I celebrate myself, and sing myself.
-- Walt Whitman

Once upon a time the only emotion displayed at a poker table was dismay, the kind of dismay that's sometimes sprinkled with anger and maybe some violence. The kind of dismay that usually emanates from the frustration of losing. Time was a table or two went top-side down, a card or two went zinging toward a dealer's face, a serious threat could be heard, and fists could be seen flying over lost pots, bad beats and losing streaks.

Ah, but that was then, when the Dunes and the Stardust, the Thunderbird/Silverbird and the Golden Nugget drew the rounders and grifters and the aspiring pros and no self-respecting, kitchen-table poker player would be caught in a Las Vegas cardroom.

Today's poker shows us two kinds of gusto. One is the fearlessness of the amateur who comes to the table willing, sometimes smugly, to bet, call or raise with anything that might make a hand down by the river. This is the player the pros can't figure out because there is no figuring him. And since they're in a tournament where life at the table ends when all your chips are gone, they don't have a whole lot of reason to play the most conservative of games. Big tournaments nowadays start out like lotteries and it's only near the end when the stakes are high enough that a pro's conservative play can be effective.

This is the kind of gusto that's been good for the game. Next to the online poker game, it's probably the single most reason the average Joe is now bellying up to the green-felt table. It's that kind of gusto that brings some excitement to the game for the fan.

The other kind of gusto we're seeing more and more is the emotion of success -- the kind of adrenalin-pumping rah-rah stuff American's are supposed to like, the kind that gives you reason to cheer or boo; the kind that, like spiking a football after a winning run and score, really ticks off the opponent.

Now I'm sure this kind of effusiveness isn't meant to provoke another person to the point of wishing to squash you like an annoying ant but I'll be the guy sitting there looking at the empty spot in front of him where his chips once were is feeling somewhat Draconian.

I wonder if this new gusto is all an act. Why, all of a sudden, will a poker player who never ran to the rail for a bevy of high-fives, suddenly jump out of his seat, throw his hands up in touchdown-indicating style and cheer his success? Is there coaching going on somewhere. "Psst, listen up guys. We've gotta put some pizzaz into this or we'll lose our viewers. Let's show some oomph out there."

I cannot see the venerable Doyle Brunson, the composed Howard Lederer, or the taciturn Tom McEvoy employing the self-cheering tactic. But these players learned their trade on the road and not on the Internet.

If this burst of energy isn't an act then it has to have something to do with age. Young(er) players are more accustomed to the roar of the crowd and the means of generating it. Does it fit with poker? I don't know but if it does, perhaps the producers of TV poker should take their gusto to the ultimate and start interviewing scantily-clad beauties to be poker cheerleaders.