‘I’m a 7/10 Poker Player’ and Other Lies We Tell Ourselves at the Felt

You’ve met him. The guy at your table who confidently declares, ‘I’d rate myself a 7/10.’ Then, in the same breath, he lists off a dozen fundamental parts of poker he needs to work on, like bankroll management, tilt control, and, you know, remembering to fold. It’s a hilarious, all-too-common moment at the felt that speaks volumes about the tricky business of self-assessment in poker. How good are we, really? Are we the shark in our home game or the fish at the casino? This dive into player self-perception uncovers the comedy, the delusion, and the surprising honesty found in the poker community. From the ‘bad’ player who’s still better than the ‘awful’ ones to the grinder who knows their exact limits, we’re exploring what that number rating really means—if it means anything at all.

The Funniest Thing You’ll Hear at a Poker Table

We’ve all been there. You’re a few hours into a session, the table is a mix of the usual characters, and someone asks the question: “So, on a scale of one to ten, how good of a player are you?” You get the usual mumbles, the humble “I’m just here for funs,” and then you get that guy. He leans back, puffs out his chest just a little, and says with complete seriousness, “Oh, I’m fantastic. Probably a 7 out of 10.”

And you almost believe him. Until he keeps talking.

“Yeah, a solid 7. I just need to get a little better at table selection, preflop charts, bankroll management, c-bet frequencies, tilt control, reading ranges, position… oh, and pot odds, not punting when I bluff, thin value betting, and maybe folding every once in a while.”

It’s a moment so perfectly absurd, you can’t even be mad. His spirit animal must be a clownfish. This isn’t just one guy; he’s an archetype, a walking, talking example of the Dunning-Kruger effect sitting with a pile of chips. He’s fantastic, except for all the things that actually make you fantastic at poker. It’s a beautiful, self-owning moment that captures the core dilemma of rating your own skill. How do you put a number on a game that’s a constant, brutal lesson in humility?

It’s All Relative, Man

The truth is, any number you pick is almost meaningless without context. Are you a 10/10 when playing with your parents for pennies at Christmas? Probably! Are you a 1/10 when you sit down at a 5/10 game in Vegas? Almost certainly! A player’s rating is a slippery thing, completely dependent on the pond they’re swimming in.

This sentiment echoes through the poker community. You see guys who are absolute crushers in their local New Zealand card room rating themselves a 7, but admitting they’re probably a 4 on the world stage. Then there's the guy who is the king of his home game, the one who takes his friends' money consistently, but who admits he'd get eaten alive at a casino. It’s easy to be the most winning player in the room when you only play against yourself, right?

One of the most honest assessments I’ve ever heard came from a player who said:

“I consider myself a ‘bad’ poker player, as opposed to the ‘very bad,’ ‘awful,’ and ‘completely terrible’ players I mostly play against.”

Now that’s a rating system I can get behind. It acknowledges a fundamental truth of low-stakes poker: you don’t have to be a world-beater; you just have to be less terrible than the person to your left.

From Humble Grinders to Happy Donators

Of course, not everyone is delusional. The poker ecosystem is full of players who have a pretty solid grasp on where they stand. You have the proud “shit reg,” the winning low-stakes player who knows they can make a consistent $30-$50 an hour and is happy with that. They’re well-liked by the floor, tip the dealers, and enjoy their 20-40 hours a month at the table. They’ve found their sweet spot, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.

Then you have the players who are just there for the ride. The ones who say bankroll management isn’t an issue because they’re playing for fun. If they lose a few hundred, so be it. If they win, great. They’re the lifeblood of the game, and honestly, we should all be thankful for them. They’re the ones who will happily call you down with second pair because, hey, it’s a gamble!

This leads to one of the most interesting little side debates you’ll hear at a live table: do things like 4-bet or 5-bet bluffs even exist in the wild? For someone who plays a lot of low-stakes live poker, the idea can seem insane. A 3-bet is almost always aces or kings, maybe AK if the guy is feeling spicy. You almost never see someone 3-bet bluffing. So why would you ever 4-bet bluff into that? But then you talk to an online player or a high-stakes pro, and they’ll tell you it’s all about balance. If you have a 5-bet value range, you must have a 5-bet bluffing range too. It’s a perfect example of the gap between GTO theory and the splashy, unpredictable reality of a live 1/3 game.

The Real Score: Self-Awareness

So, what’s the takeaway here? Is everyone who rates themselves a 7/10 a joke? Not necessarily. Maybe that number just represents a goal, an aspiration. The real divide isn’t between the 4s and the 8s; it’s between the players who are honest with themselves and those who aren’t.

The most insightful comments often come from players who admit their flaws. The guy who knows his ADHD makes it tough to focus without meds. The player who admits they get tilted easily and just can’t bring themselves to study. The one who struggles with wanting to be more aggressive but gets punished for it, so they retreat back into a tight-aggressive shell. That struggle is real and far more relatable than any numerical rating.

At the end of the day, maybe the question itself is flawed. Poker isn't a video game where you have a stat sheet. You can fluctuate from session to session. One day you’re playing like a 9, making perfect reads and executing flawless bluffs. The next, you’re a 3, punting off your stack because you got bored. Perhaps the best rating is simply “not good enough,” because that’s the mindset that keeps you learning.

So, next time someone at your table asks you to rate yourself, maybe just smile and say:

“I’m profitable enough to be here.”

Or, if you want to have some real fun, look them dead in the eye and say:

“I’m a 10/10. But I’m still working on figuring out what the cards mean.”