If the opposite of a bad beat is a good beat, then the player sitting at Table 67/Seat 2 during a typical night at this year’s World Series of Poker (WSOP) was most certainly the benefactor of a miraculous catch – in other words, a good beat. Most players remember their bad beats, but we usually forget the synchronized miracles that are dealt just as impartially. Every player who gets crushed by a bad beat has a smiling correlated counterpart with fading memories of gifts from the poker gods.
The smiling man positioned at Table 67/Seat 2 would likely have remained unnoticed amid a roomful of hundreds of tournament players, except for one thing: his reaction. The instant the player caught his miracle card, he bolted out of his seat, did a few fist pumps in the air, and shouted to no one in particular “Yes!” He may have even shouted “Yes!” a few times.
No one needed to see the cards or view the board or replay the hand to understand exactly what had happened. One player got lucky and caught the perfect card. The other player took a bad beat and began to exit. It’s a common occurrence at all poker tournaments – whether the buy-in is $20 or $10,000.
As the winning player was stacking the sizable pot, a floor man approached. He issued a warning, citing the so-called “excessive celebration rule.” The player expressed surprise at being reprimanded, but accepted the warning without protest. In his defense, the floor man acted responsibly, enforcing a rule designed to encourage good sportsmanship and deter annoying distractions.
So, what’s the problem?
Looking back at this year’s WSOP, which included 57 gold bracelet events, for the first time ever, I can’t recall a single case of a player who grossly overstepped the bounds of proper behavior. Perhaps an infraction happened at some point, but I never saw any such incident – and I was there at the Rio without exception for 49 consecutive days. There were no Hevad Khan sideshows, no Mike Matusow tirades, and no Phil Hellmuth outbursts (as long as ceaseless whining doesn’t count). Many players and fans probably think this is a good thing. Sorry, but I think it’s a very bad thing.
Before I explain, I should make it perfectly clear that I despise quiet poker games. Nothing bores me more than a game where there is absolutely no table talk. We seem to be forgetting that poker is a game played by people with feelings and emotions, not robots – although sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference with so many ears wired up to iPods, eyes concealed by menacing sunglasses, and faces sheltered by hats and hoods that only serve to bunker a player emotionally from what’s supposed to be a social game.
Call me odd, but I like it when people talk at the poker table and show themselves as they really are. I like it when people get mad. I like it when people cheer for themselves. It might be bad form to curse, but that should be permitted (as long as an opposing player or staff member is not abused). I fail to understand why occasional outbursts or expletives are considered unacceptable in poker tournaments when all other sports encourage the expression of human emotion. Last time I checked, anyone who enters a poker room is an adult and participates voluntarily. If a player pays his entry fee, it’s his or her right to behave like a gentleman or act like a jackass. And if anyone gets upset at seeing a player pump his fist in the air and celebrate a little, then I have some blunt advice: grow some thicker skin. Deal with it. I frankly don’t care to witness 7,000 perfectly-behaved members of a church choir playing in a major poker tournament. I want to see 7,000 unique individuals – the quiet, the loud, the angry, the boisterous, the flashy, the thinkers, and even some jerks. What’s wrong with that?
One of the worst bits of poker advice ever written was the absurdly toxic suggestion that players should always stay quiet at the table. What absolute rubbish. Of course, when you’re not involved in a hand and a big pot is at stake, that moment should be respected with silence. But to sit silent and emotionless for hours at a time is not only senseless, but it’s also counterproductive. I find that it’s much easier to learn something about your opponents – not to mention have a much better time at the poker table – when there is table talk and people are communicating.
The “excessive celebration rule” was ostensibly adapted in order to dissuade players from turning events like the WSOP into a platform for antics more suitable for circus animals. Undoubtedly, some players have acted like idiots in recent years, but one unforeseen consequence of having television cameras to record everything for posterity is that many players are now clamming up. Some players don’t want to say anything stupid or appear foolish on television. I’ve witnessed countless players who are usually colorful personalities at the table suddenly get stage fright and say absolutely nothing when sitting at a feature table. There are notable exceptions, of course: Daniel Negreanu, Scotty Nguyen, and Phil Hellmuth immediately come to mind. Imposing penalties on human emotion, even stifling stupidity, is a bad tournament rule no matter where it’s implemented.
By contrast, one doesn’t see restrictions on player behavior on “High Stakes Poker,” even though the magnitude of decisions is often worth six-figures. That program is among the best on television because viewers get to see some of the world’s top players in a mostly unfiltered format, complete with their raw emotions exposed – the good, the bad, and the ugly. Take emotion out of poker and you rip the heart and soul out of the game.
One of my favorite writers and best friends is English journalist Tony Holden. He once famously wrote, “Whether he likes it or not, a man’s character is stripped bare at the poker table.”
Holden was absolutely correct. I now fear that draconian measures like f-bomb rules and excessive celebration restrictions are becoming the pseudo-utopian utensils that are stripping humanity out the game. We are now stripped bare, not by our own successes and failures, but by rules – however well-intentioned – which aim to suppress that which is most genuine and beneficial to poker as a spectator sport. It’s our personalities, which sadly have become stripped bare.
Nolan Dalla can be contacted at nolandalla@aol.com.