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.
Years later, Lawrence’s copy of "McMillan on Options" was dog-eared and spine-cracked, held together by packing tape. He wasn't just a trader anymore; he was a strategist. He realized that in the casino of the market, most people were gamblers, but McMillan had given him the blueprint to be the house. McMillan on options
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