Advice I Probably Won't Follow Myself

For the permanent record, there are two things we need to be clear on;

1. The world is composed of two groups; the fools and the damned fools.

2. You and I are not exceptions.

As your attorney, I suggest you write this down on a scrap of paper and memorize it. I'll give you a minute to do that.

Okay, that done, we can get down to brass tacks.

You will be tempted, from time to time, to believe that there are people in this world, yourself included, who are not fools of one sort or the other. You must fight this urge.

The reality is, all things being equal (as old Billy from Ockham would have it), that the easiest answer is the one that requires no thought. As neither fools nor damn fools like to think, they will immediately seize on the easiest answer.

This answer is invariably wrong.

Trusting your instincts or going from the gut are the surest way of arriving at this answer, which, as we have established, is invariably wrong.

Your instincts wouldn't give you the skills to fight your way out of a paper bag. Your instincts are to scream like a little girl at the sight of a spider and to climb on top of a table when you see a mouse. You are many hundreds of times bigger than both, and could crush either with a satisfying crunch, but your instincts are rat assed cowards.

And the only things that come out of your gut are shit and vomit. Depending on the direction, that is.

Now you may say, E. what the fuck are you going on about?

I know you are saying this because I just re-read that inane blather above, and I said it myself. Only I didn't call myself E. I referred to myself as Earl.

Earl isn't even my name.

The point is this.

If you haven't been in a coma for the last decade, I'm sure you've seen Professional Poker on TV.

And I bet you've seen, say, Phil Helmuth guess outloud and in front of the cameras that his opponent is holding pocket Aces as he lays down his pocket Kings. And the bitch is, whenever he pulls that stunt, the fucker is right. Even if you're a really good poker player, you know how fucking amazing that seems.

The trick, if there is one, to Phil doing what he does, is that poker is a game of incomplete information. If Phil has enough data about a player, he can, in his head, exclude possible hands. Since he's really good at it, he can even arrive at the precisely correct hand.

And if he's feeling cocky, he'll announce it to the table. Mainly to fuck with the other players heads.

Now, herein lies the rub. Phil ain't always right. You can bluff him. And he has been known to completely misread an opponent. You just never see it on TV.

I know I said I was getting to the point. I'm getting there, I promise.

Now, life is not that different from poker. It is a game of incomplete information.

The object of the game is to separate fool from damn fool, without looking like an idiot, based on limited information. And recognizing that you're either a fool or a damn fool yourself, you won't be doing much thinking when you try to make this distinction.

The problem is, of course, that you will rarely collect enough data in advance of your decision. Meaning, all things being equal, you won't be correct about people as often as Phil is with his cards.

Of course, and just as often, they won't be correct about you either.

The best answer, of course, is, as old master Twain said "Never call out your opponents hand, unless you want the world to know what a damn fool you are."

E.

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