Whatever you do, don’t ever slow-roll anyone. Ever. You’re just asking for trouble.

You can make a whole other argument about the ethics and etiquette of poker, and I might question whether these two things even really exist in today’s game.

But slow-rolling falls into category all by itself. And I’m telling you, don’t do it. On the off-chance you don’t know the definition, here it is: at some point in the hand your opponent bets all his chips at you while you are holding the absolute nuts. It is your duty as a poker player to call right away and, without taunting, let him know you have the goods. Slow-rolling is when you, the owner of the penultimate hand, torture your opponent by deliberating or acting confused before revealing its strength.

If you’ve ever done this, good luck to you. I’m certain you’re going to need it. Because of the myriad ways poker mirrors life in general, I believe karma is one of them. It’s difficult enough to win consistently at poker; you’re going to run bad sometimes no matter how well you play, you’re going to lose to inferior opponents, you’re going to get unlucky. The last thing you need is a boomerang of bad mojo that is destined to swing back and slap you in the face. You don’t need to give your opponents any more reasons to want to take you down than they already have.

Even if you’re up against your most bitter rival, give him the slightest bit of dignity – and show some of your own -- by turning your cards over quickly sans a touchdown dance.

This topic is top-of-mind for me because I recently saw two extreme examples from opposite ends of the spectrum. I was involved in the first one and witnessed the second, and in each case how the guy with the goods conducted himself said a lot about them as players and as human beings. This behavior formed my instant impression and judgment of them.

Example one: I’m running bad in a weekend tournament; it just isn’t my day. Won a few small pots early, but lost some big ones lately and here I am … $2,200 in chips with blinds at 200-400. Folded around to me in middle position, I looked down at two black 8s. This an above-average hand for the situation regardless, and the way I was running that day, these two 8s might as well have been four aces. They looked that good. I didn’t want to take down the pot uncontested; I play to win, and the only way to win was by starting with a double-up. I was praying for a call by an A-Q or A-K and the chance to get back in the game.

I got called all right … the big blind had rockets. A quiet, younger gentleman with a relaxed disposition, he had been running better than me and perhaps playing better than me, because he had quietly built himself a nice chip lead at our table. And since it clearly wasn’t my day, maybe it was meant to be his. That’s what happens when someone announces “all-in” from middle position and you look down at A-A.

Now the question becomes not what to do, but how to do it. This player, whom I had never seen before, looked me straight in the eye before even going for his chips. With the slightest hint of sympathy, he said, “I have aces, I call,” and, to remove all doubt, he immediately flipped over the brutal cardboard truths like he was ripping a Band-aid off a patch of arm hair. He put me out of my misery quickly, and somehow the gesture made my poor timing and bad luck hurt just a little less.

Which, in my mind, counts for a lot. The aces held up, and I left the table thinking “If it can’t be me, then I hope it’s him.” I didn’t stick around to see what happened, but I was quietly rooting for him as I drove home.

Example 2: in an online tournament, the previous chip leader at my table became the short stack after he made a terrible call in a big pot against another chip leader, with just top pair/top kicker against a dangerously scary board of potential straight and flush draws. His opponent had the flush.

Our fallen player was down to about 1,000 chips with blinds of 50-100. On the very next hand, it was folded to him on the button and he moved all-in. The small blind folded, and the big blind deliberated. Forever. And ever.

I figured I had an obvious read on what the big blind was thinking: perhaps he had ace-rag, a hand he normally wouldn’t call with, but it just might be good in this situation given that his opponent might be steaming from the last hand. That’s what I suspected the big blind’s issue was; he had a hand that just might be on the cusp of call-worthy, but he didn’t want to be wrong and let the short stack double-up.

How foolish of me. Turns out, the big blind was just a sadist. As the clock counted him down inside of 10 seconds, he finally sprang to life and showed two black aces. The all-in player happened to have a hand as well, two red 10s. So there was no tilt play, no difficult call. Just a justified move-in and an intentional slow-roll.

Slow-roller’s aces held up and it kind of made me sick. Never had I wanted to witness a suckout so bad, and I wasn’t even in the hand. I was gone a while later myself, and didn’t stick around to see what happened. But as I turned on “Sportscenter” I was privately hoping our slow-roller would go broke and praying he wouldn’t be rewarded for his antics. A while later, I just had to know: I checked the results and Mr. slow-roller finished 13th in a tournament that paid 12 spots. As they say in online play … ROFL!

You might call it coincidence, I might call it poetic justice, but I think there’s something to be said about your poker karma and how you spread it. Pocket aces are gonna go around, and they’re gonna come around eventually, too. Just make sure you know how to act when you get them.