We are now officially living in a nation of calling stations. Blame it on Daniel Negreanu, Kenny Tran and ESPN … they all deserve their share. Blame it on online players, too, as they are equally culpable.

But whomever or whatever you pinpoint as the source of the problem – and there are many viable candidates – there’s no denying that we are living in a poker world where most players are far more determined to prove that they can’t be bluffed than to show that they are capable of making the correct decision on any given hand. It’s all calling, all the time.

This trend appears to be a worldwide phenomenon, not exclusive to live or online play, it does not discriminate against the rich or poor, affects men and women equally and there appears to be no end in sight. The call-everything virus is spreading like wild fire, and there’s no doubt that it is soon going to reach a game near you.

Examples are rampant everywhere; the garden-variety online calling station convention usually involves a heads-up pot, often in blind-on-blind situations. Player A in the small blind bets the flop, Player B calls. They both check the turn; Player A fires again on the river and Player B, without much hesitation, calls again. Player B’s avatar goes from reading “call” to “muck” instantly as our “winner,” Player A, shows down third pair on board. Hands such as these happen so frequently online that they have lost their shock value.

But some of these inexplicable calls never cease to amaze. Perhaps the most spectacular ill-advised call of all time on television came at the final table of the 2006 Aussie Millions when eventual winner Lee Nelson called a raise from the big blind holding 6-6. He led out at the ragged flop and was called by his opponent, an aggressive young player named Shannon Shorr.

The board ended up king-high and Nelson, first to act and suspecting Shorr did not have a strong enough hand to call, pulled one of his patented “Kill Phil” maneuvers and bluffed (or so he thought) all-in on the river. Shorr deliberated what seemed like forever, before calling with his unimproved A-7. Winning the pot propelled Nelson to victory; Shorr settled for second place.

It seems the calling epidemic can be attributed to two major factors; one is what I like to call the internet bluff paranoia, where most online players appear to suspect theft whenever his opponent bets. Given that online players do tend to be looser than their live counterparts, perhaps this was an inevitable counter measure.

But probably the real instigators of this call-crazy madness we are witnessing are the television networks that show heavily edited versions of tournaments to their viewers. So when you watch Daniel Negreanu or Kenny Tran make a call on the river with third pair and win the pot, it’s easy to think, “Wow, I need to call with third pair more often. It’s probably good more times than I realize. I won’t be bluffed ever again.”

What these TV shows fail to show you is that the call was based on hours of play with a particular opponent, and that the top-name pro must have picked up something on his opponent that told him his adversary likes to bet busted flush draws on the end, or likes to represent any scare card that comes off on the turn or river. Daniel Negreanu is capable of laying down third pair; it just doesn’t look that way on TV sometimes. But this goes to show you the powerful influence that televised poker has on the general public.

So how do you fight these calling stations? Bluff less often and value bet more, especially when you are up against a chronic caller. If you’re opponent appears poised to call everything, then go back to A-B-C poker and bet only when you have a hand that merits this action.

Sometimes it’s a difficult adjustment, especially for players like myself who are big fans of the semi-bluff. But when you move all-in with a flush draw or an open-ended straight draw, the play comes with the assumption that your opponent is capable of laying down a pair. If he isn’t, then you shouldn’t do it. And as Nelson rightly states in his new book “Kill Everyone,” you should expect to get called in these spots in today’s game, and be prepared to take the worst of it.

Unfortunately, this lesson often needs to be learned the hard way. I found this out during a live tournament over the holidays against a relatively tough field. One of the weaker players at the table had built up a decent chip stack by tripling up with pocket aces on the first hand. But for some reason he seemed to love betting out of position in multi-way pots. In a few multi-limped pots, he would automatically fire if the flop came paired or ragged like 9-9-6 rainbow. The move is transparent to anyone paying attention, but he got away with it a couple of times. However, the table caught on, and he had been popped a couple of times and forced to fold when the following hand took place:

With blinds at 50-100 and sitting on an average stack of 3,500, I limped behind three other limpers after picking up A-5 of clubs on the button. The blinds called, so we saw a six-handed flop that came down J-4-2 with two clubs, a great flop for my hand. I had the nut flush draw, a wheel draw and an over card to the board. The small blind checked, and our happy out-of-position bettor did his betting thang, firing 300 into the pot.

The field folded to me and I pondered my options. I was tempted to move in instantly, more out of principle than on the basis of the powerhouse drawing hand I held. But then I decided with a hand this strong I wanted action, so I needed to raise an amount that might fold the guy, but if nothing else should make him think twice about proceeding with a weak pair. I would have been glad to have him move in on me in response.

I end up raising it to 1,100, looking for my opponent to either move in or fold. He called. Of course, this sucked … for me. He didn’t define his hand at all, and my raise put me on the threshold of pot commitment. Praying for a club on the turn, I was greeted with a blank. My opponent checked and, not wanting to be too eager to give off my semi-bluffing ways, I pondered for a little while before looking the dealer straight in the eye and declaring “all-in.”
My opponent hated this, which I took as good news. He shook his head disgustedly, writhed in agony and mumbled incoherently while I stared straight ahead and prayed, make that begged, to the poker gods that something would compel him to ignore his calling instincts and throw his hand in the muck.

He called. He reluctantly shoved his chips in and showed J-5 off-suit. The river blanked me and I was out. As I got up to leave, the player to my left who had just sat down at the table did a double-take when he saw my hand. I took his comments as a compliment.

“Wow … strong play,” he told me. “It should have worked.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “Yeah, it should have worked. I mean, I guess I’ll know better next time.”

I went home fuming that my opponent had called, but also angry at myself for making this move against a player who was in capable of folding top-pair, no kicker against five opponents. I wondered how I could have played it differently, and came up with just one solution.

Next time, I’ll just call.