Betting on the Home Field

Over the course of the pandemic, I've been slowly convincing my parents to adopt rigorous epistemological standards, mostly around speech, but also with betting. Just this week, my mother and I made a weight loss bet, precommitting to pay $25 to our least favorite politicians if we fail to meet prescribed goals. It's a slow process, and I record this anecdote to demonstrate. 


A scant few minutes ago, my father commented on the lost reputation of pandemic-period darlings, namely Andrew Cuomo and Anthony Fauci. 

Dad: I guarantee that Fauci is going to lose his position in the next twelve months.
Me (ears perking up at the sound of a 1.0 probability): You guarantee?
Dad (knowing how this conversation goes): I have a 99% certainty that Fauci will be fired or leave his position in the next twelve months.
Me: What position?
Dad: Whatever the hell position it is.
Me: Alright, let's bet, 1:99 odds. 
Dad: What? No!
Me: You said you were 99% sure, so you should be willing to bet that.
Dad: Listen, there's the probability, and then there's the odds.
Me: Of course. Quick equation: O = (P/(1-P)), (.99/(1-.99)) = .99/.01 = 99, 1:99 odds. Let's do this, $1 to $99.
Dad: It's not worth it to me to bet for a dollar!
Me: Fine, I'll bet ten.
Dad: No!
Me: A hundred then. If you win you get a hundred, if I win I get $9900.
Dad: Hold on, that's a lot of money. 
Me: Those are the odds, you said you're 99% certain.
Dad: Listen, I'm not going to bet at 1:99. I'm 99% certain, so I'll bet against you 50/50.
Me: *howls in laughter*

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