As a counselor in the mental health realm, I often meet people as they are struggling through their worst times. My days are often filled with listening to and advising kids who’ve had one of their parents pass away, teens who use razor blades to cut themselves in order to avoid psychological pain, and parents who no longer know how to connect with their family. As these individuals enter my office, I can see the emotions in their body language and on their faces. These emotions are wide-ranging, but never far from the surface. Desperation, despair, anger, frustration, disgust, and hopelessness are daily visitors to my world. It is my job to provide help and direction to those I work with, allowing hope and self-worth to re-enter the fragile psyche.

But then I sit down at the poker table. I am no longer a helper, no longer a counselor, no longer a therapist. I am a competitor. Suddenly the emotions and personality flaws that I was trying to help others overcome are now, ironically, my allies.

A clear example of this occurred on my last trip to Atlantic City. A group of raucous college-aged guys rushed toward the poker room desk. They talked loudly as they perused the list of active poker games, each debating which they’d play for the night. I was already settled comfortably in a slow-moving No Limit Hold ‘em cash game, but I was willing to play anywhere that I felt I had an advantage. I saw the man I knew I could fleece right away: a tall, skinny fellow who was at the back of the rowdy bunch of college kids. Although he was with the group, he lingered bashfully behind his buddies. While his friends shouted over top of each other debating the game each would select, he looked downward and had slouched shoulders. I could identify his personality easily, even from causal observation between the hands I played. He had low self-esteem, and doubted he could win at poker (or in life). He was a follower, never a leader. His discomfort entering the room was obvious, and I knew he would wilt when facing a raise once he was at the table. As the college kids were directed toward their respective seats, I immediately asked to be moved to the table this meek character landed.

It took some time for a seat to open on his Limit Hold ‘em table. I kept my head on a swivel to watch him (and his new tablemates) from afar, knowing I’d be competing at that table soon. My observations of his play only solidified my initial hunch, and I salivated at the chance to play him. As the floor manager called me toward the table, I had to chuckle to myself a bit. This guy could’ve easily been a client of mine. I could envision myself working with him to become assertive and self-confident.

Instead, I was playing the role of poker predator, attempting to exploit the insecurities that I might normally attempt to fix. Now I might actually do the reverse -- I might promote his self-defeating attitude by using his weaknesses against him.

In the past, I used to try to justify such instances. I’d try to convince myself that I somehow had a “right” to win their money and exploit their psychological shortcomings. At times I’d think that I was “teaching them a valuable lesson." At other times, I’d try to ease my self-criticism by attempting to provide some words of encouragement and help to the player that I was beating.

I no longer even feel compelled to put up this flimsy effort to avoid my own guilt. These attempts were motivated only by my need to fill the helpful counselor role. I’ve now come to the conclusion that my skills in psychology fill two opposing roles. In my profession, I use my insights to aid, support, and guide. In my poker hobby, I use them to catch reads on opponents, to attack weak players, and to influence their play.

My tall, skinny opponent was as easily manipulated as I had predicted. I was seated near him, and immediately attempted to strike up a conversation. His replies were quick and nearly inaudible. He rarely made eye contact with others at the table. He thought too much about his decisions, which probably led to his folding hands that he should have played. I tried to play in nearly every pot he entered. I’d work to isolate him, and attack. As he took time to consider his move, I’d begin chatting incessantly. I was indirectly challenging him to call or raise. But I was simply relying on his obvious insecurity. He wanted to avoid confrontation. He was not confident in his ability or himself. Inevitably, he would fold to relieve the psychological pressure that I was supplying. A veteran player across the table followed my lead, pressuring this player whenever the opportunity arose.

Poker personalities are extensions of the true inner-self. People who are meek and unconfident away from the table are easy targets at the table. Those who are overconfident and display a big ego away from the felt will often be easy targets as well, as they’ll certainly be susceptible to tilt and loose play. Poker is the ultimate game of intellect, chance, AND psychology. Chance is out of our control. Your poker knowledge and intellect can be sharpened by reading poker books, magazines, and playing experience. Harnessing the power of poker psychology is the ultimate (and most difficult) step in getting your game to the next level. Think about what it’ll take to get you there, and go make it happen.

In addition to being a poker columnist and lecturer, John is a National Certified Counselor (NCC). He has a Master of Arts degree in Counseling from West Virginia University, and a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology with a minor in Sociology from Lock Haven University. You can arrange for interviews, speaking engagements, or find out more about the psychology of poker by emailing carlisle14@hotmail.com.