I have a confession to make: I am not really a dumb blonde. However, I am convinced that I could spout quantum physics and quote Shakespeare concurrently, and there would still be plenty of male poker players who would assume I am, based solely on my appearance. Platinum blonde hair and a curvy figure resonate with the male reptilian brain, that basest part of the male mind that reacts on a very primal and instinctually sexual level, as: “she's simple, she's easy, and she's a laydown to dominate”. Many women might resent this perception; I, however, have learned that you might as well use mens' unconscious ways of viewing you to your own financial advantage when sitting at a poker table.

Case in point occurred at the 2008 World Series of Poker Main Event, Day One, when I was seated next to a young man who had recently taken down an important brick-and-mortar tournament at a major Las Vegas casino. There was a fair amount of press buzz hovering around him at the WSOP table, and being 20-something and cocky as hell, it was clear that he thought he was the shiz. I said something to him that fell under the guise of pleasant conversation, and he retorted with an Arctic tone that would have frozen an iceberg with something to the effect that “he had come to win” and I had better get the heck out of his way.

I chuckled to myself, knowing that I was, to him, simply a domino to be easily toppled; I also knew that I just needed to wait for the right moment, and his chips would be mine. Sure enough, a few hours in, I got A-As and when he raised in early position pre-flop and everyone else folded, I just smooth called. The flop came all mid-range cards: something like trash-7-9 rainbow as I recall, and I check-raised him only to meet up with an all-in from him, and he had me covered. I considered the possibility that he might have flopped a set, but decided that more likely he had at best J-Js and I wasn't mucking my rockets, so I called. He turned over 10 high with a gut shot straight draw, namely, he was just bluffing and clearly had assumed I was a “typical” blonde woman ( i.e., a weak, easily dominable player, in his reptilian brain) and one who would cower at his aggression. As often happens, his own ego (and his inexperience with women, most likely on and off the felt) made him donk off most of his chips, and he busted out not too long afterwards. I have to admit, some pots are more fun to win than others, and that one was particularly delightful.

I am no biologist, but from what I understand of the male reptilian brain, it is about as caveman-y as they come. Feminism and modern times have not evolutionarily reached its deeply buried nooks and crannies, and even otherwise enlightened men are subject to its primal and testosterone-driven power and motives. It says: “I want to have and to dominate” regarding women, food and probably large-screen TVs at Frye's as well. It wants to own and overpower with sheer will, and without regard to consequences, or to the effect on its “victims.” The problem is, life has somewhat advanced past this ancient male brain stem, and its Neanderthal MO now has adversaries who have slyer and more sophisticated honing and response mechanisms that allow them (i.e., the perceived “dumb blondes”) to outwit and outmaneuver its lurching, blatant thought path. Smart men recognize their own reptilian brains and manually override them when need be; cockier and less practiced men (often young, and as yet unschooled in the humbling nature of life in general and poker in particular) may not.

It is easy to spot the latter, as they will make no bones to you about their superior intelligence, your obvious (to them) lack of skill at the game, and in general, will show disdain as freely as some do photos of their grandkids. Know when you meet one of these antediluvian monsters that they are yours for the taking; you simply have to wait in the shadows with your cranial bullets to shoot past their rough-hewn and antiquated poker-playing bows and arrows.

They do not know what they do not know, a reality that is sure to trip them up until they realize they're not quite as brilliant and clever as they think they are. They will be wiped clean by not only “dumb blondes,” but by the 80-year-old country club player, the retired businesswoman dripping in jewels, and anyone else who recognizes they are playing with a dinosaur whose ego is as big as any Tyrannosaurus Rex. Your turn will come too, if you just lay in wait behind a rock and wait for their big old claws to reach haplessly out for you. Then you can simply snap down the trap door on their foolish play, and rake in their chips with a smile.

Enjoy the spoils of your victory, and slay those dragons wherever you find them, as another one bites the dust!