Winning Streak Quotes

Often out of periods of losing come the greatest strivings toward a new winning streak.

It's hard to walk away from a winning streak, even harder to leave the table when you're on a losing one.

Because what I did with my one short beautiful life— was lose it on a winning streak.

Talkativeness and charm are both, as is well-known, characteristics somewhat feminine; and they often add up to guile. Certainly there was a strong streak of the female in Roosevelt, though this is not to disparage his essential masculinity. Confidence in his own charm led him into occasional perilous adventures—almost as a woman may be persuaded with a long series of glittering successes behind her, to think she is irresistible forever and can win anybody's scalp.

this is not a Quote it's a poem. "A Thousand Kisses Deep" The ponies run, the girls are young, The odds are there to beat. You win a while, and then it’s done – Your little winning streak. And summoned now to deal With your invincible defeat, You live your life as if it’s real, A Thousand Kisses Deep. I’m turning tricks, I’m getting fixed, I’m back on Boogie Street. You lose your grip, and then you slip Into the Masterpiece. And maybe I had miles to drive, And promises to keep: You ditch it all to stay alive, A Thousand Kisses Deep. And sometimes when the night is slow, The wretched and the meek, We gather up our hearts and go, A Thousand Kisses Deep. Confined to sex, we pressed against The limits of the sea: I saw there were no oceans left For scavengers like me. I made it to the forward deck. I blessed our remnant fleet – And then consented to be wrecked, A Thousand Kisses Deep. I’m turning tricks, I’m getting fixed, I’m back on Boogie Street. I guess they won’t exchange the gifts That you were meant to keep. And quiet is the thought of you, The file on you complete, Except what we forgot to do, A Thousand Kisses Deep. And sometimes when the night is slow, The wretched and the meek, We gather up our hearts and go, A Thousand Kisses Deep. The ponies run, the girls are young, The odds are there to beat . . .

We should go to Vegas," I announced. "We're on a streak." His brows drew together. "Babe, not sure you're payin' attention but, shit that's flyin' around us does not say 'winning streak'." "I've got a naked hot guy bad boy on top of my that proves you wrong.

Life is full of all sorts of setbacks and twists and turns and disappointments. The character of this team will be how well you will come back from this letdown, this defeat. You could still be a great team and you can still accomplish great things as football players but it's going to take a real resolve to do it." -Coach Ladouceur

I better go," Carter squeezed me once more and stood, grabbing his wallet from the coffee table. "I need to hit up the lottery if I want to get you out of this mess. Will you let me buy a monkey if we win, though?" "Only if you buy me an island off the coast of Fiji." "You crazy-ass woman. A monkey is so much cooler than an island." "How about a monkey IN Fiji?" "Now there's a woman after my own heart," Carter slapped his hand to his chest, sighing dramatically. "I'll let you know if we win." He started for the door. "Uh huh." "You'll know if we do. I'll be the one streaking on Pike Street.

The more you pursue distractions, the less effective any particular distraction is, and so I'd had to up various dosages, until, before I knew it, I was checking my e-mail every ten minutes, and my plugs of tobacco were getting ever larger, and my two drinks a night had worsened to four, and I'd achieved such deep mastery of computer solitaire that my goal was no longer to win a game but to win two or more games in a row--a kind of meta-solitaire whose fascination consisted not in playing the cards but in surfing the streaks of wins and losses.

Victories are a byproduct of a larger vision. It begins with a question: How much do we owe one another? Each coach's and player's individual answer is one of the building blocks of The Streak. De La Salle separates itself from the competition because everyone from the head coach to the least accomplished player on the roster is willing to make the sacrifices necessary to be their absolute best.

The process begins during the off-season program, when players spend countless hours together and become heavily invested in the season before it even starts. It continues during these weekly meetings, when players stand and deliver heartfelt testimonials. You can't play for Ladouceur unless you're willing to stand in front of your teammates and bare your soul. You can't play unless you're willing to cry.

I had quickly learned that Don was only kind when he was happy, and he was only happy when he was winning. I had met him on a winning streak, married him as he was ascending. I was quickly learning that sweet Don was not the only Don.

The Story of the Rabbit and the Eggplant Once there was a race between a rabbit and an eggplant. Now, the eggplant, as you know, is a member of the vegetable kingdom, and the rabbit is a very fast animal. Everybody bet lots of money on the eggplant, thinking that if a vegetable challenges a live animal with four legs to a race, then it must be that the vegetable knows something. People expected the eggplant to win the race by some clever trick of philosophy. The race was started, and there was a lot of cheering. The rabbit streaked out of sight. The eggplant just sat there at the starting line. Everybody knew that in some surprising way the eggplant would wind up winning the race. Nothing of the sort happened. Eventually, the rabbit crossed the finish line and the eggplant hadn’t moved an inch. The spectators ate the eggplant. Moral: Never bet on an eggplant.

