Texas Holdem - The River

You can’t kill a calling station. You can outplay them, out-think them, out-bluff them six hands in a row—but like a horror-movie villain, they keep lurching back with chips that shouldn’t exist. They don’t win because they’re good. They win because they refuse to die, and eventually, the math gets tired of saying no.

You’ll hear them justify a river call with lines like, “I had a feeling,” as though intuition has a HUD display and reads board textures in Morse code. The rest of us call that same move “burning money.” But for them, it’s destiny. Every hunch feels like a prophecy, and every lucky catch confirms that the universe was whispering directly into their skulls.

Trying to bluff one is like trying to reason with a houseplant. They’re impervious to logic, immune to pressure, and blissfully unaware of pot odds. You raise three times the pot, they call before your chips even land. Why? “Because you might be bluffing.” Their only fear is missing out on the one miracle they’ve already decided they deserve.

The secret truth is: they are invincible—just not in the way they think. You can’t tilt someone who doesn’t believe they can make a mistake. They play with the serenity of monks and the memory of goldfish. Every bad call vanishes the moment the next hand’s dealt. Meanwhile, you’re still steaming from the two-outer they hit in 2019.

Their overconfidence looks like madness, but there’s method in their delusion. They’ve simplified the game. They don’t weigh ranges, balance bluffs, or fear judgment. They just call, survive, and let probability do the babysitting. Occasionally, the math betrays you and rewards them—proof, in their minds, that they were right all along.