The Gamblers.
“Si dijéramos que en la noche está el tango
Si dijeras que ya no tenés miedo
Cuando lo único que amás es el espanto
Te diría que estás muerta, mi amor”
“If we said that tango is in the night
If you said that you are not afraid anymore
When all you love is horror
I would say that you are dead, my love”
Te diría, by Los Piojos.
The first time I played poker, I played in a tournament. A friend had planned a weekend trip to Iguazú to attend the event, but his plans changed and he couldn’t make it, leaving me with the whole trip package. It was one of the most insane, adventurous, thrilling four days of my life. It was also the only trip I’ve had since I turned 18 that I didn’t plan, and simply surrendering to the experience was freeing and comforting.
The event was on the same day I arrived. I was reading the poker rules on the plane, hoping it would be enough. Texas hold ’em. Holdem? I knew little about the tournament, except that it had a USD $10K entry fee. My memory is fuzzy, but I think there were ten tables of ten players each, and only the winner of each table moved on to the “final.”
I’m going to make a little aside here to clarify something. I’m not a gambler. I couldn’t be: I love money too much. I know you are not supposed to say it, but I really do. I love money in my bank account. I love money in other people’s bank accounts: their success inspires me and overjoys me. I love money growing and having little money babies in investments. I love money infused into houses and into buildings, their bricks piled like pretty stacks. When I’m at a casino and see people putting crisp, lovely money into the machines, I feel uneasy. Witnessing the helpless bills being sucked in, to never be seen again, is horrifying to me.
This was not my scene, but that wasn’t going to stop me from having fun. I dressed up in what I thought was the perfect “Bond girl in the jungle” outfit. I probably took too long getting ready. I remember walking towards the tournament, with ten minutes to spare, and asking for some guidance regarding the rules. Hold’em. River. Straight flush. I was ready, sort of. I only had one goal: not to be the first one to lose.
The game started, cards were dealt. I will not pretend that I remember much about poker. I remember noticing that the players at my table could be easily sorted into three groups: we’ll call them the Commoners, the Winners, and the Gamblers. The Commoners were just two or three people, including me, who were a little clueless, a little disconnected from the game. A few folks who could have been there or could have been at Disneyland.
The Winners — also just two or three people — were “in the zone”: calmly observant, mildly entertained. They looked aloof and shrewd, like a crouching fox patiently waiting for a fluffle of bunnies to settle down: soon enough, you’ll be mine. Every now and then, the cold in their eyes would be betrayed by a flicker of fire, maybe at the sight of a card. But most of the time, all I could tell about them was that they knew it: not the rules, but that this was their game.
The Gamblers, at least half of the table, were excited, exuberant, enthralled and a little desperate. They were drinking more, talking more, sweating more. They looked like pigs on their way to the slaughter. They knew it. I mean, even I knew it. Every move was an excuse to react and to emote, like their very lives (like their very game) depended on every little decision made at the table, and on the wind, and on the shape of the orange peel in their Old Fashioned. To me, they didn’t seem addicted to the game, they seemed addicted to losing. Every choice they made was filled with passion and fervor, like it was devoid of reason and alternatives, like it was purely burning fate.
I ended up being the fourth or fifth player eliminated, so I considered myself satisfied, at least for the night. I have never played poker again, but that game, and that observation, never left me. We are all Gamblers, at least sometimes. I know I am a fool in love. When I fall in love, I get confused, I freeze and I all say the wrong things. Most of the time I know when it’s happening, even if I feel that I can’t stop it from happening. When we don’t know the difference, we are at our most powerless and vulnerable.
It occurs often in entertainment, when a “fan” with deep pockets gets into producing something, out of infatuation for a star, or out of fascination for show business in general. It’s usually a disaster: they overwhelm the artists, micromanage minor details and completely overlook crucial parts of the process.
It’s important to know our blind spots. I believe that technology, innovation, and startups, should be fun, and exciting. The journey can, and should, be filled with passion. But your gaze, and your attitude, should be that of the Winners. There are decisions to be made and challenges to be met and even failures to be endured, and the only way to learn from them, and capitalize on them, and to avoid becoming the prey of circumstances or of someone else’s game, is to be shrewd, and aloof, and observant.
Soon enough, you’ll be mine.