The idea is that people remember two things about an experience: the peak, and the end. In a poker game, when people think about another player they'll mostly remember any really good hands that the player got, and how he was doing at the end of the game. You took care to win only on believable hands and to leave on a losing streak—you completely blanked their peak-end retention.

I've often told people that the greatness of this football program will emerge when The Streak ends. I hope you will all live up to that. It's all numbers. It's nothing. It's not what we're about. It's not what this school represents." -Coach Frank Allocco

Poker is so volatile that it’s possible for a theoretically winning player to have a losing streak that persists for months, or even for a full year. The flip side of this is that it’s possible for a losing player to go on a long winning streak before he realizes that he isn’t much good.

He spun on his heels and jogged backward across the goal line, the ball raised triumphantly overhead, a gesture that looked arrogant when the pros did it on TV but felt right just then, allowing him to watch his teammates as they came charging joyfully down the field to join him. Todd spiked the ball and waited for them, his arms stretched wide, his chest heaving as if he were trying to suck the whole night into his lungs. All he wished was that Sarah had been there to see it, to know him as he’d known himself streaking down the wide-open field, not some jock hero scoring the winning touchdown, but a grown man experiencing an improbable moment of grace.

Fishermen don’t play to fold. They will always play the bluff no matter how hard things get. We throw the dice no matter how broke or how leveraged we may be. Like any true gambler, we know the dice will eventually get hot again if we throw them hard enough. It’s just a matter of surviving long enough to throw them enough times to find a winning streak

No weapon in my bag? No problem—my whole bag was a weapon. Grabbing it by the strap again, I swung it off my shoulder and through the air toward my assailant with as much force as I could muster.

If you’re not going to be the kind of wife who is going to make me breakfast, you can at least know how I like it.” He escaped to the bathroom. I was bothered but not entirely surprised. I had quickly learned that Don was only kind when he was happy, and he was only happy when he was winning. I had met him on a winning streak, married him as he was ascending. I was quickly learning that sweet Don was not the only Don.

We got to the casino and ordered some drinks. We then walked around, drinking and losing. We had some drinks at the craps table and lost money there. We had some drinks at the slot machines and lost a little more over there. Our drinking and money lasted longer at the blackjack tables, but even there our drinks and winning streak dried up. The more we drank, the flirtier we became. Although I was hemorrhaging money like crazy, I was the luckiest guy in the casino.

The Lucky Looking Glass by Stewart Stafford Woken from a nightmare, He walked to his bathroom, Treading on a hand mirror, Breaking it, to his horror. Payback of a reflection dodged, With a lifespan of scars healed, Dark energies bilaterally wiped, A poisonous duo counterbalanced. From then on, Plutus's grin shone, A Midas touch with an off switch, Winning streaks of a Texan width, Cracked mirror coffin for the next life. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.

Sure, there are good things, lots, sure, blow jobs, chocolate mousse, winning streaks, the warm fire in your enemy’s house, good book, hunk of cheese, flagon of ale, office raise, championship ring, the misfortunes of others, sure, good things, beyond count, queens, kings, old clocks, comfy clothes, lots, innumerable items in stock, baseball cards and bingo buttons, pot-au-feu, listen, we could go on and on like a long speech, sure it’s a great world, sights to see, canyons full of canyon, corn on the cob, the eroded great pyramids, contaminated towns, eroded hillsides, deleafed trees, those whitened limbs stark and noble in the evening light, geeeez, what gobs of good things, no shit, service elevators, what would we do without, and all the inventions of man, Krazy Glue and food fights, girls wrestling amid mounds of Jell-O, drafts of dark beer, no end of blue sea, formerly full of fish, eroded hopes, eruptions of joy, because we’re winning, have won, won, won what? the . . . the Title.

You all know and lived the 'secrets' to De La Salle's success-love, brotherhood, sacrifice, discipline, heart, courage, passion, honesty. These are not just 'catch words' we throw around to impress others or justify our existence. We know what these mean because we created it and lived it. Understand that with that knowledge there is no turning back for us-ignorance is not an option. It is your future duty, no matter where you end up, to create the environment you have created here by bringing your best selves to the table.

As Baker Street knew all too well, Virginia harbored a rebellious streak and a forceful belief in her own abilities. "She did not submit easily to discipline," as [Colonel Maurice] Buckmaster once put it, and "had the habit of making up her own mind without regard to others' point of view.

Understatement has become part of the tradition. A proposal to build a history room to house the football team's memorabilia was immediately shelved when many former players complained. What makes this program so special is what you carry in your heart, they argued, not what you hang on the wall.

