If you haven’t read the article, you can find it here.

My piece will not be a summary, but rather a reflection on what I think McKay Coppins got right (and wrong.)

I want to reflect on this because there was immediate dissention online - specifically within the gambling community. Professional bettors were outraged at Coppins’ “fast and loose” approach to betting. They argued that it does legalized betting no favors, and perpetuates the stigma that “gambling is bad.” Which, if done “fast and loose” as Coppins did, and many others do, it certainly can be bad.

Here’s what Coppins got right, in my opinion: Sports betting can lead to addiction, secrecy, financial instability, obsession, and family strain; it contributes to harassment of athletes by angry bettors; it encourages skepticism about game integrity and fuels fears of match-fixing; and it has spread beyond sports into prediction markets, where people can now gamble on politics, war, weather, celebrities, and other real-world events.

The issue, in my opinion, is that these valid (and very serious) critiques were overshadowed by the disingenuous approach taken by Coppins - which I don’t think was intentional.

Let me be abundantly clear - I am not calling Coppins disingenuous; I am simply attempting to explain why this article may be seen as a “bad faith” experiment.

This was the opening paragraph. Immediate guilt and shame. Before we’ve been given any context about the experiment, we know how Coppins feels about gambling. He goes on to describe himself as someone whose religious background (Mormon) explicitly discourages games of chance… The Atlantic bankrolled a devout Mormon who fundamentally opposes gambling! (More on why this actually helped them later…)

I don’t drink alcohol. My family tree has an alcoholic on every branch. It would be disingenuous for me to attempt an experiment where I tried alcohol in order to showcase the possible dangers or highlight the advantages of drinking. I have a bias! Not only does Coppins have an inherent bias, he has eternal consequences. We see his shame and guilt in the first paragraph. He knows his “God” likely disapproves - it’s one thing to even attempt the experiment, (which he did mention “clearing” with a bishop/religious leader) but it would be another thing to conclude that “gambling really isn’t that bad…maybe God doesn’t know what he’s talking about…”

My argument is that Coppins worldview (and potential eternal consequences) make him a poor choice for this experiment. (Unless, this was intentional…)

The second issue is the financial structure of the experiment. Coppins was given $10,000 by The Atlantic to wager over the course of the NFL season, with the magazine covering any losses and splitting winnings. That changes the psychological incentives involved. The central tension that defines real-world gambling—risking one’s own money—is absent. Without personal financial downside, the experience becomes less representative of how most bettors actually engage with sports wagering.

And to tell you the truth - I think it actually made him act more irresponsibly. His final bet was an over $4,000 wager on the Patriots (+210?) in the Super Bowl. A guy who strongly opposes gambling bet four grand on a 2-1 underdog? Why?

Because he had to! This experiment was confined to the NFL season. He had a $10k bankroll and he hadn’t ‘spent’ it all, so he had to punt it. (He technically had churned it all, but hadn’t “lost” it all…) This is not a real-world situation! This is not realistic!

Through Week 14 of the NFL Season he had wagered $11,800 in total and was down $74… He was averaging $845 in wagers per week, and was losing $5. FIVE DOLLARS LOST ON $845 WAGERED PER WEEK! The expected loss based on the sportsbooks hold would be 4.5% or $530 on $11,800 (or $37 a week - still not awful). When he was betting semi-responsibly, staking appropriately to the bankroll he was provided he was doing well!

This is the biggest logistical flaw of the entire premise. In the final 4 weeks he was betting nearly $4,000 per week - 5x what he had been betting. I don’t have details of those bets, but I have to imagine his practice and approach changed as well. His downfall wasn’t sports betting itself, but a late-season change in bankroll management because he knew the clock was ticking.

Interestingly enough, he still seemed to suffer psychologically from it (losing sleep, time wasted, obsession, not being able to watch games without bets) - even though it was not his money. That part is undeniable and has merit in a vacuum. However…

We cannot ignore the uncomfortable question about the late-season collapse that ultimately defined the story. Was the tilt truly the result of the psychological pull of gambling? Or was it driven by the awareness of a ticking clock—the approaching end of the experiment—creating the pressure of conclusion?

There is also a third possibility: that the inherent and fundamental bias of a journalists pushed the experiment toward confirming that bias.

When the vast majority of the losses come during a short period where the experiment’s stakes, plot, and timeline converge, it becomes fair to ask whether we are observing the natural psychology of gambling—or the psychology of journalism.

I have been outspoken, ad nauseum, about my stance on legalized betting. For those who are here for the first time, or have forgotten: Legalized mobile betting has vastly improved my quality of life. I am in the minority. I think the ubiquity of mobile sports betting will do more harm than good to our society. I think all advertising and online casino should be outlawed. I think we need more guardrails and regulations. I think prediction markets increase the danger, for the common man, ten fold. I think people should have the freedom to bet, but the government has an obligation to protect the average bettor from the greed and manipulation of billion dollar entities.

