A lot of people on this site might get a kick out of Richard Flanagan's profile of the world's most successful gambler in the January 21st edition of the New Yorker.
It's the story of Tasmanian bettor David Walsh and how he tired of raking in millions of dollars betting on racing, in order to build a mammoth modern art installation at the end of the world dedicated to his twin obsessions with sex and death.
The son of a greyhound trainer who grew up in poverty and abuse in one of Australia's worst slums, Walsh and his partners turned to racing after their card counting blackjack systems got them banned from the world's casinos.
On the gambling end, you might be interested in the scores made at dog racing, filling out hundreds of thousands of Lotto tickets, playing the number "27" at roulette, handicapping the Papal election, and making a $16 million dollar score on the 2009 Melbourne Cup in order to keep the museum afloat.
As for the art, read how Walsh's darkened museum replaces plaques with I-Pads and serves both as Walsh's home and the resting place for his father, whose urn is located in a co cktail bar.
Sadly, Walsh may yet fulfill the prophecy that all horseplayers die broke, as the Australian government hired two hundred and fifty auditors in order to present him with a $541 million dollar tax bill. But even going under doesn't seem like it will bother him much: "Gambling doesn't produce anything," he says. "Winning gamblers end up with money but have achieved nothing else."
Here's a link to the article entitled "Tasmanian Devil":http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2013/01/21/130121fa_fact_flanagan (subscription required). Electronic access to the New Yorker is quirky even for subscribers; I recommend buying a printed copy next time you run to the newsstand for the Form.