Are you being unreasonable to start a fight?” he asks. “It’s fine if you are, but can you save your rage until we get home? If we’re going to fight about this, we should fight about it somewhere we can make up.” “We’re not fighting, and I’m not being unreasonable.” “My bad. I meant dramatic.” I mumble that I’m not and he tugs a little on my ponytail to force me to look up at him. “And you are.” He pecks my lips and I melt like the weak woman I am. “But I don’t mind. We haven’t had a fight yet. It’s a good experience for you.” “If you tell me I’m dramatic one more time we are going to be fighting.” He grins, and after a losing streak, seeing him genuinely happy after a game is a dream. “You’re not doing a lot for your ‘I’m not dramatic’ case.” “We’re officially fighting,” I declare. In my head I sound serious and intimidating, but he gives me that damn smile and kisses the tip of my nose, and it’s clear he does not care one bit. “Two wins and a fight with you? I’m so lucky.

If you strut around like peacocks-I'm a De La Salle football player-you're going to struggle. Get that out of your heads. You have to earn that, and you earn it week to week with consistency, mental toughness, focus, the grind and the grittiness of it. I don't know if you're earning it or not. We'll find out in the game... -Coach Ladouceur

Contemplating the great cloud-streaked orb of the Earth, he’d been moved to tears, and his emotional radio transmission of “I think I know how God must feel, Houston” had done more than anything to win him the presidency. But he’d inherited the mistakes of the generations of presidents before him, and he’d been ridiculously naive about the world on the eve of the twenty-first century. The

He wants to play major college football at a university far away, where nobody will know about his tragic family history. Then he wants to play in the NFL. Every catch brings him closer to that reality. That's how he thinks of it, anyway. Every time he runs downfield, sees the ball in the air, and hears the defensive back laboring to catch up, whenever he feels that ball fall out of the sky and into his waiting hands, he inches closer to his goals.

Similarly, if you’re looking to make a thoughtful investment in a well-managed fund, you might start by asking, “How can I invest blindly in a lousy fund that’s a disaster waiting to happen?” That question would lead you to list all of the pitfalls that investors routinely overlook—for example, outrageous fees, dangerous exposure to the most popular and priciest sectors of the market, and a recent streak of head-spinning returns that will almost surely prove unsustainable

He’s threatening us!” Tempest flailed. She slammed Wasp on the back so hard the communal eyeball popped right out of her socket. Wasp snatched it—and with a terrible show of fumbling, intentionally chucked it over her shoulder, right into my lap. I screamed. The sisters screamed, too. Anger, now bereft of guidance, swerved all over the road, sending my stomach into my esophagus. “He’s stolen our eye!” cried Tempest. “We can’t see!” “I have not!” I yelped. “It’s disgusting!” Meg whooped with pleasure. “THIS. IS. SO. COOL!” “Get it off!” I squirmed and tilted my hips, hoping the eye would roll away, but it stayed stubbornly in my lap, staring up at me with the accusatory glare of a dead catfish. Meg did not help. Clearly, she didn’t want to do anything that might interfere with the coolness of us dying in a faster-than-light car crash. “He will crush our eye,” Anger cried, “if we don’t recite our verses!” “I will not!” “We will all die!” Wasp said. “He is crazy!” “I AM NOT!” “Fine, you win!” Tempest howled. She drew herself up and recited as if performing for the people in Connecticut ten miles away: “A dare reveals the path that was unknown!” Anger chimed in: “And bears destruction; lion, snake-entwined!” Wasp concluded: “Or else the princeps never be o’erthrown!” Meg clapped. I stared at the Gray Sisters in disbelief. “That wasn’t doggerel. That was terza rima! You just gave us the next stanza of our actual prophecy!” “Well, that’s all we’ve got for you!” Anger said. “Now give me the eye, quick. We’re almost at camp!” Panic overcame my shock. If Anger couldn’t stop at our destination, we’d accelerate past the point of no return and vaporize in a colorful streak of plasma across Long Island. And yet that still sounded better than touching the eyeball in my lap. “Meg! Kleenex?” She snorted. “Wimp.” She scooped up the eye with her bare hand and tossed it to Anger. Anger shoved the eye in her socket. She blinked at the road, yelled “YIKES!” and slammed on the brakes so hard my chin hit my sternum.

If you chart the gambler’s fortunes over time, what you find is the gambler wins for a period, or loses for a period. In other words, everything in the world goes in streaks. It’s a real phenomenon, and you see it everywhere: in weather, in river flooding, in baseball, in heart rhythms, in stock markets. Once things go bad, they tend to stay bad. Like the old folk saying that bad things come in threes. Complexity theory tells us the folk wisdom is right. Bad things cluster. Things go to hell together. That’s the real world.

I said. “I’m fine. I have a little bit of a head ache, but I’m not dizzy or nauseous. I can walk and talk just fine, and I can remember everything.” “Everything, huh? Don’t self-diagnose, Doctor Fisher. Do you remember when the Battle of Bunker Hill was fought?” “The what?” “The Battle of Bunker Hill. We covered it in World Civ.” “No, we did not.” “We did, too. The unit on the American Revolution.” “Davin, that was like, two years ago! I don’t remember stuff like that!” “So, not everything.” “Everything important.” “That happens to have been a very significant battle,” Davin reminded me, in a smug tone.