In other words, I likely agree with McKay Coppins sentiments on gambling. What I don’t agree with is the biased experiment conducted in order to draw those conclusions.

Which brings us to the final question: was McKay Coppins really chosen at random for this experiment? A journalist who openly describes himself as morally skeptical of gambling, whose religious beliefs discourage games of chance, and who carried no personal financial risk while writing a story almost guaranteed to generate clicks was nearly perfectly positioned to arrive at the article’s conclusion. That conclusion - gambling is dangerous, addictive, and growing faster than we can contain it - is certainly a true conclusion! But it’s a conclusion that takes a complex issue, frames it through a biased personal story, and presents the results in a way that undoubtedly created division online.

In 2026, journalism is rewarded for provoking, dividing, and generating attention. I don’t think Coppins set out to write a sensationalized piece meant to divide an online subculture. But it’s hard to ignore that the structure of the experiment — and the choice of Coppins himself — made that outcome almost inevitable. And by those metrics, The Atlantic probably considers the piece a success.

Now, this sounds like something a serious bettor would say. And looking at his profile, I think it’s safe to say Shayne is a serious bettor with plenty of industry experience.

So this video isn’t intended to discredit his opinion — but I believe it is a really dangerous oversimplification of how gambling psychology actually works… and the fact that 320 people liked it in a day’s time — that scares me even more.

So what is Shayne actually saying?

His argument is that if it is easy for you to chase losses or bet due to boredom, then your wager size is too small.

In other words, if the bet had weight or mattered to you, you’d act responsibly.

And I don’t think he’s entirely wrong. But he’s wrong enough that I think it borders on a dangerous narrative.

Here’s why:

When someone chases a loss, that’s not because they don’t care enough. In fact, I would argue it’s because they care a whole awful lot. My biggest moments of chasing were when I had lost bigger bets — not smaller. Chasing — as a construct — is not grounded in logic or good bankroll management. It’s a separate emotional and psychological issue entirely.

Chasing is an attempt at pain relief. “I need to get this back.” “Just one more bet and I’ll be even.” These are emotional responses that are likely MORE intense as the wager size increases. Increasing your wager size — which Shayne argues will “create an equilibrium that will make you a more responsible bettor” — will likely amplify the nervous system’s response! If anything, bigger stakes intensify emotional swings. And in my experience, that doesn’t create discipline.

Now let’s talk about boredom betting.

While boredom betting isn’t directly about money, it is about dopamine. It provides anticipation, uncertainty, 4 hours of checking box scores, potential thrills, and maybe even a profit. That entire process — from placing the bet to watching it settle — are dopamine triggers.

If you’re betting because you’re bored, and your solution is to increase the unit size, you didn’t fix the boredom.
“Well, Shayne said my unit of $10 is too small and I’m firing too many plays. Better make my unit $25 — that way when I’m bored I won’t place any bets…”

Our brains don’t suddenly say, “Now that the stakes are higher, I’ll behave.”

I would also argue that increasing unit size reinforces the feedback loop. You win a few bets at $25 instead of $10 — now $10 wins don’t feel as good.

What worries me about this type of advice is the implication.

“If you’re acting irresponsibly, it’s because you’re not betting big enough.” That’s what Shayne is saying.

That logic can quietly normalize over-betting — along with many other things in this industry that encourage bettors to “play more, win more, have more.”

I would argue that if you care about losing a wager, you’re already betting too much. We shouldn’t be pushing people to find an “equilibrium” that makes them react negatively to losses — we should be pushing people to bet amounts that they don’t even notice are missing. (For the recreational guys, specifically.)

Professionals increase unit size because their bankroll grows and their edge supports it. Not because they need to “care more.”

I also acknowledge that there are various levels to betting. People bet for different reasons. That’s another reason I think blanket advice like this tweet does more harm than good.

It almost presents a paradox: sharp, professional sports bettors don’t act emotionally, for the most part. Their wager sizes are based strictly on their edge and bankroll. This advice doesn’t usually apply to them. Recreational bettors are the ones who chase or bet bored - and the last thing someone with a propensity to chase or bet bored needs to do is increase wager size.

Discipline and responsible betting isn’t about “caring more,” as Shayne puts it. It’s about reacting less. If your solution to impulsivity is “bet bigger,” all we do is raise the stakes and increase the impulsivity.

Chasing losses and boredom betting aren’t solved by raising the stakes.
They’re solved by structure. They are solved by realizing the game is rigged and you pay the vig for entertainment. (unless you’re part of the few..)

