His breakthrough best-seller The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference (published in 2000) provides a fascinating analysis of how particular ideas, trends, or products sometimes take off and become full-blown cultural phenomena. Following the so-called "poker boom" that occurred around 2003, some looked back to Gladwell's book to help explain how poker had successfully reached a "tipping point" and suddenly caught fire the way it did.

Gladwell's other books have captured the attention of some poker players, too. In Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking (2005), Gladwell tackles the subject of first instincts, assessing why it happens that oftentimes we do better to "go with our gut" than to second-guess -- a subject of obvious relevance to poker. And in Outliers: The Story of Success (2008), Gladwell investigates some of the factors that set the superstars of a given field (e.g., sports, business, medicine) apart from others, yet another topic that intrigues those of us who follow winners of high-stakes cash games and tourneys.

Not long ago I picked up Gladwell's latest title, What the Dog Saw and Other Adventures (2009), which compiles a number of his New Yorker pieces from over the years. One of those essays, titled "Open Secrets," struck me as potentially interesting to poker players, and so I thought I'd share a little bit from it here.

"Open Secrets" first appeared in early 2007 and takes as its starting point the trial and conviction of Jeffrey Skilling, the former president of Enron Corporation who was found guilty of multiple felony charges connected to the collapse of the energy company. Skilling is currently serving a 24-year prison term.

Gladwell shares details of the complicated case, and I'm not going to rehearse all of those here. To summarize, Gladwell ultimately argues that even though the popular view of Enron was that the energy company had failed to release information about its business practices to its shareholders, the fact was Enron released a heck of a lot of information. Too much, in fact, as eventually -- thanks to some painstaking investigative work by various entities -- their public reports yielded enough to demonstrate that the actual value of the company wasn't nearly what it was saying it was worth.

Gladwell presents the Enron case as an example of a situation in which many thought certain information was hidden -- that it posed a problem that couldn't be solved without the missing pieces -- when in fact all of the necessary information was there for anyone skilled enough to interpret it.

In order to clarify the difference, Gladwell evokes a distinction once made by policy analyst and national security expert Gregory Treverton between "puzzles" and "mysteries." Gladwell explains that, for example, al-Qaeda leader "Osama bin Laden's whereabouts are a puzzle. We can't find him because we don't have enough information." However, "the problem of what would happen in Iraq after the toppling of Saddam Hussein was, by contrast, a mystery." In the latter case (argues Gladwell), all of the needed information to solve that "mystery" was available -- it just needed to be interpreted correctly by those examining it.

Gladwell offers other examples to explore the distinction further in his essay, but I think you get the idea. When facing a problem in need of a solution, one can approach it either as a "puzzle" and assume that one will have to uncover a missing piece of information before finding the answer, or approach it as a "mystery" and assume all of the needed information is there, it is just going to take some close study to interpret it and thus solve the problem.

You're probably already seeing the poker connection, yes? If so, nice read! If it is still a puzzle to you, let me explain.

As I reached the conclusion of Gladwell's article, I realized that one way the distinction is evident in poker is in the difference between unskilled and skilled players. Players who are new to the game, or who aren't very good, tend to view the hands they play as "puzzles." There's a piece missing for them -- usually the contents of an opponent's hand. And the solution to the problem isn't going to come until that piece is discovered.

On the other hand, players who are experienced -- say, who have developed the ability to interpret bet sizes, to put opponents on hands or hand ranges, to interpret tells (like the chip glance or shaking hands), and the like -- tend to view hands as "mysteries." They know all of the information they need is available to them, it is just a matter of interpreting it correctly.

Of course, it is probably a little too neat to suggest a cut-and-dry distinction like this. Most hands probably involve both a bit of "puzzle" and a bit of "mystery." Still, it seems useful to use the distinction as a way of characterizing different kinds of players -- that is, to distinguish those who have yet to discover that even though poker is a "partial information" game, there is nevertheless a lot of information out there to help solve the problem of a hand, from those who have already figured all that out.

I'd like to claim I'm more often than not part of the latter group. I mean, after all, I call myself a shamus, right? In my mind's eye, I'm a detective at the tables, reading those clues, and solving the "mystery."

But if I'm going to be honest, I have to admit that oftentimes I belong to the other group -- the "puzzled."

There could well be moments in the book in which Brunson opted to choose moderation when sharing details from his long, varied journey in search of the biggest games around. For the most part, though, Brunson appears to have employed that fearless, pull-no-punches style which has served him so well on the felt for so many years. That is to say, with The Godfather of Poker, written by Brunson with fellow Texan and longtime journalist Mike Cochran, the gambler appears to have brought it all to the table, so to speak. The result is a highly entertaining and revealing look at the life of the one poker player who perhaps more than any other can say he's seen it all -- and not be exaggerating.