I nudged her shoulder with mine, gently. “Let’s not think of the hurts right now.” I patted Rainbow in front of me. “It’s only about Rainbow and Pink Streak tonight. Mano a mano.” “Our bowling balls are male?” “Chica a chica.” Avery laughed. Marcus called, “Is the girl talk portion of this evening done with? Avery, we got a game to win.” “My rainbow ball laughs in the face of your arrogance,” I told him. “There’s nothing wrong with feeling sure of yourself,” Marcus countered. “Said the lone camper when he didn’t realize a hungry lion was behind him.” “What?” I placed my ball with theirs. Avery did the same, snickering under her breath. Marcus looked at his brother. ‘What the hell?” Caden shrugged, sitting down behind the score sheet. “Just nod and smile. That’s what I do

We’re going on strike,” I announced. “And we’re not coming back inside until Joey Harrington is suspended. I don’t know what else because I’m too angry to think!” Mr. Feinman stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Huh.” He looked at the other students. “Is that what you all want?” “Man!” Clyde exclaimed, shaking his head. “I’ve got some demands, all right.” “Are we going to get in trouble for missing class?” asked Samantha Klinger, one of the gamers who kept pink streaks in her hair. Mr. Feinman shrugged. “I’d say yes. The real question is what if you win?” “We need an anti-bully committee,” said Bryce Smith, a theater kid with thick glasses. “Made up of students and teachers so bullies have to answer to someone other than the principal. So there’s no favorites.” The class murmured an agreement. The students behind me seconded the motion. “So go,” Mr. Feinman said. “Go and fight for your education, then.

You must go back to bed.” “No,” I shouted. “Not yet! I have to finish this game.” I couldn’t leave Andrew, not now, not when I was finally winning. Hannah released me so suddenly I staggered backward. “I’ll fetch Papa!” she cried. Andrew threw himself at her. “Hannah, stop, you’re ruining everything!” I grabbed his arm. “Let her go. We don’t have much time!” Casting a last terrified look at me, Hannah ran downstairs, calling for Mama and Papa. Andrew turned to me, his face streaked with tears. “Quick, Drew. Shoot four more marbles out of the ring!” Holding my breath I aimed. Click, click, click. An immie, a cat’s-eye, and a moonstone spun across the floor, but I missed the fourth. Andrew knuckled down and shot at the scattered marbles. Of the seven in the ring, he managed to hit two before he missed. Downstairs I heard Hannah pounding on Papa and Mama’s door. “One more, Drew,” Andrew whispered. It was hard to aim carefully. Papa and Mama were awake. Their voices rose as Hannah tried to explain I was in the attic acting as if I’d lost my mind. My hand shook and the first marble I hit merely clicked against another. Andrew took his turn, hit three, and missed the fourth. “Send me home, Drew,” he begged. “I don’t care if I die when I get there.” Two marbles were left--a carnelian and an immie, widely separated. Neither was close to my aggie. Even for someone as good as Andrew, it was a hard shot. Holding his breath, Andrew crossed his fingers and closed his eyes. I knuckled down and aimed for the carnelian. Click. As Papa tramped up the steps with Mama at his heels, the seventh marble rolled into the shadows. My aggie stayed in the middle of the ring. Andrew let out his breath and stared at me. I’d won--what would happen now?

Everywhere you look with this young lady, there’s a purity of motivation,” Shultz told him. “I mean she really is trying to make the world better, and this is her way of doing it.” Mattis went out of his way to praise her integrity. “She has probably one of the most mature and well-honed sense of ethics—personal ethics, managerial ethics, business ethics, medical ethics that I’ve ever heard articulated,” the retired general gushed. Parloff didn’t end up using those quotes in his article, but the ringing endorsements he heard in interview after interview from the luminaries on Theranos’s board gave him confidence that Elizabeth was the real deal. He also liked to think of himself as a pretty good judge of character. After all, he’d dealt with his share of dishonest people over the years, having worked in a prison during law school and later writing at length about such fraudsters as the carpet-cleaning entrepreneur Barry Minkow and the lawyer Marc Dreier, both of whom went to prison for masterminding Ponzi schemes. Sure, Elizabeth had a secretive streak when it came to discussing certain specifics about her company, but he found her for the most part to be genuine and sincere. Since his angle was no longer the patent case, he didn’t bother to reach out to the Fuiszes. — WHEN PARLOFF’S COVER STORY was published in the June 12, 2014, issue of Fortune, it vaulted Elizabeth to instant stardom. Her Journal interview had gotten some notice and there had also been a piece in Wired, but there was nothing like a magazine cover to grab people’s attention. Especially when that cover featured an attractive young woman wearing a black turtleneck, dark mascara around her piercing blue eyes, and bright red lipstick next to the catchy headline “THIS CEO IS OUT FOR BLOOD.” The story disclosed Theranos’s valuation for the first time as well as the fact that Elizabeth owned more than half of the company. There was also the now-familiar comparison to Steve Jobs and Bill Gates. This time it came not from George Shultz but from her old Stanford professor Channing Robertson. (Had Parloff read Robertson’s testimony in the Fuisz trial, he would have learned that Theranos was paying him $500,000 a year, ostensibly as a consultant.) Parloff also included a passage about Elizabeth’s phobia of needles—a detail that would be repeated over and over in the ensuing flurry of coverage his story unleashed and become central to her myth. When the editors at Forbes saw the Fortune article, they immediately assigned reporters to confirm the company’s valuation and the size of Elizabeth’s ownership stake and ran a story about her in their next issue. Under the headline “Bloody Amazing,” the article pronounced her “the youngest woman to become a self-made billionaire.” Two months later, she graced one of the covers of the magazine’s annual Forbes 400 issue on the richest people in America. More fawning stories followed in USA Today, Inc., Fast Company, and Glamour, along with segments on NPR, Fox Business, CNBC, CNN, and CBS News. With the explosion of media coverage came invitations to numerous conferences and a cascade of accolades. Elizabeth became the youngest person to win the Horatio Alger Award. Time magazine named her one of the one hundred most influential people in the world. President Obama appointed her a U.S. ambassador for global entrepreneurship, and Harvard Medical School invited her to join its prestigious board of fellows.