In this space, ego and aggression are rewarded time after time. And when they are rewarded, onlookers get FOMO, or they compare their situation to a mere stranger. That’s what online sports betting content/X is in 2026. This does no one any favors. It only increases the desire to make more money — post bigger tickets — dial up your wager size… Because only then will I be happy. Only then will I be able to feel good about myself. Only then will I matter to the online herd of "the respected.” Only then will I be…respected.

We all want to make money doing this. I’m not arguing we should be trying to lose money or ignore mathematical principles. I’m arguing that the value we place on money — emotionally — and how the money we have is tied to who we are as people -should constantly be in the back of our minds. This applies to professional bettors and parlay-chase-a-loss-bet-when-bored bettors.

We all want to be respected. We all want to matter - be seen as worthwhile. And the best way to do that in the gambling sphere is by winning money.

“As a sports bettor, there needs to be an equilibrium that makes you care about sports bettors.” - GMG

Three things before we begin.

1. If you’d prefer to watch me read this article and discuss it in real time - you can find that on my Youtube Channel

2. This article is centered on an interview with Kalshi CEO Tarek Mansour that aired 2/10/2026 on CNBC. Here’s the 11 minute interview that I will break down in this article.

3. My entire thesis hinges on the fact that we’re about to see a massive separation between those who fundamentally understand prediction markets and those who don’t.. I am writing this for those who don’t.

More context before we begin - A prediction market lets people trade (gamble) against other users on the probability of an outcome happening, while a sportsbook sets odds with a built-in edge and takes the opposite side of your bet. With prediction markets, you are not facing “the house” — you are facing a counterparty — someone betting the other side of your position.

Without getting into the extreme nuance, prediction markets (PM) are regulated by the Commodity Futures Trading Commission (CFTC) because they trade event-based contracts as financial instruments, not wagers against a house. They hide behind concepts like “price discovery” not “entertainment”, “contracts” not “bets”, and therefore are regulated like markets, not like casinos…

If you’re confused - good. You should be. Because to 95% of us who don’t want to do the mental gymnastics, this just sounds like gambling.

It is.

One market that was heavily “traded” (gambled on) for the Super Bowl was “What song will Bad Bunny open with during the halftime show?” Ah yes, good old fashioned, meaningful price discovery. More on this later…

I want to break down the interview with Kalshi’s CEO in order to peel back some important layers that need discussed as we move into a world where gambling is going to inevitably take over…

The male interviewer opens by asking Mansour “{how do you think about what you’re doing relative to the sportsbooks (Fanduel/Draftkings)} {this is the question - what’s happening with the PM vs the sports gambling - even though a lot of people think underneath it all, think it’s the same thing}

Mansour responds: “Well, underneath it all, it’s not the same thing at all. For one, prediction markets are much broader. Our culture markets were huge this weekend - what songs Bad Bunny was going to perform, over $100 million in trading volume. The second thing - it’s a market. People are trading against each other. There’s no house… our incentive as a company - we win when the customers win, we don’t win when the customers lose and that’s a huge difference in the model.”

Hold on. Stop. STOP. STOP. You said something that sounds great, on the surface. Customer friendly. Attractive to novice bettors. BUT, BUT! FOR EVERY WINNING CUSTOMER, THERE IS A LOSING CUSTOMER… It’s a peer vs peer exchange! There’s no house! So when a customer wins, that means a customer LOSES! So Mansour could have said, “we win when customers lose” and it would still be a logical statement - just not a very marketable one…

Prediction markets have their own Newton’s Third Law: every winner is balanced by someone who confidently took the other side. So Kalshi wins when their customers lose.

They win no matter what…

They then begin talking about “what song Bad Bunny was going to perform was a huge, huge market..” with over $100 million in trading volume.

In other words, over $100 million was gambled on what song would be played to begin the halftime performance. (side note: I fundamentally, wholeheartedly believe we DO NOT need this sort of gambling available. It is undoubtedly worthless, brainless, superfluous degenerate gambling - or suspect to insider info…we’ll get there.)

At the 3 minute mark, the second interviewer joins in and asks Tarek - and I’m paraphrasing - “{it’s such a weird thing to have bets on what the first song might be, or what some politician might say in a speech.}” (yes, you can bet what politicians will say in certain speeches) “{athletes are not allowed to be involved in betting because they control the outcome. But Bad Bunny could see these markets and change what he’s going to do - how are you making sure you are limiting the impact of potential manipulation - either by placing bets or sharing info.?}

A very valid question. Tarek responded:

“Insider trading in the stock market is very real..” She interrupts, “but we can trace that and shut it down. Do you do the same on Kalshi?”