Brunson has shared some details of his story in print before. His preface to the original Super/System, first published as How I Made Over $1,000,000 Playing Poker in 1978, gave an overview of his Texas days and early triumphs at the WSOP. Other works like According to Doyle, a compilation of columns originally published in 1984 then later repackaged as Poker Wisdom of a Champion, also share particular anecdotes from Brunson's career, a few of which turn up again here. The Godfather of Poker, though, offers a much more comprehensive account of the life and career of Texas Dolly, and thus will surely become the most referenced title for Brunson's story, as well as a useful resource for those interested in the last fifty years of poker history, generally speaking.

The book begins, epic-like, in medias res, with our hero and his longtime wife, Louise, confronted with a harrowing home invasion just one night after Doyle had claimed yet another bracelet at the 1998 WSOP. Leaving that scene on a cliffhanger, the reader is then taken back to the author's childhood days growing up in Longworth, Texas. Much of these early chapters share Brunson's early love of athletics, highlighted by several noteworthy achievements in track and basketball.

Brunson tells the story -- perhaps familiar to some -- of how a catastrophic leg injury prematurely ended a promising basketball career at Hardin-Simmons University, one that may well have landed Brunson a career in the NBA. Redirecting his energy momentarily toward his education, Brunson obtains a master's degree and for a time appears headed for a life as an educator or in business. However, poker -- a game first introduced to Brunson during his school days -- quickly turns from an avocation to a vocation for the young Brunson, replacing athletics as a means to allay his seemingly insatiable hunger to compete.

From there the story carries through four distinct periods -- the "Texas years" of his early tutelage playing games on Exchange Avenue in north Fort Worth; "fading the white line" throughout Texas and the rest of the south in search of more action; moving to Las Vegas at age 40 and thereafter establishing himself as a high-stakes winner and collector of WSOP bracelets; and the post-"poker boom" years of 2003 onward in which a septuagenarian Brunson discovers himself having become a bona fide celebrity.

Certain themes emerge as Brunson's story progresses, themes which ultimately shed a lot of light on his personality and character. At nearly every step of his journey, Brunson seems to be accompanied by "running mates" -- close friends with whom he shares meaningful, mutually supportive relationships. Indeed, one gets the sense at times that one reason for Brunson's having written the book may have been to pay tribute to these many individuals who played significant roles in Brunson's life, from his high school teammates D.C. Andrews and Riley Cross, to his partners traveling the Texas Circuit, "Amarillo Slim" Preston and "Sailor" Roberts, to Vegas friends Jack Binion and David "Chip" Reese, among a host of others.

Another theme, signaled by that opening scene, is the risk to personal safety Brunson frequently experienced in his pursuit of poker. From the beginning, Brunson finds violence and crime surrounding the game, starting on Exchange Avenue, where "a sinister, often evil, and always dangerous element" dwelled. Such threats were present on the road as well, where Brunson and his partners were constantly apprehensive of "hijackers," and in Vegas, too, where for some time he had to deal with mobsters looking for their cut of the action.

Other, reoccurring motifs include how poker is perceived by the public (something that changes markedly over time), the complicated ethics of gamblers ("While a man's word in the gambling world is his bond, honor among gamblers got slightly warped at times"), love for his wife and family, matters of faith, and coping with tragedy and/or illness. With regard to the latter, Brunson includes the story of his seemingly miraculous recovery from cancer in his late twenties. He also movingly relates his grief over the early death of his eldest child, Doyla, and the loss of friends like Roberts, Reese, and others.

The book shares numerous, memorable character sketches as well, with nearly every figure of significance in the history of poker and gambling from the last fifty years receiving some attention. For this reason, the inclusion of an index is much appreciated.

That opening scene gets revisited (and concluded) about two-thirds of the way through The Godfather of Poker -- when the story reaches 1998 -- and the narrative's organization thereafter seems a little less carefully maintained than had been the case up to that point. Indeed, after having adhered relatively strictly to a chronological sequence, the last 20 chapters or so (of 52 total, natch) appear to dissolve into what at times seem like hastily juxtaposed stories and sketches from various points in Brunson's life.

Even so, the book remains fairly riveting from beginning to end, and its finale is quite inspiring.

Looking back, Brunson sometimes yearns for earlier, simpler times, but expresses few regrets. "I feel you own your experiences," he says. "Think about that as you go through life. I can't tell you that the cards you're dealt will be the ones you want, but whatever they turn out to be, play them wisely, honestly, and with passion and pleasure. That's the secret."

Looking forward, Brunson is ready to collect still more experiences, advanced age obviously having done very little to deter Brunson's hunger for competition. "Everything I have is ready to play," says Brunson, declaring his desire to keep gambling, and to put all he has on the table. Much as he has done, one might say, with The Godfather of Poker.

Like many situations in Omaha, players used to hold'em tend to drastically overvalue hands which are strong in hold'em, yet often extremely weak in Omaha.

However, due to the limit nature of stud, it requires a solid understanding of hand values early on in the hand, as no matter how good your skills are on the later streets, constantly swimming upstream will bust you over the long run.