I Played In The World Series Of Poker

Here's What I Learned About the House

 

In 2006 I played in the World Series of Poker. I lasted about six hours.

I was chip leader at my table for a while, which felt tremendous, and then I misplayed one hand so badly that I cut my own legs out from under me and was gone ninety minutes later. There were thousands of entrants. Nobody televised it, which I've made peace with.

Here's how I got there. A few years earlier I got a cancer diagnosis on a Tuesday and a call about a brain tumor on the Friday of the same week. I was terrified more or less constantly, and one of the things I did to give my brain somewhere else to go was read poker books. What caught me was the collision of math and human behavior, which is the same thing that made me want to be a psychologist in the first place.

I got good at it. For a couple of years, while I was burned out and working at an insurance company, I made about as much at the table as I did at the job. So I'll say it plainly rather than let somebody else say it for me: for a while, I was partly supporting my family by gambling.

I'm telling you that because of what it taught me, and because of what I'd like you to do with a phone number at the end of this.

What the table taught me

Poker is not a game of chance. There's chance in any given hand, but over the long run it's a game of skill, which is why the games got harder as the boom faded and the tourists went home. I went from a solid winner to a small winner to break-even, and around then I went back to being a therapist, which is what I actually wanted to be doing.

There were moments I didn't love. You are taking people's money. But weirdly, there's an honesty in it, because everybody at that table knows exactly what everybody else is there for. Nobody is claiming to be on your side. You can be genuine friends with a man who will bluff you out of a pot the moment he can, and both of those things are true at once. That's the ethic of the game, and it is an ethic.

The second thing I learned is that the house always tells you what it takes, if you know to ask. At a blackjack table the house edge runs about a percent and a half. A poker room rakes a few percent. Slots and horse racing take more.

The third thing I learned is that some people cannot do this safely. Some people can't drink safely, some people can't smoke safely, and some people can't gamble safely, and none of those three are a character defect. I watched people lose money in a way that was not recreation.

Where I come out on it

I'm not against gambling and I'm not going to pretend to be.

There's a pull-tab booth in more than one bar in this county, and the proceeds go to youth sports and band uniforms and keeping a Legion post's roof on. That's a few dollars and a conversation for almost everybody who buys one. I'd be a scold and a hypocrite to stand here and tell you not to.

Where I come out is on disclosure. Poker, horse racing, a casino taking an honest cut and saying so, that's a transaction between adults who know the terms. My problem is with the games that don't tell you the terms, and the biggest of those in this state is the one the state runs itself.

Minnesota's lottery keeps a large share of every dollar that goes into it, far more than any table game in any casino in this state, and it's sold to the people who can least afford it under a story about schools and the outdoors. That's a regressive tax, meaning it takes a bigger bite from a smaller income, and it's collected without the plain disclosure that a casino is required to live with.

I'll be fair about one thing, though, and it's the reason I know how this ends up.

The state does fund the help

A portion of Minnesota's gambling tax revenue and lottery proceeds is set aside for problem gambling programs, which is why Minnesota has a helpline and free resources for those struggling with gambling (learn more about it).