He hadn't developed into the accomplished running quarterback many had predicted he would become over the course of the season. But he had come to personify this team. He was raw and untested when the season began, but he played his two best games in the two biggest games on the schedule. He wasn't the player anybody expected him to be, but he got the job done-at times spectacularly.

Owen Owens Field embodies the name of the team that calls it home. It's Spartan to the core.

The recruiter didn't bother to introduce himself when Alumbaugh extended his hand. Instead, he turned to Aliotti and said: "He's not six-foot-one." Nice to meet you, too, Alumbaugh thought.

If we had played Poly a hundred more times that year we wouldn't have beaten them again. On that night we found a way. It was an unbelievable thing. It was a marvelous, miraculous win." -Coach Frank Allocco

But your dad … well, even when he won, he’d convince himself he was on a winning streak and put all his winnings on something else.

your

I saw someone running. That was all I needed. I could not walk if someone else was running. I broke loose from Uri. Others were running. It was a race! I didn't know where the finish line was, but I was determined to win. Many had shouted, "stop!" But no one had ever caught me. The street was getting more and more crowded as people poured into it. I streaked through the crowds. I passed other runners. I didn't care how many there were; I would beat them all. I laughed as I ran.

I sat up and squeezed my ass cheeks together hard. “I really don’t think that’s nec—” Jolie raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want me to bring out the mirror again?” A sob escaped my lips and her gaze softened.

A-are you s-sure they need it?” “Do. They. Ever.” Jolie grabbed a mirror and centered it between my legs. “See? You’re lucky they’re light colored, or you’d be half gorilla.

Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus. My lips hurt from pressing them together to muffle the scream. Sorry, baby Jesus. I shouldn’t be thinking about you right now.

How did you learn to do that?” I snickered. “YouTube, of course. That was actually my first time. Worked even better than expected.

Losing streaks. If you get on one, you can't let it throw you off. You have to ride it out. We all go through them. I said: Even you? He said: Everyone. No one is special in this life. We all lose sometimes. Life's plenty easy when you're winning. It's what you do when you're down. That's the real test. I said: I used to think I was special. He said: I know. I wanted him to tell me I still was. I would have eaten my left pinky to hear it. Torn it off with my teeth. But you can't ask someone to tell you that.

If someone struggles with productivity, they probably don't manage their energy well. They either don't use enough of it (resulting in lethargy) or use too much of it (resulting in burnout). If you plan out your entire life in advance, your greatest risk is burnout. If you plan out none of your life in advance, your greatest risk is stagnancy.

Jealousy? Ain't got time for that! I'm too busy counting my blessings and cheering on others' victories. Winners support winners, baby! There's plenty of success to go around, and celebrating someone else's win doesn't dim my light—it just adds more shine to the room. So, while they're out there scoring goals, I'll be on the sidelines, clapping louder than anyone 'cause, in the end, we're all on the same team—Team Success! Let's keep this winning streak going!

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If your local team is Golden State and they win three straight, it might mean that the Warriors at least may be getting better than their typical twenty-win season. If your local team is the Lakers, a three-game win streak is ho-hum.

