I’ll start off with an example. Last week, I believe, I wrote about winning a hand on the river, making three of a kind. It was a nice hand, I was lucky but proud of my play at the same time. I didn’t get bullied early and played smart risk/return for the low limit game I was at. All right, enough tooting my own horn. Here’s the aftermath I didn’t get to last time. As soon as it was common knowledge that I had won the hand, somebody else at the table (not the dealer and not the gentleman I’d beaten after he went all-in) started singing some weird tune that had the words “the River” in it. This went on for a good 10 seconds, and eventually the dealer joined in, so it couldn’t have been that obscure. The guy was probably 60 or older, which apparently gives him full authority to call me “young man,” even though I’m over 30 now. Whatever, that’s no big deal. But the fact that he feels he has to talk to me between shuffles is what gets my going.

“So, young man, you got the lucky river card. You ever heard that song, The River?”

“No, but I’ve heard the song, “The River Runs Red with Your Annoying Blood.”

Yeah, yeah, but I should’ve said that. Would’ve taught him to small talk me.

So that’s just one example. But the nasty habit of blabbering to your tablemates simply because they’re the ones sitting next to you is an archaic need for some type of feedback. And let’s be straight about something, I have a fairly decent judge of people and have at least the basic skills of reading somebody, within or outside of the poker setting, and these people have no ulterior motive. They aren’t trying to learn something about you or your emotions. They’re not trying to get you snap or reveal something about your character. Not at a $2-$4 low-limit table. Sorry, it ain’t happening. It’s hard enough to even see these people’s faces through the dense fog of smoke. If the background on my cards weren’t white I have to squint to make out what the hell they were in the first place.

I also can’t stand the story guys in the middle of a hand. In the middle of the damn hand they’ll see a combination of cards or someone makes a call that “reminds them of a time.” Like they’re a retired player with a purple heart telling me war stories of the summer of 1947 when he almost hit that Royal Flush but didn’t want to…blah, blah, blah. Please just stop. It’s bad enough I have to hear this story when I’m trying to concentrate on my hand, the community cards and the other player’s bets, but usually this joker will inevitably hold up the game in the process.

I’m sure I sound bitter here, but it’s one of my worst pet peeves. Worse than the women who thinks she can use her feminist charm to dupe players into believing she’s a helpless newbie, worse than the table bully who keeps betting himself into the red even when it stops working after the first three hands, worse than the guy who thinks he can shuffle cards himself and then ends up bending half the deck on his bridge attempt. You ever get a call from somebody who you just couldn’t get off the phone? They keep talking and talking, and you’re just waiting for that half-a-second where you can slide in with “Well, let me let you go here…”

Well, that’s what small talk is like to me. Except I can’t hang up.

I wasn’t planning on playing much money here. We were really only there as a time-killer, so I cashed in $50 and went to sit $2-$4 low-limit Hold ‘Em.

It was a full table when I sat down, all nine seats taken. It took me a minute to adjust to the pace, as the dealer was throwing the cards out like they were on-fire, and the players were making decisions like their comp depended on it. Of course, what’s nice about Hold ‘Em at a full table is that you essentially get to play 7 out of every 9 hands for free, so if you’re not feeling it, you can dump and get settled, and wait for the next one.

It just so happened that I got caught up in the first hand quickly. I had J, 8 clubs, and called the blind. Both blinds and two other players stayed in beside me, making for five players before the flop. Nobody raised, so there was a decent pot but nothing to write home about.

The flop was 8, Q, 4, no club in the bunch. I was sitting second to last at the table, and not having played a single hand before this, had no feel for how everyone else was betting, or whether there was a bluffer at the table, etc… I was just going off odds and my position at this point – not the best place to be in, but I felt I had to run with my options.

Three checks before my play. I bet $2. I had a pair, but it wasn’t top pair, I thought the minimum bet would give me a good chance to see if anyone was trying to coast on a high card. The next player raised to $6. The other three players folded in order, and I quickly while staring at the felt, raised back to $10.

It’s not often you see the all-in in low-limit games, but this guy threw in the remaining $4 he had left. After I called, he tossed up Q, J. I showed my hand, and realized I was in serious trouble. In fact, there was only one more card that could’ve saved me now, since both of us had the Jack and he had the higher pair.

The turn was no help to either of us, and he wasn’t threatening a straight or flush, either.

The river, ah the sweet river, was the 8 of diamonds. Welcome home big pot. I caught a lucky card on the river on my first hand, forced the competitor to buy in with more chips, and started stacking $5 chips like I was riding a bicycle. A thing of beauty. I kept the sly grin to myself and played tight the rest of the time. It paid off, too, as I walked away a winner on my terms, something I’ll get into more in a future article.