Mansour says yes and explains how…(KYC, personal details, systems to detect suspicious trades, investigation, etc) “Same exact rules, same exact mechanism.” Now, Tarek is referencing INSIDER TRADING here…

The male interviewer then says “I have a fun, philosophical question for you. Let’s say you’re a dancer for Bad Bunny and you KNEW what the first song was - and you made a bet - it sounds like that would be considered INSIDER TRADING, right?

Mansour: “So that’s a great question - and it is philosophical: what is information and what is insider information? If you did research, and were in San Fran, and you were running around the stadium to get info, that’s fair game. If you have access to information that you aren’t supposed to reveal to the public, you cannot trade that…”

He is then interrupted. Albeit, for good reason. The interviewers interject and argue that business executives have clearly defined rules and statutes about what they can and can’t divulge, share, and trade on. In the context of Bad Bunny… what about a backup dancer, or a cameraman…a security guard on duty for rehearsals. They aren’t associated with Bad Bunny…What if it’s his manager who knows the lineups, who tells his girlfriend, who tells her hair stylist.… and the hair stylist makes a bet…

This is where Mansour “screws up” in his response. And he doesn’t screw up as the CEO of a company masquerading as some “benevolent price discovery tool” - he screws up as a human speaking to other humans.

He says, “It’s either one of two cases: either this information can be public and that’s okay. Or it’s information that can’t be public and that’s communicated to the staff…”

The female interview interrupts again and argues, “but {the first song} isn’t material information that can’t be shared…you’re making it that by putting it on this betting platform, but they have no obligation to {keep it secret}, the responsibility is not on them.”

Mansour responds “well, if you work at the Fed, you’re not allowed to reveal the info before hand…” She interrupts: “This isn’t info crucial to a company! I can make my song order whatever I want and tell whoever I want! It’s not material information”

Mansour: “if that’s the position people are taking, that its not private information, that it’s okay to talk about the song order - then it’s fair game..”

Female interviewer: “But that doesn’t seem like a fair market trade...that seems like an advantage to people that have this information - but you can’t go after them because it’s not “material information”. You’re NEVER going to be able to tell Bad Bunny that he can’t tell people what his lineup is because some unrelated entity is making bets on this that he has no relationship with..”

“If Bad Bunny wants to tell people what the lineup is, that’s fair game. That’s part of the risk in the market. That’s what people are buying into.”

And there it is.

Insider trading is not defined by Kalshi as it would be defined by the general public. Because “insider trading” only applies to - things that “matter”, things with “scale”? Since Bad Bunny has no legal obligation to keep his song list a secret, then according to Kalshi, insider trading cannot exist. Bad Bunny’s manager could bet on the opening song with no consequences because it’s “fair game” - according to Mansour.

You and I would call that insider trading! You and I would call that insider info!

Insider trading in the legal sense specifically refers to trading securities like stocks, bonds, or derivatives based on material, non-public information that gives an unfair advantage in a securities market. Betting markets or prediction markets (like song openers) are not trading securities in the traditional sense, so the normal legal framework for insider trading doesn’t apply to those bets. The CFTC (not the SEC) regulates certain prediction market contracts as derivatives, but that is a different regulatory entity entirely.

This whole landscape is tiring - and once again, by the book - Bad Bunny himself betting on what his opening song will be is not considered insider trading…

I could go on - but this is where I’ll leave it. Prediction markets moved faster than regulation, and they will continue to do so. Prediction markets open the door for more frivolous and constant gambling nationwide from people as young as 18. (Correct — you can use Kalshi at 18, but not FanDuel until 21.) Insider trading may be illegal, but “insider trading” will continue to exist on prediction markets. Those with access to more information (and who ultimately have more money, power, resources) will be the long term winners.

And they aren’t taking money from the house, from Kalshi, from “the man” - they are taking it from the 95% who are sold the dream that by making the right bet means they’ll be able to cover rent this month…

Prediction markets are designed for insiders - and the best way to counter that is for spectators to stop playing.

Spoiler: they won’t. So the next best way is heavy regulation…

Spoilerer: those in charge of regulating are on the inside…

I don’t know what that’s called, but I am interested in figuring out why I’m doing it.

(Every Substack to date has been about gambling—this one may not be…)

I decided my time would be best spent “journaling” here today. A little psychoanalyzing of thyself. But even that didn’t start well…

I’ve hammered backspace 100 times in the last six minutes, waiting for the perfect start that will grab your attention and keep you here. Because if I can do that, then my content grows. If I can provide value, content grows. I get paid within the confines of the attention economy—and it’s often hard on me.

This is not unique to Substack—YouTube, TikTok, Twitter all require the same thing. Appeal to the audience. Appeal to the algorithm. As you can imagine, this conditions a creator to think less about the “art” and more about the public’s reception of the art…

And this is why I’ve started four or five things today, yet accomplished nothing.