Let’s play rummy,” he said. “I don’t know how to play,” I said. “You’ll have to teach me.” He gave me a rundown on the basics; then we started a game. For some strange reason I was able to beat him at rummy even though he’d been playing the card game his whole life. So we moved on to dominoes. Again Jep taught me the basics, and we practiced a little then started a game. I beat him again. He wasn’t smiling and raising his eyebrow anymore, and I could tell the competition was heating up and he wasn’t enjoying losing to me. We moved on to board games, and he pulled out Battleship. “I’ve never played it,” I said. “Okay, I’ll teach you.” And wouldn’t you know it? I won again. Although I wasn’t as outwardly competitive as the Robertson clan, you have to have a strong competitive streak to do well in sports, and I definitely had that inside me. I liked winning, but I could tell Jep didn’t like losing. I found out later that the Robertsons were extremely competitive and played for blood, whether it was Monopoly, dominoes, or card games. But back then I didn’t know, and what Jep said next really surprised me. “I want you to leave.” His face was stern and his eyes hard. “What?” I said, laughing. I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. “I want you to leave this house right now.” “You want me to leave?” “Yes.” So I did. I gathered up my stuff, walked out the front door, and got in my car. Jep trailed behind, and right before I drove away, he leaned over and said, “I’m sorry I’m so competitive. I learned it from my grandparents, my dad, and my uncles.” He told me later about the domino games at Granny and Pa’s with loud arguing and slamming of dominoes on the table. “I knew those games,” Jep said. “I was really good. None of my friends could stay with me at all, so when you beat me, I was embarrassed. Nobody was supposed to beat me at those games.” So we learned early on to only play on the same team. We never play against each other if we can help it. Otherwise, I’ll be out in the doghouse when I beat Jep!

Don’t just expect life to be a continuous streak of wins, Expect it to be a balance of wins and losses, Expect it to be a roller coaster, Expect it to be a wild ride, Expect it to be glorious, Expect it to be devastating, Expect good days, and then expect moments that will test you for everything you have. Be Strong. Be Patient. Be Compassionate. Be Wild. Be Passionate. Be energetic. Follow your dreams. Believe.

Why would anyone’s suspicions be roused simply from an event being canceled?” Bram asked. “I think it might have had something to do with your grandmother implying you were soon to make an announcement,” Mr. Skukman said, speaking up. “What?” Lucetta and Bram asked together. Mr. Skukman’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “Mrs. Hart seems determined to see you well settled, Miss Plum, and I think she may have planted that particular seed for her daughter’s benefit—so that Mrs. Haverstein will have time to adjust to the idea of you and Mr. Haverstein making a match of it.” “We have no intention of making a match of it,” Lucetta said firmly. “There’s no need to declare that quite so adamantly,” Bram mumbled. Lucetta sent him a smile. “Forgive me, Bram. You and I have agreed to become friends, and that was hardly friendly of me, was it? Still, I’ve seen Abigail maneuver events to her satisfaction before, and we cannot let our guard down—not when it’s now become clear she’s still determined to see us well settled, and well settled together.” “I believe the two of you would make a lovely couple,” Stanley said, sending a smile to Lucetta before he sent a not-so-subtle wink to Bram. Bram cleared his throat. “Yes, thank you for that, Stanley, but my grandmother’s matchmaking schemes aside, we still can’t host an event. We can’t chance Lucetta being recognized.” “Don’t worry about me,” Lucetta said with an airy wave of her hand. “I’m very good at disguise, and quite honestly, I’ve never been invited to attend a local theatrical event before, and I find the very idea of that intriguing.” Bram’s eyes narrowed on Lucetta’s face. “You can’t go to it.” “Of course I can. As I just mentioned, I’m a master at disguise. No one will have the faintest idea that a notorious New York actress is in their midst.” Bram’s eyes narrowed another fraction. “You wouldn’t happen to be considering trying out for a part, would you?” “Is that how it works?” she asked. “How marvelous. I’m now quite curious to discover whether or not I’ll be able to win a part if no one knows that I’m Lucetta Plum.” Bram slowed his steps. “Absolutely not.” Unwilling to continue the argument, especially since she was rapidly coming to the conclusion that Bram Haverstein possessed a bit of a stubborn streak, Lucetta turned to Mr. Skukman and abruptly changed the subject.

Even before he threw out the first pitch for the Doosan Bears at a baseball game in Seoul last weekend - which resulted in a diplomatic strike - Mark Lippert was on a winning streak. Dressed in a Bears cap and a jersey with his name in Korean on the back, he walked onto the field and introduced himself. "Hello, I'm Mark Lippert, the American ambassador to South Korea," he said in heavily accented Korean, and the crowd erupted in cheers. "Nice to meet you, baseball fans. I'm feeling good." South Korea is the

When you understand what’s involved in winning, as do professional gamblers, you’ll tend to bet more during a winning streak and less during a losing streak. However, the average person does exactly the opposite: he or she bets more after a series of losses and less after a series of wins.

Excerpt from Winning Streak, Las Vegas Sinners Book 3, coming later this year: Tonight’s ensemble was typical Madden. Dark and faded but expensive jeans, a fitted, black Vegas is For Lovers t-shirt and some Doc Martin boots. Okay, those were a little unusual. “We’re not going for a hike in the desert, are we?” “Not exactly.” “What is ‘not exactly’? I’m not a pee-behind-a-tree kind of girl.

