Posts by Jaymind:
Can you believe I lost with this hand?
January 31st, 2012
Allow me to recreate a fairly typical poker interaction. This interaction may, in fact, seem too mundane to warrant further analysis; that said, I often feel that minor, forgettable actions tend to reveal more broad social trends on human nature in general, and poker players specifically. Read the rest of this entry “
Higher-Limit Condescension
January 10th, 2012
The vast majority of my irritation at the poker table stems from stupidity and simple lack of self-awareness. Almost nothing sets me off more than rude unaware narcissism. What I will say, however, is that these traits are typically not displayed in a purposely malicious human being. In other words, the person displaying these incredibly annoying habits is not usually intentionally vindictive. They’re just dumb. There is, however, another, perhaps less sympathetic, irritation that until recently I hadn’t intellectualized.
What I’m beginning to find consistently true is that players who generally play a higher-limit game, say 15-30 or 30-60, treat players at lower-limit games with an unjustifiable arrogance and condescension. It seems to be subconscious economic discrimination. To be clear, I don’t believe every higher-limit player does this. But I do think that enough of them do it as to call attention to the problem. I don’t think that the guilty players even realize what they’re doing; but I do, and anybody paying objective attention to the mannerisms and attitudes of these players would as well.
I came to this realization today at the 6-12 table, as two 15-30 players joined the game. They sat down and immediately began discussing, purposely loudly, how lame it was to be at the 6-12 game. They’d raise and say things to each other like, “It’s only twelve dollars.” Well, excuse us, Donald Trump, but we were enjoying our game until you condescendingly needed to point out how pitiful our bankrolls were. Sorry to be wasting your time with these useless dollar amounts.
There is also a less tangible superiority complex displayed by these players. It’s difficult to explain with any convincing accuracy, but suffice it to say, these higher-limit players take every opportunity to tell another player that he’s stupid, or to deride his play with condescending remarks. If this higher-limit player loses, he will never chalk up his loss to bad play on his part or to good play on the part of his opponent. It’s always luck. After all, how could a lowly 6-12 player beat a seasoned 15-30 player? It must’ve been luck. Everybody at these games is stupid.
These things could perhaps be forgivable. But then a hand came up involving these specific players that really made me angry, despite not being involved myself. It was heads-up between a random player and one of the higher-limit guys. Random player bet the river with the flush he made on the turn, and the higher-limit player raised him when the board paired on the river. Random player called. Without turning over his hand, higher-limit player says, “Two-pair.” Random player turned over his flush for what he thought was the win, as higher-limit player then turned over quads. A classic slow-roll, and not only that, but a slow-roll using the fucking dumbest sixth-grade line of all time. Random player just smiled and kept quiet as higher-limit guy outwardly celebrated his victory with a scream and fist-pump. The problem is, players at lower-limit games are typically more casual and friendly, and this player would not (because of friendliness) or could not (because of lack of knowledge on etiquette) defend himself. His buddy just laughed at his friend’s clearly shitty maneuver. What is most infuriating is that this is something he’d never in a million years do to another 15-30 player. Why? Because he respects other 15-30 players. They, apparently, put up enough money to earn this asshole’s respect.
The two got up shortly thereafter to join the must-move 15-30 game, and as they got up, they had a very telling exchange that I think only I heard:
Guy one: “Hit and run. That was a funny little two-pair line there, buddy.”
Guy two: “Yeah, whatever. It’s only 6-12.”
“Only” 6-12, I suppose, implies that the people at this game are not worthy of his respect, and as such, do not need to be treated with the courtesy of a human being. It was such a disgusting line. It was as though these aristocrats were forced, against their will, to fraternize with the commoners for a few moments, and they couldn’t help but condescend the players and treat them with the same respect they’d treat their six year-old cousin in a game for nickels.
Bottom line:
Dismissing somebody, without any evidence or justification, as stupid and unworthy of your respect is indeed a higher crime than simply being stupid.
Being a higher-limit player doesn’t necessarily make you a better player than your lower-limit counterpart, and it certainly doesn’t make you a better person. I was disgusted with the audacity I witnessed today, and simply wanted to voice my irritation. Please, don’t be a fuck-head to somebody simply because you place more dollar bills on a green piece of felt than they do.
TWITTER@ JayMindPoker
Nice Catch!
