By John Vorhaus

You’re in the third hour of an otherwise unremarkable hold’em session when you pick up pocket tens on the button. It’s folded around to you and you raise. The small blind folds and the big blind calls. You have a confident read on your opponent: This guy won’t defend his blind with just nothing, even if he puts you on a pure real estate raise. So when the flop comes 9-6-2, you like your hand a lot. You bet for value. Your opponent calls. The turn is a 4, which doesn’t scare you because you know the big blind won’t have gotten this deep into the hand with swill like 5-3. You bet again, fully expecting your opponent to lay it down now, but he calls. What could he have? A good nine? If he had a set, you’d have heard about it by now.

The river is a queen. The big blind checks and you check too, because a queen is an overcard he could easily have held and hit. Sure enough, he turns over the winning hand of A-Q and takes the pot.

You replay the hand quickly in your head and emerge from your brief analysis satisfied that you played every street correctly, from your preflop raise to your river check. But something about the hand irks you. Your foe called all the way with just overcards. Does he not respect you? What does a guy have to do around here to get these mooks to fold?! That thing that irks you is now like a raspberry seed stuck in your tooth. The more you think about it, the more it bothers you. It’s hard enough to play correctly, you tell yourself, but when you play absolutely correctly and end up suffering for others’ mistakes, well, damn, that’s just not fair.

A subtle shift has taken place in your thinking. For one thing, you have mentally accused your opponent of having made a mistake when, in fact, his play may have been correct. He held A-Q, after all. You could easily have been on a pure steal (tell me you’ve never raised on the button with A-T) and even if you weren’t, he still have outs. If anything, he might have played the hand too weakly; the river bet went begging, after all. But that’s not the problem.

The problem is you’ve swapped thoughtful analysis for righteous indignation. Your thinking is now colored by your mood. In an otherwise unremarkable hold’em session, you have reached a pivotal point. If you don’t get your mind right here, the whole session could go right down the drain. If you continue to dwell on mistakes — not even your mistakes — you run the risk of blowing a hole in your concentration and, thence, your stack.

Let’s say you pass the test. You shrug off the loss and play the next hand. Lo and behold, you get pocket aces — and they don’t hold up. Next hand, pocket kings — and they don’t hold up either! Now you’ve been hit by a devastating combination of punches. You’re suffering at the hands of other players’ decisions and also the capricious whims of luck. Your steely discipline is in vapors now. All you can think about is how damn much you hurt.

When this happens, you lose. Win or lose, you lose, because as soon as you start to process your pain, you’ve left your right mind behind and entered the realm of feeling. You’re suffering, and when you’re suffering you shift your focus from playing perfect poker to wondering why the universe is so unfair. On the conscious level, of course, you know that the universe is not unfair. You know that you’re just experiencing a short-term setback. Nevertheless, you are experiencing that setback, and you’re experiencing it on an emotional level, in an emotional way. You are, in other words, feeling the moment rather than thinking the moment. Once your situation starts to affect your mood, performance suffers and further bad outcomes may result. It’s a vicious cycle:

– You get in a bad mood.

– Your mood affects your play.

– You make inferior decisions.

– You get bad outcomes.

– Your bad mood gets worse.

And so on.

Nor does it necessarily take a bad beat to put you in a bad mood. I remember once in the early, early days of my playing career — I had just graduated from $1-2 to $2-4 — when I took a break from playing to check the messages on my answering machine at home. The news was not good: A lawsuit I thought had been settled turned out not to be settled and suddenly a $10,000 obligation hung over my head. I went right back into that $2-4 game and blew off a hundred bucks. That’s how upset I was!

You might say I had my priorities screwed up, and you might be right. The ten grand was theoretically much more important to me than the $100. But thinking about that ten grand, feeling the pain of it, cost me a hundred dollars I didn’t need to lose.

The memory haunts me still.

Which is, of course, exactly where I go wrong.

There’s nothing wrong with holding onto memories of plays that didn’t work out. There’s certainly nothing wrong with holding onto the memory of mistakes we’ve made, for that’s how we avoid making those mistakes the next time. But if we hold onto feelings, if we hold onto regret, if we carry these emotions even from one hand to the next, we don’t have right mind and we can’t expect to win.

For success in hold’em, then (or for that matter in poker or for that matter in life), do this:

Focus on how you do, not on how you feel.

That goes for your good feelings too. If you’ve been running exceptionally well, if you’ve been running all over the table, you run the real risk of getting high on your own success. Rushes are real, God bless them, but nothing kills a rush faster than the carelessness that overconfidence breeds. Many a rush has gone south because the player stopped thinking about the useful question How can I parlay this rush and my temporarily strong image into a big win? and instead turned his attention to How can I make this good feeling last?

On the other hand, what’s wrong with feeling good? Isn’t that part of why we play poker in the first place? We love the game. We want to enjoy the experience of playing it. Yet the more we experience our enjoyment, the less we think about proper play. Performance degrades, and enjoyment ends. We are thus left with a twisted little paradox: To fuel your enjoyment of poker, you must ignore your enjoyment of poker.

It’s food for thought. Have a nice chew.

John Vorhaus is the author of POKER NIGHT and the KILLER POKER series. Excerpts and ordering information are available at his website, www.vorza.com.

Copyright © 2008 Pokerhelper.com. All rights reserved.
Reproduction of this article in whole or in part without permission from Pokerhelper.com is prohibited.