De La Salle hung on for the 28-21 victory. Afterward, Ladouceur stood before his exhausted team. It was by far the biggest victory in school history at the time, but the coach noticed that several of his players wore masks of disappointment. "It's OK to feel disappointed if you didn't play your absolute best," he told them. "That's what we're all about.

Neely Thomas was used to losing. Compulsive gamblers learn how to handle it—his kids' college funds depleted, an ultimatum from his wife, his life near bottom—he was ready to unravel. But then a moment's inattention—checking the football scores instead of keeping his eyes on the road—and a traffic accident leaves an innocent boy dead. Now suddenly Neely can't stop winning. The punishment for his crime? How bad could this be? A winning streak so relentless it won't end until his lies are exposed and he's lost everything he loves.

Bereaved, she made it home, thanked the neighbor and headed to bed to sob herself to sleep. Rich’s arrival from work was followed by a rattlesnake response to the two children wandering the house without supervision. Finding Gail in bed, he berated his wife for her selfishness. Gail announced the miscarriage to Rich. “I hope you’re happy.” He shrugged and said, “I’m sorry about that. Comm ci comme sa. You win some, you lose a bunch. I guess I’ll go fix spaghetti for the girls.” She turned over to look him in the eye. “It was a beautiful, perfectly formed little boy,” she said with a tear-streaked face. Rich looked a little stunned at the news. He heard his wife’s voice dull compared to the coursing blood in his ears. “Yes, he looked like you. His curls, his lashes…” Maybe he would have wanted a son, but the wheels of his mind kept turning. “There’s always another night, another baby to be had when he’s out of college, another son to be born when we’re more financially stable.” “If you wouldn’t have tricked me…” “Into this pregnancy,” she finished his thought. “And so, you think you have tricked me back.

had to pull back the string to get the right range. By noon, I felt ready to test my skills out on a live target. “You guys ready for this?” I asked my animal audience. “Witness the master at work!” As a vote of no confidence, they continued to graze with their backsides to me. “Just wait,” I said, walking out to the beach. “One calamari entrée comin’ right up!” I spotted the closest squid about a dozen or so blocks out to sea, drew back the bowstring, and took careful aim. WHP whistled the arrow, streaking in a shallow arc. “Ha!” I cried, as the missile struck its target. I watched the squid flash red, vanish in a puff of smoke, turn into a small black organ-looking thing, and then sink right out of sight. I won’t tell you the word I shouted. I’m not proud of it, but I should win some kind of prize for making one syllable last a good five seconds. “Frrph,” snorted Moo from behind my back as if to say, “What were you thinking? How did you not have a recovery plan?” “I don’t know,” I said, only now seeing solutions. “I should have tied something to the arrow, or found a way to make a net or…or even waited till a squid was closer to shore! But why didn’t I think of it till now?” I started pacing. “Idiot!” I grunted, wishing this world would let me hit myself. “Stupid, stupid idiot!” “Moo!” interrupted my stern friend, forcing me to stop and face her. “You’re right,” I said. “When looking for solutions, beating yourself up isn’t one.” “Moo,” replied the cow, as if to say, “That’s better.” “I know I’m not an idiot,” I said, calmly raising my hands, “but something is wrong with me, like my brain’s only working part-time.” I started pacing again, more out of contemplation than anger. “It’s not like panic or hunger. It’s something new. Well, not new, actually. I’ve felt it coming on for a while, but now that I’m well-fed and not scared out of my wits, I can see this mental mud for what it is.” I could feel anxiety rising, the last thing I needed right now. “Any ideas?” I asked the animals. “Any hints about what’s causing

What is success? Is it winning a race, or is it having a really strong relationship with a partner, or seeing our daughter laugh with happiness? Is it achieving something in my career? Is it achieving balance? Is it getting 8 hours sleep? I’m slowly working out what success is for me, because previously it was winning a race. I’m trying to see success through a slightly different lens rather than always see it through satisfying my competitive streak and position in a race. Success and happiness aren’t one and the same. What’s important to me right now is the pursuit of happiness.

Unless familiar behaviors are 100% loathsome, they are the ultimate brain reward. Why else would people stay in unpleasant situations and continue harmful patterns? They prefer a familiar, bad life over an unknown (possibly worse, probably better) life.

Don't let the weight of finishing distract you from the easier and more effective decision to start.

Don't you get sick of winning?” Wes fiddled with his tie, a sign he was seriously stuck. “I could ask the same of you and your losing streak.