December 22nd, 2011
Poker players have a common language. We seem to speak to one another with phrases only interpretable by people who actually play cards. And these phrases are stunningly universal. You can be in Tulsa, Oklahoma, Eau Claire, Wisconsin, or Las Vegas, Nevada, and the reactions to wins and losses at the hold’em table will be strikingly similar. The old farmer in Wisconsin has nothing in common with the young professional in Vegas; yet, both have a seemingly biological urge, upon losing an ugly hand, to sarcastically berate their opponent with the words, “Nice Catch!”
What a glorious idiom. “Nice Catch” somehow manages to thinly mask a player’s overwhelming disgust with another player. That’s the brilliance of the phrase. If we strip down the words to their most raw definition, “Nice Catch” sounds positive. It almost sounds like a compliment. If a person who never plays poker heard those words said during a game, he’d probably be impressed with the player’s decency and sportsmanship. To him, it probably sounds the same as, “Hey, nice job.”
In the world of the seasoned poker player, however, the term “Nice Catch” is more closely analogous to the term, “Way to get lucky on me, dipshit.” To us, “Nice Catch” is one of the worst things you can say to another player! What it means, essentially, is that the person who beat you did so despite his own horribly shitty play. “Nice Catch” gives credit to the luck of the cards at the expense of the player’s own skills.
If somebody with K-K flops a King and beats you, you don’t say “Nice Catch.” That seems like a deserving win. The guy had a beast of a hand. If, however, some nerd with 2-2 runs down your two-pair to the river, only to catch that miracle deuce, you’ll gladly berate him with the condescending, “Nice Catch!” This situation is the very reason “Nice Catch” was invented: for players who wanted to take their dumbass opponents by the hair and punch them in the teeth, but unfortunately, live in a society where people are expected to act like civilized humans. Stupid. Again, that’s the genius of “Nice Catch”: you can insult your opponent without actually saying anything insulting. It’s therapeutic to release your tilted emotions, and yet, the words are also perfectly socially acceptable. Poker players are clever, indeed!
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Noteworthy Hand 17.0
December 14th, 2011
I misplayed this hand.
I was in middle position at an 8-16 limit hold’em game, and open-raised with 3
3
. Action folded to the small-blind, and he three-bet. This player was very strange. He didn’t appear to have any idea of what was going on, and seemed to choose his plays arbitrarily. The big-blind, a solid player, called three-bets, I called the re-raise, and we went to the flop three-handed.
The flop was K
6
3
. The small-blind bet. The big-blind called. I raised with my set, and both players called.
The turn was the 4
. The small-blind bet out again. This time, the big-blind raised. I thought about it for a moment and decided just to call. I thought that there was a good chance I had the best hand. Of course, the guy raising was in the big-blind, and the turn did fill a straight. He could also have a set, in which case mine was, of course, no good. Also, with a call, I could ensure the small-blind’s continued participation. He was overwhelmed and confused, and I wanted him to continue giving us his money, almost certainly drawing slim to dead.
The river was the 10
. Again, for some inexplicable reason, the small-blind bet out. Once again, the big-blind raised.
This is where I messed up. I called. I had a set on a relatively dry board, and had already contributed nine small bets to this pot. It seems obvious, upon initial analysis, that I needed to get to a showdown. But the more I contemplated my decision, the less I liked it. What did I put the big-blind on, exactly? Sure, the small-blind appeared dumbfounded, and the big-blind could’ve been attempting an isolation play against the confused player to his right. But it didn’t add up.
First of all, the big-blind simply smooth-called the bet on the flop. He didn’t raise the small-blind’s bet. Then, on the turn, the big-blind sprung into action with a raise. It didn’t seem likely to me that the big-blind would play a dry King like this. Why raise the turn when both your opponents are showing aggression? Okay, maybe he had a hand like K-4 or K-5, two-pair or top-pair and a straight draw. I could make a weak argument for his having one of these two hands. Until the river. On the river, when the small-blind bets out again on the 10, there’s simply no way the big-blind would raise with a medium two-pair hand or a weak top-pair. The small-blind is too confusing to justify this play. He could easily have pocket tens. You’d simply call with your hand and hope for the best. His raise indicated a very strong holding, in my opinion. I could’ve folded my set. Again, what did I put him on? There wasn’t really a hand that both made sense, and was worse than mine (with the possible exception of K-10. But that seemed unlikely). The straight obviously beat me, as did any set. There was also the outside chance that the nut-job in the small-blind had me beat as well.
