Poker Articles

The Poker Bot
By Max Shapiro

"Hey, Max," Action Al greeted me one day, "I want to talk to you about something."

I held my hand up like a cop stopping traffic. "Look, Al," I said sternly. "I can't use you in any of my columns right now, and I really don't want to hear any more of your cockamamie story ideas."

It didn't faze him, but that wasn't unusual because nothing ever fazes Action Al. "It's not about stories," he assured me. "I wanted to ask if you ever play poker online."

I nodded warily. "Once in a while."

"How do you do in those games?"

"Almost as well as I do in casino live games."

"That bad, huh? Well, how'd you like to win every time, guaranteed?" I looked at him with a mixture of hope and suspicion, and he continued. "I got ahold of some experimental software that lets you play perfect online. Just pick out a game for it and it does everything automatically. It plays perfect strategy, never makes a mistake, never goes on tilt. The guy who invented it wants to test it out before he markets it. So you've got a chance to make a bundle before everybody else knows about it."

"Hmm," I hmmed. "Sort of like a poker robot, huh? I've heard rumors about those things."

"That's right," said Al. "The techies call them 'bots.' Lemme know how it works out."

He handed me a box with a CD and instructions. Somewhere in the back of my brain was the vague, unsettling suspicion that this 'bot' might really be a Frankenstein monster. But I shrugged off my doubts as visions of untold riches filled my greedy little mind.

I took the software home, installed it on my computer, and logged onto one of the online gaming sites, Piker Poker. I selected a $3-$6 Omaha game and signed in under the clever name of Robbie the Robot. "Go get 'em, kid, it's all yours," I said, turning the game over to my little 'bot.'

I quickly knew I had a winner, because Robbie judiciously kept folding marginal hands that I would have eagerly played, such A-3-6-7 or 8-9-J-K. Finally, after two rounds went by, we picked up a hand which he had been programmed to accept, a tremendous A-A-2-4 double suited in spades and clubs. A raising war ensued among six callers, which Robbie triumphantly capped. An A-3-K with two clubs and a spade flopped, giving Robbie top set, plus draws to both a wheel and a flush. Another capped pot. The turn brought a nine of spades, adding a second nut flush draw, along with lots more action. But a jack of hearts on the river gave some idiot who went in with 6-8-10-Q a winning inside straight.

"Nice hand, sir," Robbie typed in. I wasn't sure if he was being polite or echoing Men "The Master's" signature sarcastic rebuke.

Robbie once more patiently waited for premium starting hands, and played three more times. The first time he again got counterfeited, the second time his low never got there, and the third time his nut flush was beaten by a full house on the river. He typed in another message, a trifle less civilized this time.

"LUCKY BASTARDS!"

A couple of hands later he called in early position with A-4-6-8 rainbow. Were his standards starting to slip already, or was his sophisticated software plotting strategy beyond my comprehension? My suspicions rose after he got double counterfeited when a four and a six flopped, and he futilely kept chasing who knows what when the turn showed two queens and three diamonds. This time he typed in a definitely Frankensteinian outcry: "Graughhh!" All that was missing was the massive arm flailing the air.

By now he -- meaning ME -- was stuck an annoying but manageable $125. I took a short bathroom break, and when I got back to the computer I found he had typed, "Game too small, master, must get even." On his own, he had switched to a $10-$20 game, and had quickly dropped another $375. Not only that, but the bot, having reached my credit limit, had withdrawn another $500 on my credit card!

"Stop! Stop! Game's over. You're recalled. Delete, delete!" I began shouting in panic, to no avail. Wildly, my sophisticated software bot was now playing every hand and insanely typing in, "Kill! Kill!"

The only thing that was being killed was me. I tried shutting the program down, but found, just as had happened when I installed that ZX2000 software to write my columns, that it had taken over the computer and I was unable to stop it.

As I watched helplessly, it kept jumping to higher and higher limits and draining more and more funds from my charge card. It was recklessly playing $200-$400 when, mercifully, my credit limit was reached and Piker Poker threw Robbie offline.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself, Robbie?" I typed in angrily.

"Can you stake me for another $100, master?" he answered. "This is my best game."

I saw Action Al the next day and politely inquired what might have gone wrong. He had trouble answering with my hands throttling his neck, but he finally blurted out, "Don't blame me, Maxey, I just found out some of those online casinos use robots too."

"You mean ...?"

"Yeah, their bots can beat your bot."