People always say that these World Cup matches are rigged. For example, the sheer surreal nature of this World Cup—if even a gambling god came along, he’d have to shake his head.

Spain played against Cape Verde, a country with a population of 550,000. Even in Beijing’s Tiantongyuan, there are 400,000 to 500,000 people. This was a “murder of the weak” kind of matchup where an elephant steps on ants. And the result was a draw.

Cristiano Ronaldo’s Portugal faced the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The historical record was even worse than China’s national team. Bet on Portugal with your eyes closed? The result was still a draw.

The German machine met Ecuador. On this planet, you’d have to search for half the day to find them. You thought, “It can’t possibly be another draw, right?” It wasn’t a draw—Germany lost 1 to 2.

This isn’t the World Cup; it’s a scripted drama.

Either capital is setting things up, with the house arranging strong teams from heaven to hell—how could it not be a fixed game? The coaches cooperate before the match, and after the match, accounts gain several million dollars.

Does the house really have that much power?

Most likely, no.

Legal sports betting has four “big four” players. Three of them are listed companies, with transparent finances.

Take the top sports lottery operator as an example. In the year of the Qatar World Cup, their total revenue was less than several tens of billions, and their betting revenue did not exceed 60 billion.

How do they make money? By fixing games?

No need. Legal bookmakers don’t care who wins, because they make money no matter what. You think you’re fighting the bookmaker with all your might, but what you’re really doing is colliding against other people at the bottom.

To figure out how they make money, you first need to understand odds.

The higher the odds, the lower the probability. Spain wins at 1.08, draws at 8.5, Cape Verde wins at 26. Buy Spain to win for 1, and you get 1.08. Buy the draw for 8, and you get 8.5. Buy Cape Verde for 26. The greater the risk, the more you earn.

The house takes the losers’ principal and pays the winners, while the house earns the margin for itself.

Someone might say, “What if everyone bets correctly?”

The house can adjust the odds. The more people bet on Spain, the lower Spain’s odds get; the odds for a draw and for upsets rise, until the funds are balanced.

Another example is handicap betting. Spain gives two goals—if they win by one, that counts as a loss; win by two counts as a draw; win by three only counts as a win.

The house has all sorts of ways. It’s far more efficient than wasting effort on fixed matches.

Backing strong teams in every game is like buying steady financial products. But as long as there’s one upset, the money you lose in that one game can wipe out the nine wins.

Someone says, “No one understands football better than me.”

That idea is the biggest trap.

The most dangerous thing about gambling isn’t losing money—it’s winning money right at the start. No matter how much you win at the beginning, in the long run you will most likely still lose.

The gambler’s ruin theorem: You and the house guess a coin toss, with 50% each—fair. But once you add commission, even if it’s 50-50, if you play enough, the commission alone can eat up your principal.

50% is just the long-term probability. In the short term, you could win a dozen in a row, or lose a dozen in a row. The house has infinite “health,” but when you’re on a losing streak, your bullets are limited, and your reason is gone. One all-in, and the whole story is over.

Switch it to football, and the average person’s winning chances are even lower.

The ones who know when to stop while ahead are the few survivors.

Betting platforms also use all kinds of ways to stimulate you. You can bet at any time during the match—total goals, who scores first, corners, red and yellow cards. There are dozens of nodes in a single game. If you stake on multiple games at once, you have to guess everything correctly to win; the odds multiply by hundreds or thousands, while the probability is extremely low.

In this rule set, doing more wrong things costs you more.

The brain’s prefrontal cortex is responsible for restraining impulses. But at the moment you place a bet, the nucleus accumbens takes over and releases dopamine. The amygdala amplifies fear.

The more intense the match gets, the more it pushes you to bet while scaring you that if you don’t get back to even, you’ll lose everything.

After losing, the “you were so close to winning” feeling keeps stimulating you—once more, this time you’re definitely going to win.

What betting companies are selling is never football. They sell your expectations, your stimulation, your regret, and your urge to get even.

This is still with a license. The underground market has no regulation—only the jungle law and the law of “eat or be eaten.”

For example, in mid-2009, in the China League One “lob shot” match-fixing scandal: a Qingdao team led 3-0, and their own players deliberately lobbed shots into their own goal three times. It was later found out that the owner had bought a bet on the over, but they couldn’t score into the opponent’s goal, so they had to kick into their own net. The fourth goal still didn’t go in, and the owner still lost money.

Singapore’s “match-fixing king” manipulated matches all across Asia, Africa, and Latin America. The most extreme case: in 2010, in a friendly between Bahrain and Togo, Bahrain won 8-0. After the match, the Togo football association said they hadn’t sent the national team at all—the players on the field were all “impostors” hastily gathered.

Even match-fixing veterans only have about a 70% to 80% success rate—and they still make mistakes.

If even the people who set things up might not win, then why do you think you can definitely make money?

Finally, in China, besides the state lottery, all other sports betting is illegal. If you lose, it’s thrown away. If you win, the platform will blacklist you. If they push it too far and transfer you a sum involved in fraud, would you dare to report it to the police?

Underground sports betting networks are hidden in Southeast Asia and Middle Eastern compounds—easier than “pig-butchering scams.” You see an ad and top up yourself. When you lose, you even voluntarily add more.

In the end, the words of gambling boss Stanley Ho:

“I’m not afraid of you winning—I’m afraid you won’t come. Because I’m here to take a cut. You’ll never beat me.”