SOLUTION
Small-blind: AK
Big-blind: 52
Admittedly, this would’ve been a difficult “Hero Fold.” But it would’ve been correct, and I’d be quite content with myself if I could save two tough-decision large bets during every session.
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Understanding Unreason
December 2nd, 2011
The goal of every poker player is to make money.
Until recently, I’d taken this statement to be so obvious as to go without saying. It was gospel fact. It made no logical sense for this statement to be anything but a given. The problem is, there is too much evidence to the contrary to go on believing such a fallacy, and I am beginning to realize that using “logical sense” to define the behavior of all poker players will only lead to frustration and misunderstanding.
The way I view poker is not necessarily the way everybody else views poker. I play poker to earn money. It’s simple and obvious, but I’m realizing that this is not the purpose of all players. After all, poker is “gambling,” strictly speaking. Sure, every player professes that his one true aim is to make money; and yes, every player does enjoy himself when he does earn money. Nobody tries to lose. But oftentimes, an ancillary goal will overtake what should be the only goal of earning a profit.
Here is the hand, something you’ve seen and been frustrated by thousands of times, that led me to change my thought-process. One player limps under-the-gun. Action folds all the way around the big-blind who checks. Action goes to the flop heads-up. The flop is Q
J
2
. The big-blind bets and the under-the-gun player calls. The turn is the 4
. The big-blind bets again and the under-the-gun player calls again. The river is the 3
. The big-blind bets and is raised by the under-the-gun player. The big-blind calls. The under-the-gun player turns over 65 for the nuts, and the big-blind angrily and confusedly mucks.
For the longest time, I’ve attempted to explain this man’s action while also maintaining the single narrative in my head that, The goal of every poker player is to make money. As you might expect, my brain couldn’t reconcile the ideology with the behavior, and I would get frustrated and angry. The two cannot reasonably coexist. ”How the fuck can you make that call on the flop?” is a reasonable question. To understand this man’s play, and the play of thousands of players just like him, I need to completely abandon the idea that, The goal of every poker player is to make money.
That statement just isn’t true. In fact, it’s total bull shit. To explain this man’s play, I’d always labeled him a fucking moron and moved on with my life. And yes, the label has some validity. But he can’t be stupid enough to think that 6-5 is a reasonable hand to make money with on a Q-J-2 flop. Here is what I realized: He isn’t thinking about making money at all. I’ve come up with another statement, one to go alongside, The goal of every poker player is to make money, to help explain the remainder of players who clearly don’t act based on this theory. The secondary statement is this:
Having a hand is more exciting than not having a hand.
It’s just that simple. Think about it. Some players, while they’d like to make money, are more interested in the excitement of what might happen. It’s no different than doubling down on twelve in blackjack or playing any ridiculous bonus bet. It isn’t a wise move financially, but it’s fun. It’s exciting. These players just wanna’ play. They crave any type of action, even losing action, which makes them take unreasonable risks at silly long-shots. The problem is, when a long-shot comes through in poker, it’s at the expense of another player as opposed to the house, and that other player is searching his reasonable brain for answers. Sometimes you need to leave the reason at home, that’s all I’m saying.
I believe all poker-playing action can be explained using one of these two statements. Of course, it doesn’t lessen the sting of losing when you pride yourself on reason and thoughtfulness and your opponent can’t get beyond, “Uhhh, folding ain’t fun.”
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Exactly 2.5 Bets
November 7th, 2011
During a limit hold’em session I came across a fairly typical situation that, until recently, I never gave much consideration. The situation involves the strength of your hand on the river and the balancing act between betting for additional value and giving away your money.
Rather than ramble on aimlessly, I’ll illustrate with an example. I was in middle-position with Q
10 and open-raised. I was called only by the button. The flop was J62
. I bet and the button called. The turn was the 10
, and I bet again. The button once again called. The river was the 3, giving me the queen-high flush. I bet. This time, the button raised me. This player was a reasonably solid player and he, obviously, had shown no aggression at all until the river filled the club. And he did call a raise pre-flop; he could easily have a bigger flush. But, also, there are only two hands in total that beat mine. I was stuck in that spot, absolutely between three-betting and calling. And those were my only two options. I felt like I had a hand worthy of exactly 2.5 bets. I could re-raise and risk being four-bet by the nuts, or I could call, losing value when my opponent rolls over a set or a smaller flush.