After the hand, one of the other players, not the one I beat, starting singing “On the river.” I couldn’t tell if he was making it up as he went along, but then the dealer started joining in, too. It was a surreal moment I’m sure I wouldn’t have even noticed if I were as drunk as some of the people there. Oh, did I mention this was midday? Yeah, around 2 p.m. Of course, inside the casino, in the back where the poker room is, gated off and secluded from the rest of the quarter sliders in the joint, it’s so dark and musky you wouldn’t know what time of day it was anyway.

Anyhow, it was proud win for me. I’ve always felt better winning in a casino than in an online game. You can see the expressions on everyone’s faces, and you can stack your own chips right in front of you. I love that.

And I thought I had a few pinpointed perfectly. A month or so ago, a game was going on with me, some others and Player A. Well, Player A holds a pack of chips engulfed in a close fist before his turn to bet when he has something worth betting. You see those types of tells quite a bit, they’re not that difficult to spot if you know what you’re looking for. I call them “anticipation tells.” Some people get a flared nose, some people jump the gun and bet before their turn, while others show signs of impatience and ask who has the bet various times during the round. That last one can be a dead giveaway for a power hand. Nobody with garbage is pressing the table to get on with it. Even a bluffer is playing it cool, biding his time until it’s his turn to bet. They’re focus, if they know what’s good for them, is on making sure they’re not giving off any tells – which, again if you’re paying close enough attention – is a tell in and of itself.

Anyway, the lesson I want to share is that regardless of how coy you think you’re being, you think you’ve uncovered the holy grail of tells, the human response is a tricky beast to master. It’s so random and shifty, even if you’re a pro, you can never be 100% certain what another player is thinking or feeling.

My assumption to the contrary cost me a bunch. I had a moderate two-pair but folded to Player A’s bet, about three times the blind. Player B called, so I was afforded the opportunity to see the hands at the end of the round. Player A had a mid-pair hidden that never received any help from the community, and lost to Player B’s pair of Queens. So the gripped chips didn’t necessarily mean Player A had a spectacular hand…a mid pair certainly doesn’t qualify there. Perhaps it meant he thought he had a great hand. And if that’s the case, there’s a silver lining to the lesson after all. I should end up across the table all the time from players who bet strong on a mid-pair pre-flop. Those opportunities you have to seize before they get wise to their error, because no matter how dumb a player may be, you’d think he’d catch on to that after a while. Even a rhino stops attacking an electric fence in the same spot if he gets electrocuted enough times.

So the tells beat me. Turns out I’m not Matt Damon spotting Teddy KGB’s Oreo tell in underground New York City poker games. (That was cool, though, right?). I won’t abandon my quest to learn others tells and use them in my decision-making process during a hand, but I won’t rely solely on them ever again, either. A gut instinct is a wonderful thing to have, but it must be used in combination with your brain, and even then only after making the correct calculations.

On another but related note, I think I’m slipping with some of my guarding of tells in my own right. Sometimes when you get so wrapped up in improving one strategy, you let something else relax and it hurts your overall game. Another lesson learned, I can’t be too obsessed with watering the trees while the rest of the forest dries up and dies.

Noted. All of it. A good player in any game who wants to learn and improve doesn’t take these as failures, just learning opportunities. You always want to say you’ll make a better call next time.

I love, absolutely love watching the all-in unfold in poker tournaments on television. It can happen one of a few ways.

1) The quick response: This is great, because it means either the reacting player was trapping the other players the entire time, or he’s acting rashly off pure emotion. Either way, it’s going to make for great television and reactions once the call is made. You know what I’m talking about. Player 1 makes a huge deal and production about going all-in, and then almost before he or she can finish pushing their chips into the middle, the next player calls. “Call.” Usually it’s in a nice, casual, soft tone, as if to say “You don’t scare me. Bring it on.” It’s at this moment, if you’re watching the player who made the original bet, that you can tell if the first all-in was a bluff or a weak bet to buy the pot. The bet is down, there’s nothing left to hide – all but the best of them will subconsciously let their guard down and give you a clue as to what they’re feeling. It’s a great time to learn about your opponents, whether you’re in the hand or not.