You Are Most Likely to Do What You Just Did (Short-Term Momentum)

The idea made me giggle, but I swallowed it as soon as a man walked through one of the doors at the back of the courtyard. His whole aura screamed danger. He was the same size as Lachlan, and both looked like they played some kind of professional sport for a living. But his eyes were as cold as a frost giant’s butt, and the aura of power that surrounded him competed with Lachlan’s. It wasn’t quite as strong, but it was enough to make my fingers itch to draw a weapon from the ether. This guy is on our side. He strode up to Lachlan, his arms outspread to hug him. Then punched him in the face. Or tried to. Lachlan dodged, avoiding the fist by inches. My heart leapt into my throat. Lachlan and the man laughed, great booming noises. Lilia looked at me. “They’re idiots.” Lachlan threw a punch this time. The man darted his head away, but Lachlan’s knuckles brushed his cheek. The blow left no mark—the man had been fast enough to avoid a real hit—but Lachlan grinned widely. “I win this round.” “Why the hell do you do that?” Annoyance streaked through me. With my job, I pretty much ate violence for breakfast. And I didn’t mind it so much. But amongst friends? I wasn’t a fan. “We met while fighting in the Coliseum,” Lachlan said. “It became habit.” “Wait—what? How the heck did you fight there?

Do you think, one day, your number is up? That the gods look down and say, ‘Oh, you have had a winning streak when it comes to not having your throat torn out by a tiger, but you’ve come up snake-eyes today'?

His mother's flowers won all sorts of prizes for their beauty, but he thought Libby, with her brilliant copper-streaked hair and striking blue eyes, was more beautiful than anything found in a garden. She was an enchanting princess, reigning over a comely court. He'd known Libby was a princess since they were children. She'd captivated him long before he started school, and for years, he'd been trying to win her attention. Some people thought she was crazy, but she wasn't. She was ethereal. Magical. Like a fairy or butterfly. If only he could be like her. Happy and free. She seemed to understand what so many people did not. That happiness was not found in trying to pigeonhole one's self into another's ideal. Happiness was found in embracing all you were created to be. She twirled again in the twilight. Libby seemed to draw energy from the flowers.

Cotton Fitzsimmons was a famous NBA basketball coach who was brilliant at motivating his teams. On one occasion when his team was playing the great Boston Celtics in a game they were not expected to win, Fitzsimmons hit on an idea that he thought would help motivate his players. His pre-game speech went something like this: “Gentlemen, when you go out there tonight, instead of remembering that we are in last place, pretend we are in first place; instead of being in a losing streak, pretend we are in a winning streak; instead of this being a regular game, pretend this is a playoff game!” With that, the team went onto the basketball court and were soundly beaten by the Boston Celtics. Coach Fitzsimmons was upset about the loss. But one of the players slapped him on the back and said, “Cheer up, Coach! Pretend we won!’”1

Seiji was direly embarrassed by Nicholas’s presence, not to mention his appearance. He hadn’t wished to see Jesse again. If forced to, he would have preferred to see him while winning Olympic gold. Failing that, Seiji would’ve preferred to see Jesse literally anywhere other than here. In the middle of the woods, in a state of undress, with a companion who had apparently been raised by wolves and then abandoned by the pack for being too scruffy. There was… another consideration, besides embarrassment. Sometimes there were people who were obviously not on the winning side, and never would be. Bad at fencing or at words or at life in some crucial way Jesse could always ascertain. Occasionally, Jesse would casually amuse himself at some unfortunate soul’s expense. Seiji wouldn’t laugh because he never actually understood the jokes or why they were funny, but he didn’t care much. It was simply Jesse’s way. Now he recalled with unwelcome vividness how those people’s cheeks would bear sudden swift streaks of red, as though slashed. Or they might slink off with a curious look of defeat, as if a lunch table were a fencing match. Some of them, Seiji had noticed, never came back again. Seiji didn’t want to see Jesse do that to Nicholas. Not Nicholas.

After that first season, I wondered if I had what it took to be a successful coach. I know the people who hired me were wondering as well.” “You obviously turned things around after that,” I said. “I did indeed,” Wooden said. “I learned some hard lessons quickly and changed my approach. Of course, it took me decades to develop the coaching philosophy that I would become known for. “People now see me as the coach who won those ten national championships, had the four undefeated teams, had the 88-game winning streak, and coached those All-Americans. They forget what a long and difficult journey it had been before I started seeing those kinds of results.

According to some, the club’s “theft” of the 1925 title from Pottsville activated a curse against the Cardinals franchise, which managed to win just one more title, in 1947. As of this writing, it has since gone 67 years without a championship, the longest streak in the NFL

As she followed the group back into the airport, she noticed the two young men again, walking ahead of her. The blond man was acting as if he had just gotten off a plane in Las Vegas after a winning streak, but the dark one seemed uninterested in his friend’s enthusiasm. They stopped, both of them staring down at some object in the dark one’s hand. Reece looked at them speculatively. They raised their heads simultaneously, looking directly at her. She could not pull her questioning eyes away from them, wondering if they were the cause of the airplane’s malfunctioning. They returned her gaze, seemingly as interested in her as she was in them.