The Biggest Bluff: How I Learned to Pay Attention, Master Myself, and Win / Самый большой блеф: как я научилась быть внимательнее, совершенствоваться и побеждать (by Maria Konnikova, 2020) - аудиокнига на английском

In memory of Walter Mischel. I still haven’t published my dissertation, as I promised you I would, but at least there is this. May we always have the clarity to know what we can control and what we can’t. And to my family, for being there no matter what. Пусть все будут здоровы. “Life’s single lesson: that there is more accident to it than a man can ever admit to in a lifetime and stay sane.” FAUSTO MAIJSTRAL, IN THOMAS PYNCHON’S V. “I wish you luck, because what lies ahead is no picnic for the prepared and the unprepared alike, and you’ll need luck. Still, I believe you’ll manage.” JOSEPH BRODSKY, “SPEECH AT THE STADIUM” “But once in a while the odd thing happens, Once in a while the dream comes true, And the whole pattern of life is altered, Once in a while the Moon turns Blue.” W. H. AUDEN, LIBRETTO FOR PAUL BUNYAN A Prelude Las Vegas, July 2017 T he room is a sea of people. Bent heads, pensive faces, many obscured by sunglasses, hats, hoodies, massive headphones. It’s difficult to discern where the bodies end and the green of the card tables begins. Thousands of bodies sit in seeming disarray on chairs straight out of a seventies dining room catalogue—orange-and-mustard patterned upholstery, gold legs, vaguely square frame. Garish neon lights suspended on makeshift beams make the place look like the inside of a hospital that’s trying a bit too hard to appear festive. Everything is a bit worn, a bit out-of-date, a bit frayed. The only hints of deeper purpose are the color-coded numbers hanging on strings from the ceiling. There’s the orange group, the yellow group, the white group. Each placard has a number and, beneath it, a picture of a single poker chip. The smell of stale casino air fills the room—old carpet; powder; a sweet, faintly sickly perfume; cold fried food and flat beer; and the unmistakable metallic tang of several thousand exhausted bodies that have been sharing the same space since morning. Amid the sensory assault, it’s hard at first to pinpoint why something seems off. And then it comes to you: it is eerily quiet. If this was a real party, you would expect the din of countless voices, shifting chairs, echoing footsteps. But all there is is nervous energy. You can smell, hear, taste, the tension. And you can certainly feel it making a nest in your stomach. There’s just one sound left in the room, reminiscent of a full-throated courting ritual of summer cicadas. It’s the sound of poker chips. It’s the first day of the biggest poker tournament of the year, the Main Event of the World Series of Poker. This is the World Cup, the Masters, the Super Bowl—except you don’t need to be a superhero athlete to compete. This championship is open to the everyman. For a neat ten grand, anyone in the world can enter and take their shot at poker glory: the title of world champion and a prize that has been known to top $9 million. If you happen to be British or Australian, you even get it tax-free. For professional poker players and amateurs alike, this is the career pinnacle. If you can win the Main Event, you have guaranteed yourself a place in poker history. Sit down with the best and have a chance at the most prestigious, richest prize in the poker world. Some people in the room have been saving for years to take their one shot. It’s near the end of the day. Of the several thousand people who’ve entered today’s starting flight—so many want to play that starting days have to be staggered into flights to accommodate everyone; the dream is expensive, but it’s awfully alluring—many are now out, having gone bust, in poker speak. The ones who remain are concentrated on making it through to the second day. You don’t want to play the whole day only to find yourself walking out with minutes until the end and nothing to show for it. Everyone is gunning for the magic bag, a clear plastic glorified ziplock into which those lucky enough to have made the next day of a multiday tournament can place their chips. You write your name, country of origin, and chip count in excited capitals on the outside before tugging on the dubiously functioning adhesive strip to seal the damn thing up. You then take the requisite photograph for social media with the requisite chip count and add the