Positioning is everything. I was first to act and by betting, I’ve chosen my track along the odd number of bets (as opposed to the even number). In other words, while in a raising scenario, I make it one bet, three bets, five bets, etc. My opponent makes it two bets, four bets, six bets, etc. So, when my opponent raised me and we’re sitting at two bets, I have to decide if I want to stop at two or make it three (while also opening up the possibility of a fourth bet).
Let’s say positioning had been reversed. I was on the button, and my opponent had bet into me on the river that filled my queen-high flush. I wouldn’t even think about it; I would comfortably raise. My hand is worth more than one bet. There’s no question about that. It’s worth at least two bets (as we’ve established it’s relative strength at about 2.5 river bets). The onus is now on my opponent to decide what to do. Of course, if he three-bets, I have another easy decision. I simply call and hope my queen-high flush is good. But the original two-bet is unquestionably the right play, as would be the smooth-call of my opponent’s three-bet. Being the original bettor, however, complicates matters. When he raises my bet, I need to decide if he’s committing a relatively weak two-bet raise (with a hand that’s worth exactly two bets, and he’s raising for marginal value), or if he’s raising with a nuts-type hand worth four to five to six bets.
Furthermore, I needed to consider my opponent’s thinking as the even-number bettor. If I was him, and I inexplicably had something like 3
3 and rivered the set, I would probably raise too. If I’m him, there’s no reason to put me on a flush since I’ve bet my hand aggressively from beginning to end. A set of threes is almost certainly worth at least a two-bet in this spot. But I, too, needed to weigh the likelihood of his holding a set versus a flush. A flush seemed more likely than a set or two-pair, and then, a bigger flush than mine seemed more likely than a smaller one.
I don’t have any advice to give. I ended up calling his raise and losing to a king-high flush. That isn’t to say I played the hand correctly. I simply never considered that I could accurately value my hand at exactly 2.5 bets, and then have no corresponding course of action.
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I knew you had nothing!
November 2nd, 2011
By self admission, no poker player in the history of the world has ever been fooled or surprised by their opponent’s hand. It’s an astonishing statistic. If you were to ask any player at the conclusion of a hand, they’ll almost always tell you that they knew exactly what the other player had. ”Yeah, like that was a surprise,” or, “I knew that guy didn’t have anything!” It’s a remarkable coincidence, don’t you think? The very moment the cards are turned face-up is the moment the loser says he knew it all along.
It’s a simple matter of saving face. Clearly, if players knew what their opponents had, they’d fold the worst hand. But in reality, they don’t know shit. They simply want to say that they knew so as to avoid appearing “fooled.” I never really understood that. I’m fooled all the time. If I know I’m beat, I fold. Otherwise, I’ll call and give you some more money. To say that you knew your opponent had a better hand than you, and then to continue giving him your money, is illogical. Nobody should ever believe this person.
If these players do, in fact, know exactly what their opponents’ cards are (and they never really do), why aren’t they using the information? It seems like an incredible gift to squander. It’d be like claiming to know the lottery numbers and then not betting the lottery. I suppose these people’s heightened awareness and immense knowledge is simply recreational; using the information for one’s own financial gain would be irresponsible.
I was playing 8-16 limit hold’em recently and open raised in middle position with Q
J
. I was called only by the big-blind. The flop was 10
6
3. The big-blind checked and I continuation bet. He called. The turn was the 9
. The big-blind checked again and I bet. He called again. The river was the 8
, giving me the nuts. This time my opponent bet into me. I, of course, raised. He called. He flashed the Q
7 for the smaller straight as he mucked his cards.
As I scooped my pot, the guy says, “I knew you didn’t have anything.”
I was so taken aback by this ridiculous statement that I laughed out loud. I suppose, factually speaking, he was right. Until the river, I didn’t have anything but Queen-high. But at no point during the entire hand was I behind. If he did, in fact, put me on “nothing,” what did he choose to do with that valuable piece of information? He chose to call with a worse piece of shit than even I had. What sense does this make? What if the river had been another three instead of the eight for the straight? He would check, I would check behind him, and he once again gets the satisfaction of saying, “I knew you didn’t have anything” …as he still watches me stack the pot.
Do you see my confusion with his statement? He put me on nothing and, yet, DID NOTHING ABOUT IT! I don’t think it should be allowed: a player plays his hand like shit, and then attempts to veil his awfulness with some twisted nonsensical reasoning that puts me to blame instead, as if the river stole a pot that was otherwise his.
