This week, the Australian Gambling Research Centre (AGRC) released a report stating that 46%, nearly half, of all poker players surveyed in the country had a gambling problem of one kind or another. This is a higher rate than was found for any other type of gambler in Australia.
As a gaming specialist, a healthy sceptic, and a poker-playing professional and coach to boot, this immediately struck me as odd. Granted, poker is a form of gambling, not much different than any other, and as such is certainly subject to the same risks and issues as any form of gaming where money is wagered and risks taken. However, poker is a skill game, one with +EV, and, moreover, it’s a game which has proven able to potentially offer a return on investment if your skill level is greater than that of your opponents and you play well enough. This sets it apart in at least one regard from almost all other forms of gambling.
Not only that, but it’s a game which requires a good deal of thought, reflection, patience and perseverance to excel at, although of course these attributes are not required to merely sit down and play. So while there are certainly casualties in the poker scene, and it has its share of degenerates, it has always been my honest impression that games which require (and possess) no skill component, those which merely involve the act of wagering on random results and which take place over moments of frenetic activity, rather than minutes of thoughtful analysis, tend to be a much bigger draw, and stimulus, towards creating and sustaining the behaviours of the adrenaline junkie, the problem gambler type.
So the publication of this report this week really made me sit up and take notice. Was I merely blind to some aspects of the game I had come to know and love over the years, or was there a genuine case to be made against the accuracy of the findings in this study? Were Australians who play poker perhaps somehow more susceptible to problem gambling? My curiosity most certainly awakened, I dug deeper, and questions abounded.
Looking further into this study, one thing that immediately struck me was that poker is one of the least popular forms of gambling in Australia, with only 1.9% of gamblers regularly playing poker. A further finding was that those who primarily played poker developed their problems with gambling in relation to other forms of gambling, such as the lottery, which they added in on top of their poker activity. These problems, furthermore, were defined as behaviours which “caused or put gamblers at risk of harm.” This inclusion of potential risk widens the net hugely; compared with the 1.1% of Australian gamblers who were found to actually be problem gamblers, 46.3% of poker players were found to be “at risk.”
A further issue with the metrics is that one measurement of the degree of “problematic” gaming is based on the amount of money spent on said gaming. Of course, if we’re playing a game where we can reasonably realistically expect a profit or a break-even result, it can be rational to commit more funds. Poker players were found to commit around sixty percent more funds per year than sports bettors, for example.
Now, I’m not entirely clear whether machine poker, which is absolutely huge in Australia, was included as a form of poker within these figures. I suspect not, since it is not a skill game and is, essentially, a bastardisation of the game and one which cannot be profitable in the long-term. However, the “pokies” are a big issue in Australia, and there have been many movements against their widespread presence in the nation. In fact, Australia, with a population of slightly more than 24 million, is home to 20% of the world’s sum total of poker machines. I’m in no doubt that these must make up a decent proportion of those “other gambling activities” regular poker players Down Under are partaking in.
Public perception of poker is muddy at best. This is only natural. Only someone fairly familiar with the game would even be able to ascertain that it was a skill game at all; for many laypersons, it just gets lumped in with all the other games of chance in the casino. Indeed, in the short term, it’s almost all luck anyway. It’s only over thousands of games (especially with regard to poker tournaments, the highest profile form of the game) that skill emerges as the predominant factor.
This even extends to mainstream media coverage, as five-time WSOP bracelet winner Jason Mercier learned to his peril when he was a guest on the Dan Le Batard Show on ESPN back in late 2016. Mercier is 17th on the all-time money list for poker worldwide, with over $18 million in cashes (cashes, admittedly, not profits, but he’s in a good amount of profit, too.) He was introduced on the show as a “poker junkie” and asked, on air, whether he had a problem.
Many poker professionals, if asked to sit a normal “problem gaming” questionnaire, would get flagged up as problem gamblers, no question. They live and breathe the game, think about it near constantly, and as with any skill set it requires a degree of obsession to get really damn good at it. The question is, is that obsession healthy, or is it out of whack, out of balance with the rest of our lives, and undermining our overall potential as a person?
What separates the professional from the addict is not only a question of whether they are winning. Some professionals will lose out overall, either through insisting on playing the toughest opponents in the world, playing beyond their means, or simply through a horrific run of cards, but overall, what distinguishes a professional with a balanced relationship to the game is not the degree of their obsession, fascination, or passion for the game, but their degree of self-control. Are they self-aware enough to make the right decisions, to walk away from the game at the right moment, to play when they are in the right frame of mind, and, crucially, to play within their means?
Many players overlook the mental game as a part of their development as players, and they do so at their peril. It’s every bit as important as game theory, mathematics, and the strategies of the game itself. The mental game has at least three key components.
One is the internal aspect: how to deal with bad beats at the table, how to keep one’s head in game and maintain composure and calm. Many top players are terrible at this, and it costs them deep in the purse, not to mention the cardiac cost.
The second area is external and involves scrutinising the relationship of poker to one’s wider life. Are you leaving space and time to explore the rest of your potential, your other talents, your social life and your relationship to the wider world? Any obsession runs the risk of eclipsing one’s other interests, and an obsession linked to wagering even more so. Maintaining that equilibrium is key to a sustainable long-term relationship to the game.
Finally comes the deepest stuff of all: examining one’s own ego and the nature of one’s own mind. Studying the mental game in poker offers opportunities to question one’s own habits of thought; many top players are now practicing meditation as part of their self-improvement. This has the potential to help them with far more than their poker game, to make them more well-rounded and enlightened human beings overall.
The line between healthy and unhealthy obsession is certainly a thin one, but I would make two arguments in conclusion here.
First, it seems the classic criteria used for determining problem gambling may not possess sufficient finesse to accurately assess professional poker players, or recreational ones, for that matter.
I would also contend that the mental attribute which will ultimately determine the healthfulness of one’s relationship to poker will not be simply one’s ability to control one’s actions, but will ultimately come down to one’s degree of mindfulness.
Poker is a game which is naturally suited to careful consideration and reflection. A player need only turn that reflection inward and take a good hard look at themselves and their demeanour, disposition and behaviour, to stand a very good chance of developing the kind of mindfulness needed to thrive in, and away from, what we in poker like to call the best game in the world.