I’ve always loved to create, so this job is a dream come true. Except, you don’t make money on the art alone, but the reception to the art… I’ve had videos go viral that took four minutes of effort. I’ve had videos take four days of effort, loved every minute of the “creating journey,” only to get 214 views. (Hmm, maybe this is about gambling…)

I never considered myself a perfectionist; I can’t stand failing; I can’t stand losing. But I always thought perfectionism meant things had to be perfect, superior, pristine, clean, ordered. I never considered perfectionism to be the avoidance of failure—who wants to fail?! Wouldn’t everyone be a perfectionist?!

One of the most influential people in my life was my Educational Psychology professor. I’ve been fortunate to keep in contact with her well past graduating college. I had her for four years and spent many “office hours” discussing education, life, and (panicking about) my future. She was my role model, and often my hope in a pretty hopeless time. (Hopeless in the sense that I really didn’t want to teach, but as a senior in education, you don’t want to think about throwing the last four years down the drain to pursue something else…)

We still keep in contact, and last year she mentioned me being a “perfectionist.” I explained to her that in no way was I a perfectionist. “I don’t care if things are perfect; I just don’t want them to be wrong. I don’t want to fail or look like a failure… I hyper-fixate on minute details so people won’t judge me for making errors… THAT’S NOT PERFECTIONISM…”

She laughed.

Again, like I said at the beginning, I don’t know what you call it. But maybe it’s tangentially related to “perfectionism.” I think if I really get down to it, this is what it is…

If I zoom out, I am the happiest I’ve ever been. I have complete creative freedom. I answer to no one. I set my own schedule. I get to wake up and live the life I want to live. I don’t have to “play the game” of corporate America or workplace bureaucracy. I can wear sweats every day. I go at my own pace and pursue my passions without being micromanaged. These are the positives of my job that I don’t want to lose!

…but in order for those to remain true, I have to make money. In order to live this “dream life,” I have to “play the game” of the algorithm. I have to get clicks. I have to sustain attention. I do not want to lose this job; I do not want to fail; I do not want to return to the “rat race 9–5.”

And here’s the thing—I am making money doing this. I have been able to support my family doing this…

But I understand these things come and go. Contracts are month to month. The algorithms constantly change. TikTok’s sale to Oracle this month has decimated my earnings. Will it be that way forever? I hope not. But I don’t know.

This is where the push and pull of perfectionism may exist for me. The “analysis paralysis”… (see images below)

These images are my everyday battle. Might not be the best combination for someone creating content each day…

I suppose it all comes back to money. My fear of failure is really just a fear of having to leave content creation behind. It’s not really a fear of failing content in and of itself, but more of a fear of having to live a miserable life. I exaggerate, but as you can probably tell, I’m fairly sensitive to anxiety and stress, so the hustle and bustle of a “real job” isn’t my cup of Coke Zero. (I stopped drinking tea.)

(I took a small break to come up with a title and found this…)

Perfectionistic concerns are the anxious, self-critical side of perfectionism, involving intense worry about making mistakes, a fear of negative judgment, nagging self-doubt, feeling inadequate, and experiencing strong negative emotions (like shame, guilt, or stress) when failing to meet impossibly high standards, often leading to procrastination, unhappiness, and links to anxiety, depression, and OCD.

Key characteristics of perfectionistic concerns:

Fear of Failure:

An intense aversion to mistakes, seeing them as catastrophic rather than learning opportunities.

Self-Criticism:

Harshly judging oneself and focusing on flaws, with a belief that one isn’t good enough.

Doubt & Worry:

Constant rumination about performance and actions, questioning if they are good enough.

External Pressure:

Feeling immense pressure from perceived parental or societal expectations and worrying about others’ criticism.

Discrepancy:

A perceived gap between personal standards and actual performance, fueling dissatisfaction.

Negative Reactions:

Experiencing significant distress, anxiety, or even depression from perceived failures.

Yeah, that about sums it up… and likely explains starting four or five things and finishing zero…

Actually, I think I finished one thing today. And sometimes, that’s the best we can do.

As a teacher, I could deliver a lesson that 24 out of 25 students loved — and still spend the rest of my day, and often my night, analyzing the reaction of the one who didn’t.

Growing in content creation has shown me this was not exclusive to teaching. It’s just who I am.

Yesterday, I spent more time than I’d like to admit ruminating over this reply to one of my tweets:

The funny thing is - I know he’s wrong.

I have pursued a dream and it’s been the best “professional decision” I’ve ever made.

