The market moved against him slightly, but the math held. Time decayed, volatility reverted to the mean, and for the first time in his career, Lawrence didn't need a miracle to make a profit. He just needed the clock to keep ticking.
The heavy glass doors of the exchange floor hadn't even swung shut before Lawrence felt the sweat prickling his collar. It was 1991, and the air in the pits was thick with the smell of floor wax and desperation. McMillan on options
Lawrence was a "smart" trader—or so he thought. He understood the basic math of a call and a put, but he was playing checkers while the market was playing three-dimensional chess. He’d been bleeding capital for six months, caught in the "volatility crush" of earnings season without ever knowing what to call it. The market moved against him slightly, but the math held
The market moved against him slightly, but the math held. Time decayed, volatility reverted to the mean, and for the first time in his career, Lawrence didn't need a miracle to make a profit. He just needed the clock to keep ticking.
The heavy glass doors of the exchange floor hadn't even swung shut before Lawrence felt the sweat prickling his collar. It was 1991, and the air in the pits was thick with the smell of floor wax and desperation.
Lawrence was a "smart" trader—or so he thought. He understood the basic math of a call and a put, but he was playing checkers while the market was playing three-dimensional chess. He’d been bleeding capital for six months, caught in the "volatility crush" of earnings season without ever knowing what to call it.