There's more luck in poker. Getting good at golf requires a

Phil Hellmuth, master of the cards and student of chance, once spoke with candor and clarity: “There’s more luck in poker. Getting good at golf requires a certain amount of physical aptitude. Both take a lot of patience. Both require knowing when to gamble — either with a big bluff or a high-risk shot. Both can be infuriating.” In these words we hear the eternal struggle of humankind with fate and skill, chance and discipline, impulse and restraint. For in poker and in golf, as in life itself, the balance of fortune and wisdom is ever shifting, demanding both patience and daring.

He begins with the truth that poker is heavy with luck, the turning of unseen cards, the roll of fate that no hand can command. Yet he reminds us that even in such a world of uncertainty, the wise do not surrender entirely to chance. They learn to read faces, to measure risk, to control the one thing within reach — their own decisions. Here is the first lesson: fortune may be fickle, but character can endure. A poor hand may still yield victory to the one who dares to bluff at the right time.

Golf, by contrast, leans upon the body. It requires physical aptitude, the precision of muscle, the harmony of eye and hand. Yet, as Hellmuth notes, both games demand the same invisible virtue: patience. For in golf, as in poker, the impetuous strike, the hurried decision, the untempered will, often lead only to ruin. The swing must be measured; the putt must be considered; the risk must be chosen with care. Without patience, strength and skill alike are wasted.

History itself confirms this union of chance and skill. Consider the tale of Napoleon at Waterloo. Though he was a general of immense ability, the field was drenched in rain. His artillery, once his greatest strength, was mired in mud. The cards of fate fell against him, and though his strategy was bold, the field betrayed him. Yet Wellington, patient and steady, held his line until fortune turned. This is life’s lesson: one must prepare the body, train the mind, and yet accept that luck may crown or crush even the greatest.

Hellmuth also speaks of the moment to gamble. In poker, the great bluff can seize victory from despair. In golf, the daring shot across water or through the wind may turn the tide of the match. But the wise do not gamble at every turn; they wait until the moment is ripe. This discernment, this sense of timing, is what separates the reckless from the master. And so in life, too, we must know when to hold back and when to leap forward into risk. Too much caution leaves us stagnant; too much daring leaves us broken. Balance is the true art.

He ends with the confession that both games can be infuriating. Here is honesty, for patience itself is tested in frustration. The bad beat in poker, the missed putt in golf — these mirror the setbacks of life. Anger tempts us, despair whispers to us, but only those who endure the fire of frustration without losing themselves will continue the path toward mastery. The true battle is not against cards or clubs, but against one’s own spirit.

Thus, the teaching is revealed: life is both poker and golf. It is ruled partly by luck, partly by skill. It demands patience, the courage to gamble, and the strength to withstand the fury of setbacks. One must accept that control is never complete, yet discipline is always required. To walk this path is to embrace both humility before fate and confidence in one’s own hand.

Therefore, let the listener act: practice patience daily, in small things and great. Train the body and sharpen the mind, as the golfer trains his swing and the poker player studies his opponents. When chance seems cruel, do not surrender to rage; when opportunity arises, do not shrink back in fear. Learn the rhythm of risk and restraint, and let frustration be your teacher, not your master. For in this balance lies wisdom, and in this wisdom lies victory.