My response, while laughing, was still, “In fairness, I did have Queen-seven beat.”
His response, sarcastically and without the faintest hint of comprehension: “Well, yeah, whatever.”
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My FPC Live Game Theory
October 23rd, 2011
I love Fall Poker Classic time at Canterbury Park. My love, however, has nothing to do with the tournaments themselves. I didn’t play in a single one. I’m a perfectly average no-limit hold’em tournament player, and would rather leave that expensive pursuit to the professionals. Rather, I make my money at the limit hold’em live games, and there’s no better time to make that money than during the Fall Poker Classic.
The reason this time of year is so profitable is simple: The typical player seems to play more poorly than usual. Many of these players will be from out of town, though that doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with the quality of their poker game. Notice that I differentiate playing bad poker from being a bad poker player. Most of the players who come from outside the Twin Cities to participate in the Fall Poker Classic are very skilled, intelligent and thoughtful players. But they may not be in their comfort zone and they may not be playing during ideal times. Let me explain my two-fold theory.
First of all, let’s examine when these tournament players typically sit down at a live limit hold’em cash game. Immediately after they’re eliminated from the tournament, right? Imagine (as if it’s difficult) that you’re playing in a tournament after driving six hours to get there, and eighteen minutes into play some asshole cracks your Q-Q with K-9. It’s 12:20pm on a Wednesday afternoon, and there won’t be another tournament for twenty-four hours. Back to the hotel to watch Ricki Lake? Of course not! There’s a poker room fifty feet away; let’s play!
The problem, of course, is that before you’ve even been dealt a card, you’re on tilt! You’re not playing smart methodical poker; rather, you’re playing to kill time and to take revenge on the poker world that screwed you out of an early-round double up. I can’t tell you how many dudes at the limit hold’em table over the last few weeks were complaining about their last tournament hand. Nobody cares, first of all; but secondly, you’d better put that out of your mind if you hope to be profitable here. These players get caught up on tournament losses and, as such, are usually destined to lose more at the live games.
The second factor contributing to my Fall Poker Classic prosperity is the specific skill-set of the new players. As I said, most of the people swarming to Canterbury in early October are there, obviously, to play in tournaments. And these players are very good at tournaments! People don’t drive hundreds of miles and set up shop for a week while spending thousands of dollars on entry fees without having some confidence in their abilities. But tournament poker exercises a very different muscle than does live limit hold’em. And when a player who excels at tournament poker is busted from the tournament, not only is he on aggravated tilt, but he’s flexing an irrelevant poker muscle. He’s worried about increased blinds and bubbles and stack sizes. None of that shit matters at the limit hold’em games. It isn’t that tournament players are incapable of adjusting. They certainly are. But I saw it time and time again at the 8-16 table this month: a player I’ve never seen sits down with $600 and begins three-betting with hands like 7-5 suited or 2-2. I suppose he doesn’t intellectualize the fact that a “re-raise” in limit hold’em amounts to an additional… eight dollars. Here, you can’t really push people around with a big stack. Pots are almost always multi-way, and bluffing is utilized far differently. Players who treat the limit hold’em table similarly to a no-limit hold’em tournament usually just end up getting themselves in trouble.
So, those are my own non-statistical based theories. They’re probably wrong.
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Winners in the Muck
October 20th, 2011
I’ve done some research on the statistics of my poker-playing career and I’d like to share with you the results. During the course of my life, I have folded the winning hand 28,176 times. I did this the majority of the time pre-flop, with 17,045 occurrences. I folded on the flop 6,982 times, 3,088 times on the turn, 1,057 times on the river, and even four awfully stupid showdown mucks, when I, in fact, was the winner. Understandably, you may be skeptical that I’ve pinpointed these numbers with such accuracy. Your skepticism is founded. I’m completely making it up. But I think the point is a valid one. And the point is this: Nobody gives a shit.
Everybody folds cards that will turn into gold! It happens several times during every session. Why, then, do your tablemates find this completely uninteresting fact to be so fascinating? There is always at least one guy at the table who informs you every single time he mucks a winner. “Oh, man, dude! I totally folded 9-3 there! Do you see that? I would’ve had a pair of nines!” Does anybody care about that? Even you, sir, the man who held the cards, shouldn’t give a shit about that enough to lend it eight seconds thought, let alone forcing this excruciating knowledge on your disinterested opponents.
