing them to more recent ones, my fear was realized. It was my fault, at least partially.
The first few bad beats were just variance; in fact the first two or three weeks were bad luck. After that, however, I began to lose my confidence, expecting the worst possible card. I let irrational fear affect my decisions and soon I was over-betting my monsters. I felt I needed to protect hands rather than focusing on extracting value. On the other hand, I under-bet anything less than the nuts, fearing that the river would come and go, leaving me with nothing but a busted draw and a short stack.

I was playing the worst kind of poker; I focused on results and feared every turn of the card. I had become a tight-passive player. With this realization I turned to the only thing I knew could get me through – cold logic and basic knowledge of the game. I played fewer tables, so I could focus on each hand carefully and insure that I always took the best line possible. I would do my best to never forget even if the results didn’t come, my comfort was in having the best of it when all the chips went in.

In the course of studying my down swing, I also noticed a leak developed on the happy side of variance. Have you ever had one of those days where every card hits, every flop brings a set, and the turn always gives you the nut flush? It’s why I play. Doyle Brunson said it best, “…you have to play your runs…” and man is it a beautiful feeling.

Those times lead to what I call “Superman Syndrome.” As I begin to go on a heater, I slowly open up my range. It could be the cards, or it could be a locked-in focus…but I flop hard every time, run successful semi-bluffs, and make accurate reads. You feel invincible, and eventually rationalize making improper plays based on “gut feeling”. You rationalize the hero call against the fish, who probably made his flush draw, even when you know you’re not getting the right odds. Eventually, you realize how much slightly –EV calls have cost you…usually just a few moments too late. Your “invincibility” has eaten away some of the profit due to the glorious heaters.

People are addicts by nature, whether its food, alcohol, or tobacco. It’s easy to become addicted, but its not The Beer Company or Big Tobacco, it’s the neat little endorphins that are responsible. Endorphins come in various forms, from adrenaline to epinephrine, and they’re responsible for the “fight or flight” response, Love, and Lust. When a sky diver or racecar driver says “I’m an adrenaline junkie,” he’s not addicted to the action – he’s addicted to the chemical reaction that takes place as a result of it.

This same reaction is why many recreation players play poker, the release of endorphins when you’re running a bluff or raking a huge pot. That “high” is what brings them back time and again. It’s what makes them play for “the big pot” or develop fancy play syndrome. They aren’t at your table to make a living. They’re looking for that next “high”, and they’re willing to pay for it.

As serious players, we have to make an effort to control anything threatening our profits. Being aware of endorphin reactions, understanding how to control ourselves and take advantage of our weaker opponents, is a valuable tool. Remember earlier when we compared poker and life? Well, here’s a life lesson disguised as poker advice. Always think through every decision, logically and rationally, and never let your emotions, even the good ones, cloud your judgment. Trust what you know, and use the skills you’ve worked hard to acquire.