Over the last two and a half years, I’ve watched the GMG brand grow steadily. I’ve been able to support my family — modestly — by creating content I believe in. The most stressful “GMG” day is better than the best teaching day…

But this piece isn’t about convincing one anonymous account that he’s mistaken. I don’t think he’d accept anything I had to say anyway.

What does interest me is the broader question his response raises:

Why does the existence of an account like mine provoke such a strong reaction from people who identify as “professional gamblers”?

Some background for those of you who don’t run in “gambling” circles.

Professional bettors hate “touts” or people who sell picks. Without getting into semantics, I agree with the “pros” on this one. For the most part, I think pick-selling is a disingenuous way to prey on casual bettors. If you’re a good enough bettor to win - then win. (obviously limits/bans play a role here but that’s a bit too nuanced and not the point.)

THE POINT IS - I don’t sell picks! I don’t sell anything.

From day one, I’ve been clear that I don’t want money from anyone who considers themselves “on my team.” I make free content. I track my results publicly. I frame everything I do through entertainment, transparency, and responsible gambling — often reminding viewers that for the vast majority of people, sports betting is a losing game. I provide resources and tools that helped me make money (before limits) and try to expose “bad actors.”

And for reasons I’m still trying to understand, that seems to bother some people deeply.

Why?

Answering that “why” has been the source of my rumination. Admittedly, I want to be liked. I don’t want to upset people. I told you, I’m sensitive.

But the more interesting answer has nothing to do with me. And while I’m calling it an answer, it’s really closer to a theory.

It has to do with how identity, legitimacy, and moral worth are policed in gambling spaces — and why someone can contribute context, caution, and honesty, yet still be treated as a trespasser simply for refusing to play the game.

It would be one thing if professional gamblers were universally focused on helping the 95% — and an account like GMG was somehow getting in the way. But in my experience, the first unwritten rule of sports betting is this: keep your circle small, and keep your mouth shut. Information is currency. Gatekeeping is the only constant. If everyone is winning, no one is winning.

Long term, professional sports betting isn’t solely math or discipline. It’s politics.

There is a certain air and social elevation that comes with being a “pro”. The value isn’t just the money - it’s the scarcity of being “one of the chosen few who have solved the puzzle.” And that scarcity creates status. When you are no longer “the public", you’ve won. You’ve won financially, but you’ve also won socially.

In an industry that destroys lives, being able to “beat” that same system becomes a source of pride. I know this because I lived it (for about 1000 days…)

But that doesn’t exactly explain why my current existence bothers them…or does it?

Maybe my existence is troublesome because I don’t behave the way I’m “supposed to.” I stay visible and admit uncertainty - a contradiction in an ecosystem that survives on dominance and secrecy.

I don’t sell superiority. I don’t promise escape. I don’t frame losing as “wrong” or winning as “right.” I am intentionally unexceptional. And in a system that relies on hierarchy - sharps vs squares, insiders vs the public - maybe that attitude is seen as an act of quiet sabotage.

Maybe the criticism is less about me, and more about the identity of the pro. If someone can exist in this space without winning, it threatens the idea that winning proves superiority, exceptionalism, and worth.

“If you’re not winning, you don’t belong” - this is the posturing that misses the point.

And the “point” isn’t unique to gambling.

In our culture, superiority is rewarded more than reflection - certainty is more important than honesty - outcomes trump process. In systems like these, the equation is simple: Worth = Visibility + Success.

Sensitivity, uncertainty, and transparency don’t align well with the hierarchies of these systems. Anyone who exists in the public eye without constantly performing is treated as unserious. GMG is sensitive. GMG is uncertain. GMG is transparent.

To challenge these social hierarchies, I’ll continue to be visible, honest, and unexceptional.

And maybe that’s the discomfort…

Not that someone is losing - but that someone is refusing to pretend that winning is the point.

Yesterday, I responded to a tweet.

That was my first mistake.

This was the tweet:

I simply said, “This is good. I agree with this.”

Now, I could have been more detailed. I could have explained why. And maybe I should have - better late than never.

Before we start - my biggest frustration with these conversations is the lack of nuance that professional bettors online seem to have. They operate in a black and white world. Everything is a calculation, a probability, a right and wrong. It’s either +EV or it’s a bad bet. That framework makes it very difficult to understand my point.

Before we start diving into why I think the 4 restrictions are good, I think it’s important to address one of the replies I received yesterday.

I could talk about this at length - and maybe I will - but I’ll summarize my thoughts on Brad’s comments.

I don’t disagree that individuals are responsible for their own actions. However, personal responsibility doesn’t absolve the government of an obligation to reduce harm - ESPECIALLY when it profits from the behavior. Regulation ≠ infantilization. Regulation is about guardrails in an ecosystem designed to maximize impulsive, addictive behavior.

Let’s start at the bottom and work our way up.