2) The long delay: This is painful for all parties involved except the one making the decision, who is experiencing a whole different type of pain. If it were any other bet, the long delay would give everything away well before the call or fold. You don’t hesitate that long, get up from the table, do whatever it is you do, with a made hand. We’re not talking 20-30 seconds here, we’re talking minutes. We’re talking enough time for someone to call the clock on you – right or wrong (that’s a discussion for a different article). Anyway, this is the guy who, when presented with an all-in, obviously wasn’t prepared to be faced with this decision. He throws his hands up, goes to the bathroom, walks around the casino, goes across the street to get a hot dog…etc… he just can’t commit to putting all his chips in the middle, but apparently has a strong enough hand that keeps pulling him back to the wager. Most of the time this plays out the same way, and you wonder why it took so long to come to the obvious conclusion. He’ll call, see a stronger hand flipped by his opponent, and then almost like clockwork come out with “I knew it. I knew it.” All the while shaking his head. This is a perfect example of when the draw to the idea of being a big winner can overcome your logic and common sense as a poker player. Statistics, situational betting, reading somebody..they all tend to go out the window when the emotions take over.

3.) The accusation: You’ll see Phil Hellmuth and other professionals do this from time to time, and their motives behind the actions will differ. Someone will go all-in, and they just hate having to be put to a decision. So instead of delaying forever, they’ll go on the attack – verbally. “Why are you going all-in? I know you don’t have this or that. Bad bet. Bad move.” Like he just knows for sure what the other player is holding in his hand. Oftentimes, including when Hellmuth does it, it’s to goat the player into giving something up, which is fine. I accept this as a tactic. But other times, it’s just someone unable to control their frustration, and it turns into an outward complaint, obviously misdirected and certainly ridiculous. You’re in a battle of the minds, the last thing you need is an infant throwing a tantrum because he wanted to limp in and catch something on the turn or the river. Tough luck, sucker. In or out?

In any three of these scenarios, there’s a common thread. And that’s the ability to draw the attention of anyone in the room, especially if you’re deep into a tournament, regardless of the size. In fact, the all-in could be between two people who are down to their last half-stack of chips, and it would still be interesting. The idea of someone betting everything they have left is just incredibly appealing. And it’s my favorite part of being a poker enthusiast.

Yeah, that might sound a bit dramatic, but it’s the truth. Like any journey in life, a poker tournament for any one individual will have its ups and downs. How will you handle being dealt a crushing defeat? How do you react when you mathematically should’ve easily won a hand, only to see it slip away to a lucky draw on the river for your opponent? Likewise, if those strikes of fortune happened to you, do you keep your cool and maintain a calm pace focused on the long haul, or do you allow yourself to get high, only to inevitably plunge back to reality just a few short hands later.

Personally, I can’t see how professionals ride the emotional roller coaster of highs and lows without keeping level-headed throughout most of the action. Otherwise, you’ll be so exhausted after a few hours, you’ll become your own worst enemy. Fatigue is not something to discount as a non-factor during a tournament. So to avoid that, I work a steady diet of soda products and keeping an even keel during big victories and defeats. They’re great times for a bathroom break. Not showing too much emotion, also, will earn you some respect from your opponents (see Daniel Negreanu).

The satisfaction, I think really comes from knowing you put everything together. All those tricks, traits, practice, learning and mastering blend to work in unison toward the end result of a tournament win. I’m talking about patience, cunning, will power, smart calcuation, betting prowess, trusting your instinct and making bold moves when it makes sense. And, obviously, a little bit of luck. Managing the ride and staying sharp are the greatest challenges, and if you can look back on your session, even if you don’t emerge the victor, and can say you didn’t make a single stupid mistake, that’s something to be proud of.

Winning, however, is a great accomplishment. And the tournament doesn’t have to be the World Series of Poker or another of similar stature. You can be playing a small community tournament with a $1,000 grand prize. Like I said in the beginning of the article, I’m not talking about the financial gains associated with being the winner. And I think if you do ask any of the winners of the World Series of Poker, they’ll tell you without hesitation just having that bracelet is as sweet as the millions that come along with it.

Finally, I’ve come to understand that going through a difficult tournament that tests your resolve is nothing short of a character builder. You learn something about yourself as a person and as a poker player. Being able to see something like that through, and be the ultimate champion, is icing on the cake.

So my recommendation is find a tournament to play. Even if it’s a poker run to benefit some charitable organization, it’ll offer you an opportunity to go through the ultimate poker test and truly see what you’re made of.  If you’re lucky, you’ll get some kind of plaque, certificate or other form of recognition that you’re a winner.  I’d frame that baby in gold and put it up there right next to the deck of cards that provided me my first royal flush in a cash game.  Those are the memories worth saving.  The money comes and goes, but the stories are what define us as players.