Poker Articles

The Rhapsody of Risk
By Nolan Dalla
(All Rights Reserved)

Playing with fire is bad for those who end up burning themselves. For everyone else, it's a great pleasure.  -- Leon Daudet

The man's life hung in the balance. Below was a 300 foot fall to certain death. Above, was a formidable wall of granite leading to the summit. He clung to his tethered rope, a fragile lifeline only half-an-inch thick, that marked the sole boundary between conquering the mountaintop -- and splattering to certain death on the sharp rocks below. Yet despite his peril, the climber seemed to be enjoying himself. In fact, he was in a state of unbridled ecstasy!

As I sat at a poker table watching this bizarre spectacle on the television screen overhead late one evening, the player beside me nudged my arm. "Isn't that the craziest thing you ever saw?" he asked. "Who in his right mind would climb a mountain like that and take such a risk?"

The man's observation made me stop and think for a moment. Frankly, I had no answer to give him. Still, I nodded anyway, feigning agreement with a supposition that wasn't so much a "question" as an outright condemnation of risky behavior. But the longer I pondered the thought, the more I realized there was something much more meaningful to the man's question.

And a damn good question it was -- namely, what makes a person want to climb a dangerous mountain, chancing injury, and perhaps even risking death? What is the tangible reward for such seemingly fool-hearted adventure? The man wasn't being paid to climb the mountain. Certainly those who conquer mountains, skydive, swim the English Channel, or do all kinds of other extraordinary things each have their individual motives. Some take unusual risks for reasons of publicity, for fame, or for some preconceived external reward that may follow. But many others -- the vast majority of thrill seekers, in fact -- engage in high-risk activities for something that's much more deeply personal. Their motives are not external -- but internal.

That instant, as I was dealt yet another unplayable poker hand, I began to think about what motivates me to sit at a poker table at 4 o'clock in the morning on a Saturday -- while most people are home sleeping comfortably in bed. Then and there, I suddenly experienced a moment of clarity. It was a revelation! Right before me! Right at the poker table! Instead of questioning the motivation, or worse -- doubting the sanity of the mountain climber, I should have asked myself, instead: "What am I doing here playing poker?" Odd as it may seem, the two answers may be one and the same.

The very essence of the question about risk-taking also cuts to the core of playing poker. Sure, poker players come in different varieties, and no single answer can explain every person of such a diverse subculture. If asked about motivation, most poker players will say they play to "win money."

The real reason goes much deeper, I think. If poker players are motivated by the prospect merely of financial gain, then strategic decisions would be more logical. Players would select games and the hands they play in much the same manner as they might pick stocks. Bankrolls would be managed like mutual funds. Every single decision would be based on a simple return-on-investment ratio.

But of course, the poker room is not the stock exchange. It's something else entirely. It's a means to redistribute wealth in the form of a money spinner wrapped in a carnival-like atmosphere that makes the senses come alive again. It's an arena to test our abilities, where we can exercise all of the evolutionary instincts that we've been programmed with since our ancestors crawled out of the sea a million years ago.

Poker provides something intrinsically fundamental to our most basic needs, and at times even our worst human characteristics. Perhaps it's no surprise then, that poker has been metaphorically compared to warfare. The similarities are obvious. A freelance journalist in Bosnia once described the riveting experience of facing gunfire in Sarajevo.

In "The Joy of Danger," Sebastian Junger made the point that risking his life daily somehow made him feel more alive. War made him see things that he never saw before, and hear things he never heard before, and use senses and instincts that he never knew he had. He likened his personal experiences to a "right of passage," citing the glory and rewards every society gives to the survivors. Junger cited Indian tribes, street gangs, and even the Marine Corps recruits as all having to pass certain initiation tests in order to belong to the group, and gain respect amongst the other members of the "tribe."

Even after adolescence, many people continue to seek various "rights of passage" in their lives in order to feel more completely human. To those who don't understand this, there's simply no way to explain it. You either understand the concept or you don't. It's as though risk takers speak a one-of-a-kind language all their own - and to try and "translate" this view of life to an outsider would be an arduous, if not impossible task. It's like trying to explain to a non-poker player why you play poker at 4 o'clock in the morning. You either understand the concept of what it's all about -- or you don't have a clue.