• Prohibit more than 5 deposits in a 24-hour period.

Okay. Sure. Seems arbitrary to some degree, but a good start nonetheless. I don’t know if a magic number exists, and I don’t truly care. Can someone just deposit MORE knowing they have a max of 5 deposits? Sure. Can they go to another app and deposit 5 MORE times? Maybe? I’ll accept this as a step in the right direction - the direction of guardrails & friction.

• Ban sportsbook ads during live sporting events

Please. I realize ads are regional. I hope this regulation eventually extends nationwide. Constant advertisements normalize the behavior. I’ll talk about alcohol in a second, but I do wish we had zero alcohol ads. I think no nicotine/tobacco ads are a net positive to society. If there was a way to only run ads on sports programming from people aged 21 and over - fine. That’s impossible. I’d love a total ban of advertisements, but live sporting events is a start.

• Mobile sportsbook app push notifications, text message ban

This is just a personal advertisement. Often times, it’s not even alerting you of a deposit bonus or promotion (something that may be good for the bettor.) 9 times out of 10 the notifications say “get in the action!” or “You have $87 in your balance - what are you waiting for?!” These are not a benefit to society. They encourage people to bet more than they had initially planned. Do I think McDonalds should be able to send push notifications about a Big Mac? No. But there is more friction in that. I have to drive to McDonalds - or place a delivery and wait….just for it to arrive cold and without that special sauce… Maybe I just had lunch and that last thing my body wants is a Big Mac… Spoiler: our brains always want dopamine - and the friction from a push notification to an unplanned bet is nonexistent.

and the big one, that caused the avalanche of replies…

• Ban in-play (live) sports betting

Look. I understand why people are mad. They make money live betting. Every reply I got is from someone who will make less money if live betting is banned. It would kill their earn.

Again - we are talking about things that are +EV for society. Is the ability to bet at every second of a game making society better? Does that provide the guardrails necessary for keeping us safe as a collective? Of course the counterargument is simply “just ban betting entirely if it’s so bad for us!” - This is where nuance is important. Pandora’s Box is wide open. Of course no gambling would be better for society! But we are well past that point. I don’t think, however, we are past the point of banning live betting.

I concede that live betting may be “good” for responsible gambling. It allows someone to get a feel for teams and make a wiser/more informed decision. It allows for hedging out of a position or even taking a profit. The funniest part is, I’m personally not even FOR this restriction. Do I think it would be safer for the collective - yes. Do I think it should be enacted in the fullest extent? - actually, no. I do, however, think microbetting live should be outlawed - speed of next pitch, who scores a TD on this drive, will team A hit a 3 pointer next possession…these slot machine style bets are far more dangerous.

Two final comments are it relates to the faceless-burner-twitter guys.

No, it’s not the “same logic.” This is the black and white, lack of nuance I referenced at the start. We should ban cars because people can swerve into the other lane. We should ban water because people can drown. It’s lazy logic.

Alcohol has restrictions. Alcohol has guardrails. Should there be more? Maybe? I have also argued, at length, that alcohol/drug addiction is most often compared to gambling - but in reality there are VAST differences between that and mobile gambling. (Again, another time.)

Alcohol has:

• limited hours of sale

• must be physically acquired

• legal ramifications for overconsumption

• health warnings required

• restrictions on where and how it’s marketed (should be more strict imo)

• open container laws

• bars can be liable for over-serving

• clear public messaging about risks

Alcohol is dangerous. We know that. There are no “professional alcohol drinkers” that set a standard for the “positives of alcohol” No one can post an 8-leg tequila shot parlay online and cause mass FOMO - “Oh man, I have GOT to get some tequila RIGHT NOW - that dude just ripped off 8 shots and changed his life for the better!”

Alcohol is pretty clear about what it promises. Gambling promises hope in the form of life changing money with minimal effort.

Lastly,

Black and white. In both sentences.

You’re either a losing bettor (no credibility; no worth) or you’re a winning bettor. I would argue that my experience as a winning bettor turned recreational bettor makes me the perfect spokesperson.

There is no end to winning, from the bettors perspective. The books? They’ll cut you off. Then what? You need accounts, connections, and more effort than is ever discussed. Just to be cut off again… The system is designed to prey on losers. So a “losing bettor” is actually the perfect person to discuss guardrails that would help other “losers”…

There is no long-lasting satisfaction in winning. A professional bettor will never say, “okay, that’s enough. I’ve won all I need to win.” Just as a sportsbook will never say, “okay, we’ve taken $10,000 from this account in the last 7 minutes on microbets for a Wednesday afternoon game between the Rockies and the Royals…maybe we should encourage him to cool off…”

The sportsbooks, the addicts, and the professionals all worship the same master. Always at odds over a common denominator - greed.