Of the fabricated 28,176 times I’ve mucked a winner, I probably have shared my misfortune on 103 occasions. These rare verbalizations, however, are reserved for special circumstances. Maybe you mucked what would’ve been a straight flush or quads! Perhaps that information is worth discussing. But once you’ve mucked J-5 off-suit, you’re not allowed to complain to me about the two-pair you would’ve rivered. That’s poker, homie.
The worst manifestation of this disease is the man who tells you all about the great hand he mucked right after you just lost a showdown. You’ll bet your top-pair on the river, and your opponent will call you. You turn over your cards, and he flips up the two-pair hand he rivered to beat you. You’re understandably a little annoyed. But your clear disgust and quiet brooding is certainly no deterrent for the uninvolved jerk-off next to you who simply must tell you all about his hand. He leans toward you, and although you’re making it abundantly clear you’re not in the mood for a little chat, he says, “You know, I would’ve turned a flush on that hand!” Oh, really? That’s fantastic! Yes, the first thing I want to hear after being rivered is that some other fool at the table would also have beaten my meager holding. And why, why, why does he think I care about this right now? Is he honestly expecting sympathy or understanding from me? Who loses a hand and immediately wants to listen to another player’s unfortunate lost opportunity?
I simply can’t fathom what makes these people think anybody else is interested in the minutiae of their poker session. It’s as if they don’t recognize that others don’t care about their wins as much as they do. They never talk about the 7-4 they mucked that turned out to be… seven-high! Perhaps that’s equally worthy of discussion. In fact, these people should probably just play every single hand. That way, they’ll never muck a winner. And, far more importantly, I’ll never have to hear their monotonous blather again.
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Women Make Good Poker Players
September 26th, 2011
I think that women are more naturally equipped for poker success than are men. Allow me to speak in stereotypical sex generalizations to explain my theory.
What we men seem to possess far more abundantly than women, and what ultimately gives us trouble at the poker table, is our competitive stubbornness. Men are so damn competitive, and it makes no difference what the competition is. Men will line up around the block to see who can eat the most string cheese in a minute. It doesn’t matter; we just wanna’ win!
This has obvious negative ramifications at the poker table. Winning becomes so important than we can’t focus on anything else. We talk about nothing but our narrow-minded vision of our own financial victories, and we seem to think others at the table give a shit. Oh, and if there’s any hint of disrespect, be it as disconnected and poorly interpreted as a simple raise of your bet, there will be hell to pay! Who does this guy think he is? I know I have four-high, but I can’t let this pansy-ass beat me!
Women don’t typically succumb to this silliness. Women can more easily separate poker from personal attacks. If somebody raises a woman’s bet, rarely will there be an overt emotional response. It’s simply part of the game. People say women are more emotional than men. This may or may not be true. What is true, however, is that men are far more emotional when it comes to competition.
Ultimately, because women seem to lack the ridiculous machismo gene, they can play more focused poker. It doesn’t become a personal battle, an ancillary goal that overtakes the true aim of winning money. Women aren’t more or less intelligent than men are. It isn’t about that. All men have the same mental ability to process poker information. It’s about maintaining calm, and drowning out the collective noise that provokes us as men.
Also, I’ve found that women are far less socially irritating than their male poker-playing counterparts. I don’t necessarily understand why, though I’ll offer a half-hearted hypothesis. I believe it’s two fold. For one, the downfall of the male poker player at the table is exactly the same downfall of the male poker player in etiquette: he never shuts the hell up. He wants to win so badly that his behavior can become overtly annoying to the other males at the table who want to win equally badly. Again, machismo. Secondly, though, I think that perhaps women understand social etiquette far better than men. How often do you hear a woman telling his husband to stop acting like a fucking pig? We don’t get it. We need them to tell us how to behave like human beings. As such, women carry themselves with a quiet dignity that men simply don’t display. We, as men, like to think that wherever we go, we own the place and we’re going to make our voices heard, like it or not! Women typically demonstrate a respectable thoughtful etiquette that men have a problem maintaining. You rarely see a women verbally berate her opponents. Men do it constantly.
One thing I will say in defense of men is that we’re naturally aggressive. You need to be aggressive while playing cards. But whatever a woman lacks in aggression at the poker table, she more than makes up for it with her levelheaded lack of machismo. Women are complex and understanding. Men are brutish narcissistic animals.
