Gosh, those World Series announcers were strange. The team of Joe Davis, John Smoltz, and sideline helpers actually spent almost the entire time the games were going on talking about what was happening on the field. Oh, they indulged in the occasional anecdote or reflection on earlier days. Still, unless I missed it, they spent nary a moment doing what White Sox announcers have taken to spending what seems like almost all their time on — namely, pushing betting.
Not only that, but while I did catch
the occasional — very occasional — ad for a sports betting book, that may well have been during a local commercial break rather than a national one. Perhaps the ads were limited because not all states have legalized sports gambling — even though the Supreme Court’s 2018 decision opened the floodgates much as it had with political spending in Citizens United eight years earlier.
Whatever the reason, it sure was odd to watch ballgames where the sport itself was the center point.
The dribble of sportsbook ads in the playoffs was barely visible compared to the inundation on Sox broadcasts — not to mention local sports radio, where a commercial break usually consists of an ad for one sportsbook, an ad for escaping your debts to the IRS, and then yet another sportsbook ad. However, the ads were nothing compared to the in-game deluge of data, which was only useful for betting purposes. John Schriffen may not know enough baseball strategy to manage a T-ball team, but he can sure fill time breaking down a strikeout over/under of 4.5 or a $100 bet that pays $450 on a homer.
Well, sure, but so what?
The recently-revealed NBA betting scandal, following incidents like Guardians pitchers suspended for gambling and Shohei Ohtani’s interpreter stealing millions from his employer, has sparked a wave of articles warning that betting is on the verge of overtaking the simple enjoyment of the games themselves. One of the sharpest analyses came from Joon Lee, writing not on the sports page but on The New York Times editorial page.
It’s not as if betting on sports is anything new. It probably dates back to two sets of molecules racing to escape the primordial ooze, and it was certainly a fixture of the ancient Olympics — and just about everywhere else in the ancient world. But now it’s a whole new ballgame, as it were.
Used to be, you could bet with friends or your friendly neighborhood bookie on the outcomes of seasons or games, maybe join a fantasy league, or put a few bucks into the office Super Bowl or March Madness pool. Now, thanks to computers, you can blow your whole paycheck before the first inning or series of downs is over. And that’s become a really serious problem.
And what’s really, really bad is that MLB itself and individual teams are not only approving what they’ve always claimed to oppose vehemently, they’re raking in big bucks from it. The White Sox have had a deal with Caesar’s since 2022. That Other Team in Town even has a massive DraftKings betting parlor right next to Wrigley Field, an architectural abomination that destroys the ambience of an official national landmark, something that is legal but you have to be Philistines to do.
Of course, Philistines is an apt category for the Ricketts family.
What, you don’t like gambling, you wimp?
Not the case at all. In my far, far distant youth, I used to not cash Navy paychecks and just live off poker winnings. I lived in Kentucky, between Churchill Downs and Keeneland, for 18 years and enjoyed the occasional trip to plunk a few bucks down on the ponies. Got in on most available pools and made bets with buddies. All that good stuff.
But that’s not what’s going on now. As those recent scholarly articles point out, online sports betting, with its instant gratification or (mostly) loss, has led to massive increases in wagering — a billion dollars in Illinois’ 10 legal sportsbooks in the most recently-tallied month of August alone, with FanDuel and DraftKings leading the way with about a 30% cut each. With the books taking just under 10% as their usual vigorish, that means Illinois residents were $100 million poorer. Except the ones owning the sportsbooks, of course.
Moreover, numerous scholarly studies have shown that sports bettors are more addicted than even other gambling addicts, with much higher segments of devastation and even suicide. And no more than five or 10 percent — if that — of serious problem sports gamblers ever seek help.
But what about the winners, eh?
While almost everyone loses to the house over time, professional card counters who keep their bets small enough to avoid notice (and who move around often) can sometimes beat the odds. Still, statistics show that on any given visit to a casino, about 30% of players walk away ahead.
Back when I was a newspaper columnist in Ohio, I tested the honesty of players by visiting a riverboat casino just over the state line in Indiana and standing on the gangway to ask those leaving the boat whether they had won. More than two out of three in a sample size of nearly 200 told me they had won.
Then some casino employees came down to ask me, surprisingly politely, what I was doing. I told them where I was from and what I was asking, and expected to be given the heave-ho, but instead they just said I had to move back to land, a few steps away. I asked my single question again, only this time, barely even more distant from their activity, an honest two out of three told me they lost.
So I calculated that honesty needs about 50 feet to take hold. For online betting, the distance is best measured in time. And to check out the honesty of your friends who wager on games or tiny events within games, or your own honesty, consider that 96% of those who play sportsbooks lose. Not every time, of course, since the books only take about 10% per bet, but over time. And no matter how much you or your friends think you’re smarter than DraftKings or FanFuel or Caesar’s or the others, you’re not.
What now?
Probably not much. The league and teams are hauling in way, way too much filthy lucre even to consider what incredible hypocrites they are, and they’re way, way too fixated with instant cash to ponder how much it is degrading the product that has served them well for more than a century. We can only hope that when the lockdown is threatened a year from now, the players demand their cut of the gambling proceeds so the Jerry Reinsdorfs of the world don’t try to grab it all.
Oh, and then there’s that little thing of the White Sox team of 106 years ago. They all need to be cleared of any blemishes on their records right here and now. They may not have been ousted for gambling, but it was sports betting that led to their blackening.
Heck, even Pete Rose deserves a break now, horrible person that he was: Being an awful person does not impede being in the Hall of Fame. Just ask Ty Cobb.
But none of those actions of fundamental fairness will happen. You can bet on it.
If you or someone you know is struggling with a gambling problem, you can call the National Problem Gambling Helpline at 1-800-522-4700 or visit ncpgambling.org/chat for confidential support.
