The Trading Game by Gary Stevenson
Nearly 40 years ago I attempted to become a dealer at the London International Financial Futures Exchange at the Bank. I was an account manager for BT and we provided the dealer boards for all the banks in the City. I had been seconded to the LIFFE as it was known then. One day, whilst on the trading floor (a madcap hubbub of incessant but oddly compelling noise), I asked a ‘Yellowcoat’ (a runner) how I could get a job as a dealer. A slim, young girl on one of the desks turned around to face me and in her best Surrey, privately educated accent said; ‘Do you know anyone?’. I said no and she replied ‘Well, you can’t get a job here then’ with a finality that brooked no further argument. Her voice was so posh that I felt slightly embarrassed about my own working class accent.
But that was that, my 30 second inquiry into the world of banking ended as abruptly as it had began. I had a good job, but of course, I wanted the big bucks, the riches that dealers earned. I wanted to be a Master of the Universe, a big swinging dick! ‘Lunch is for wimps!’ said Gordon Gekko and I wanted to buy into that.
But that is where my story diverges from Gary Stevenson. Like me, he came from a modest background, but unlike me, he was a Maths genius with a clutch of top academic grades that got him into one of the five universities that the big banks recruit from. His memoire is a rags to riches story of his time as a successful FX swaps trader at Citibank between 2008-13. Stevenson’s story is a wry and darkly comic look at his life during of the most turbulent periods of economic history, which largely explains how he made his millions, as he bet against the markets by forecasting a downturn in the economy.
One of the problems I have with the book is his portrayal of himself as the Artful Dodger, a kid from the wrong side of the tracks, living in poverty, but ultimately surviving on his wits looking up at the bright twinkling, beckoning lights of Canary Wharf in…Ilford! NAHHH! I know Ilford well and this portrayal of his childhood circa the 1990s is a romanticised fantasy. Ilford in the age of Brit Pop is NOT Dickensian London! Far from it in a borough with no housing estates.
Stevenson plays down two big assets that he has - a natural talent with numbers and a place at the London School of Economics. This puts him in the top 10% and not the bottom 10% of society. Thus, his trajectory to the trading floor of Citibank is not such a great leap forward that he purports it to be. Moreover, he has an enormous stroke of good fortune with the trading game that he wins, which earns him an internship at Citibank, when the rules are explained to him in advance by a stranger, giving him an opportunity to prepare for the competition thoroughly.
The first half of the book up to 2012 is a fascinating look into the world of high finance, and you will come away with an understanding of why mortgage interest rates are calculated on a daily basis. Unfortunately, the book is flawed by the fact that Stevenson is not a likeable figure. He does not treat his parents well, as the cancellation of his Sky Sports subscription for his dad attests, despite having thousands in the bank. He falls out with his friends. He is scathing about his colleagues. And has a long suffering girlfriend to boot. In fact, he is a dick and is honest enough to admit it in the book.
Another problem with his story is the complete lack of proper explanation and introspection. Despite his best efforts to portray himself as ‘giving it to the Man’ as his postscript story infers, Citibank and his colleagues come out of it pretty well. It is clear that they helped him and tried to help him when he is in the throes of a mental and physical breakdown in 2012-13, but how and why this came about is not explored, and Stevenson himself does not address the fact that he was having a nervous breakdown. In fact, it is never mentioned in these terms, yet was blatantly obvious in his conduct and behaviour. Strange indeed.
Throughout the book, Stevenson develops an inexplicable hatred and scathing contempt for some of his colleagues, whom he refers to with disparaging nicknames. He also burns his bridges with an important friend, mentor and boss, who basically hired him and gave him a leg up. The second half of the book about his time in Japan and his attempts to leave Citibank with his deferred bonus between 2012-13 portrays him in an even worse light. His ‘work to rule’, sick leave, and eventual strike is frankly embarrassing, given that his behaviour is unexplained, and extremely boorish, in comparison with attempts by the bank and his colleagues to help him. Help, which he rejects.
I get it that Stevenson doesn’t like the system. I get it that he wants to challenge inequality. I get it that he wants to leave the bank. But he wants to do it on his own terms without the faintest regard for anyone else but himself, irrespective of the contract he signed. There is also no gratitude or acknowledgement for the people that helped him. It’s hard to like the story when you don’t like the person.
Ultimately, I think Stevenson betrays himself because he sees himself as an outsider looking in with a clear chip on his shoulder about privilege, but wanting to change the system and fight for inequality. Very laudable, but he can’t do that by leaving, by being an outsider.
Change is best effected from within. Stevenson was clearly a talented trader but to say he was the most successful in the world was disingenuous at best and delusional at worst because he made $31 million dollars in 2011 by correctly betting against an upturn in the markets when everyone else was betting for it. A good figure but hardly stellar, when one of his colleagues had made $100 million for the bank three years in a row. Stevenson never reached this high again.
Stevenson was well liked and could have honed his skills and become a better trader and moved upward in Citibank. In this way he could have become more influential. Instead, by leaving in a churlish and discourteous manner, he became just another talking head on YouTube with his own series of podcasts called Gary’s Economics. I have listened to some of these and have found them to be rambling and waffly. It’s a shame because Stevenson could have become so much more. Perhaps the job crushed him, although we do not know how. Perhaps he was unable to rise above his station. We don’t know. The book is a good read but raises more questions than answers and is thus ultimately frustrating. Stevenson’s oft-repeated ‘I don’t know’ to explain his own predicament is just not good enough.