Most people -- including poker players -- lead lives that are so structured and sheltered, that we must go out of our way to create danger. This mind set has created a whole new cottage industry of "way-out" activities. Bungee-jumping, white-water rafting, hang-gliding, and other extreme sports are relatively new fads brought on by our increasing desire for danger -- sanitized for our protection, no doubt -- but nevertheless bringing the five senses to their full levels of intensity the only way we know how, short of trekking off to Bosnia and playing combat with real guns.

Still, not everyone feels the need for risk in their life. For instance, there seems to be an inverse relationship between one's occupation and the extracurricular activities that a person enjoys. Junger made an observation: "It's interesting to note that people's jobs who are already dangerous usually have no interest in risky activities. At the end of the day an ironworker has already been engaged in an extreme sport for eight hours...he now wants to relax and leave the risk-taking to people who've been trapped behind a desk." Therefore, our need for risk manifests itself in numerous ways -- driving too fast, promiscuity, drinking, drug use -- anything that provides a temporary "lift" from monotony.

Perhaps gambling's growth and poker's, by association (SIDE NOTE: I realize that skillful poker playing is not "gambling" in the purest sense) also has something to do with our desire to experience more thrills. It indiscriminately touches all ages, races, and socio-economic classes that join in the communal fantasy of trying to beat the odds. Smart businessmen, who know very well that the odds are against them, shoot dice hoping to make pass after pass. Non-believers pray to the heavens for a lucky streak. Even the elderly, who would be hard pressed to understand the justifications of mountain climbing, will get much the same high from dropping a quarter in a slot machine and watching the wheels spin. The gambling experience is predicated on the same adrenaline rush.

This discussion of risk may lead some to believe that the amount of the wager is correlated to the degree of satisfaction one achieves. But this view is clearly wrong. Oddly enough, there seems to be little or no relationship between the amount of a wager (risk) and the satisfaction derived from it.

In other words, personal satisfaction has nothing to do with the volume of the stakes, or the height of the mountain for that matter. To a person who spends most of their life confined to a wheelchair -- taking a single step may be the thrill of a lifetime. But the goal of some professional mountain climbers is to conquer Mount Everest. Some may feel that if they don't ever make it, they have failed.

Similarly, some poker players who have won countless titles and millions of dollars in major tournaments still covet a world championship. Anything less than winning the title remains a disappointment. Indeed, everything in poker, and in life, is relative. When talking with truly great poker players, one thing I've noticed is that they will often remember and take great pride in pulling-off a masterful play (succeeded with a great bluff, made a correct call, or made a critical lay down that later won the tournament) -- sometimes more so than winning a large pot, or winning a trophy. Lower-limit players also recall situations where they may have encountered (and perhaps defeated) a world class player. It gives them that special thrill of a lifetime...bragging rights -- much like saying, "I climbed the Materhorn," or "I once busted Vince Burgio out of a poker tournament."

Sebastian Junger likely would agree with this analysis. After laying on a kitchen floor trapped inside a bombed-out apartment building under mortar fire in Bosnia, the former war correspondent wrote, "It wasn't the degree of risk...it was the idea of it. It was the fact that, for a moment, at least, I had no way of knowing what would happen next. And when nothing did -- when my life was handed back to me exactly as it was before, it was if I'd been re-introduced into the world all over again. And for awhile, I saw the world as it really is: a fascinating, seemingly limitless place, laid wide open for us to explore as fully as possible."

Whether we climb a mountain or sit at a poker table, we aren't afraid of risk. No -- actually, we crave it. We hunger for the excitement and the uncertainly, and sometimes even the danger of what the next card will bring. And after the experience is over, we feel that our pain, the trial and tribulation has somehow made us more fully human, suddenly able to see things we didn't see before, able to feel that sense of accomplishment after the experience that sitting at a desk 40 hours a week doesn't provide.

We then share the experience with our friends -- other poker players -- through bragging, telling bad beat stories, or whatever is necessary in order to all feel that we belong, that by experiencing the joy of victory or the sting of defeat at the poker table we are part of the group. It's as to announce in our ruggedly macho way I have done it! I have survived! I have earned respect!

Climbing a mountain in not high on my list of desires. I prefer to take my risks in a more conventional way, in a safe environment where the worst I can do is lose a few dollars. But before I pass judgment on those that I may not understand and characterize such acts as irrational, first I will reflect upon my own experiences in order to understand that those living life to the fullest, challenging the limits of their senses, are in essence just like us -- even more so. We are of the same spirit.

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