The Great Sin and The City of Sin
A humbling trip to Las Vegas
The turning point of my adult life came in early 2012 while reading C.S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity. I have never been a religious person. But I investigated Christianity while living in Ethiopia because most of the people I knew there were into Jesus, whether locals or expats. Ultimately and comfortably, I circled back to agnosticism. But a chapter Lewis wrote about Pride called “The Great Sin” struck me. It has endured as the most important thing I’ve read.
I happened to read “The Great Sin” in the midst of a distressing but necessary self-discovery: Pride was ruining my life. It had infected my mind, polluting every interaction into a veiled attempt to prove how great I was. Because I was only interested in protecting my ego, I was not curious to see the truths of the world and its inhabitants. Others were not compelled to take me seriously. I was fortunate to read “The Great Sin” at a receptive moment of my life. Bob Dylan might say this about C.S. Lewis’s words:
And every one of them words rang true
And glowed like burnin’ coal
Pourin’ off of every page
Like it was written in my soul from me to you
It was the epiphany I needed. Life has been simpler and happier ever since. The irony is that respect is easier achieved through observation and listening than trumpeting your insights and achievements. Even those driven by accolades and acclaim are better served listening than yapping. The most direct path to mental tranquility lies within a forest of genuine curiosity. True desire to acquire knowledge is incongruent with Pride.
Shortly after I decided to return to professional poker, my friend Jon G said something that struck me. He said there are two types of poker players - one type who plays to prove something, and one type who is merely interested in proper strategy. It struck me because the thought was already rolling around in the back of my brain. While I pondered returning to professional poker, it occurred to me that humility could be a differentiating factor between my first and second go-rounds.
Pride was coursing through my game in the 2000s. Some of this was because I hadn’t yet grappled with it and some was because I was a twentysomething male competing for a livelihood. But I think the biggest creator of my poker Pride was the way my career began. Through personal trial and error, I cultivated a Texas Hold ‘Em strategy on my own. Sure, I observed winning players and partnered with burgeoning star Paul Wasicka. But my game was largely developed through my own effort, pondering, experimentation and error. When you build something on your own, you naturally develop an intimate affinity for it. When the foundation of that build is poured with your blood, sweat and tears, Pride is gilded.
It was difficult for me to advance past the robotic, conservative strategy I’d developed. If I admitted my game had flaws, I’d have had to admit the foundation I’d poured had been inadequate. I wasn’t very interested in confronting my inadequacies until I went to Ethiopia.
A funny thing happened after I retired from poker: I played better. I kept playing, I enjoyed it more and I liked myself. Disidentifying myself as a professional poker player was freeing. As a pro, misplaying a hand was an affront to my ego and identity. I lived in fear of making mistakes. Fear and Pride went out the window when I retired.
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In early November, I took a trip to the City of Sin for a North American Poker Tour event. I had two objectives: to get a feel for the current difficulty of an average Vegas $5k and to be distracted from the election. Neither result was what I hoped for, but both my objectives were accomplished.
I played three tournaments at the NAPT – two $1ks and the $5k Main Event. I played at several tables in the Main, so I got a healthy taste of the competition. My first table was not difficult, with two players certainly better than me and a handful clearly inferior. I ran hot at my starting table and amassed a large early stack, then ran cold and dissolved uneventfully while observing the competition rather than the election. I believe I was about a median player in this field. That’s not good enough to be profitable due to rake and travel costs. A poker pro must be substantially better than average to make it. So much of our EV is comprised in the endgame. Almost every one of the final twelve players in the NAPT Main was better than me.
The $1ks were much softer. While not as soft as the home turf of Black Hawk, I’m sure I’m a winner in those fields. I would play them often if I lived in Vegas. I made the final table of the second one, busting eighth for not enough money to cover the trip’s buy-ins. Still, final-tabling something in Vegas was invigorating – and extra enjoyable because my old friend Jason DeWitt also final-tabled. He observed me miss one unconventional opportunity, a hand that would nag me for several days afterward. I was disappointed I missed the spot but grateful for Jason’s real-time appraisal.
Jason is one of four players I study with. We do a ~weekly Zoom with studious longtime pro Seth Fischer. I meet for coffee every week with Jon G, who I believe is the most studied player currently living in Colorado. I also run every hand I am unsure of by longtime friend and pro Ben Greenberg. These guys are the best resources I have in this endeavor. All four are true students of the game, with an unsullied devotion to strategic precision. They are also great teachers, unafraid to hurt my feelings with criticism. It is necessary to surround yourself with superior players. I do believe I have mostly detached my ego from my game, which is also necessary for the poker pro.
Don’t get me wrong. The Devil sunk his claws deep. I will battle Pride all my life. It is as fierce an adversary as I will encounter on this journey. That journey has once again taken me to the City of Sin. I’m in Las Vegas this week and next for the second biggest poker tournament of the year, the WPT World Championship at the Wynn.