A sportsbook’s goal is to make as much money as possible.

A sharp’s goal is to make as much money as possible.

An addict’s goal is to make as much money as possible.

When the PJ’s are on, lights are out, and head’s on the pillow - they are all the same.

“Shouldn’t you quit gambling entirely if you feel so strongly about these restrictions”

Again - lacking nuance. Black and white.

Participating in something doesn’t disqualify an argument for wanting it to be safer.

“Shouldn’t you quit drinking beer entirely if you feel so strongly about DUI laws?”

(yeah, I know, I JUST said alcohol and betting aren’t 1:1..)

Just because I sports bet doesn’t mean I have to blindly accept it’s worst qualities. I can gamble responsibly and believe the system should stop profiting from preventable harm.

“Dude supports SEATBELTS?! May as well never get behind the WHEEL!”

Professionals love to talk about “taking money from the sportsbooks” as if it’s some altruistic aim. If they really cared about taking down the sportsbooks, about “justice”, they’d advocate for the “losing bettor.”

But that just might kill their earn.

(I made a video about most of these restrictions a few months back. My full thoughts on them can be found here:

-gmg

I am not an expert on “responsible gambling” or human psychology. I don’t have credibility on these topics outside of first-hand experience.

I am passionate about exploring this topic and believe it matters at scale.

I am not good at starting something if I can’t see the finish line. This post is a direct attempt to push back on that “perfectionist” mentality.

Let’s Begin:

December 2025 was one of self-reflection. To say I was “unhappy” would be too extreme. I know what it feels like to be “unhappy” (miserable, rather) every day—waking up to do a job that’s despised. A job that drains. Creating content brings me joy and satisfaction—I have never been happier or more fulfilled. But something felt “off” at the end of 2025, and I was desperately trying to figure it out.

And I did.

I was not “gambling responsibly.”

On the surface, there was nothing wrong. Mathematically, there was nothing wrong. I had a bankroll. I was sticking to appropriate wager sizes. I was placing +EV bets. I was utilizing promos and shopping for the best price. I wasn’t chasing losses. I was tracking every wager with Pikkit. (Seriously, get Pikkit.) I was doing everything “by the book.”

I was “gambling responsibly.”

We hear “please gamble responsibly” most often from the entities that profit from us doing the opposite. FanDuel and DraftKings are not “the good guys” because they echo these sentiments at the end of advertisements. “Please gamble responsibly” isn’t actionable or measurable.

Contrast that phrase with “please drink responsibly.” While this isn’t actionable either, it’s more understood. It’s understood because there are measurable, physiological signs when people are not drinking responsibly. There are obviously exceptions, but there is a noticeable line that’s crossed when someone has been drinking “irresponsibly.”

If I wager more money than I can afford to lose on a Monday Night Football game, I don’t start slurring my words and puking everywhere. I won’t pass out in the middle of the living room. It can (and likely would) go undetected.

This is why mobile sports gambling is so dangerous. There are very few guardrails that exist to prevent people from making life-altering decisions. The warning signs and symptoms of “problem gamblers” can be masked far more easily than other “addictions.”

I often find it difficult to draw comparisons to legalized mobile gambling. No other vice gives the user a chance to change their life for the better…

“Here’s a crackpipe—smoke some of this and tomorrow you might have $1,000 more in your bank account.”

“If you watch 4 minutes of this hentai, you’ve got a 50% chance to pay for next month’s rent.”

Sure, all these vices and addictions have the same thing in common—easy dopamine. But mobile gambling, I believe, is by far the “worst.” It’s the dopamine that keeps on giving—the dopamine that promises immediate AND future dopamine. This is why “responsible gambling” is so important.

But no one tells you what that entails. It’s hard to measure. A $100 wager doesn’t impact every bettor in the same way. Person to person, there is no consistency.

Sports betting is a math-based puzzle. Responsible betting is not.

Responsible gambling only happens after self-reflection. Period.

And that’s the trickiest part—a bettor has to make the choice to reflect AND THEN make the subsequent choices to change the behavior…

spoiler: we’re screwed.

I bet professionally for 3 years. I conditioned myself to win. I conditioned myself for maximum dopamine. Now that my accounts are limited, I do not bet in the same manner—but I still bet. I was noticing my mood change.

Here’s a laundry list related to my self-reflection. Yours doesn’t have to look the same. But I would encourage everyone to reflect in some way.

• Losing feels worse than winning feels good.

• I was checking scores constantly during games, before bed, immediately after waking up.

• I was unmotivated to create content when my Pikkit was negative the day prior.

• “It’s just variance” is not something I can force myself to believe.

• Seeing people post their massive profits on X made me feel inadequate, which led to betting more.

• I felt my credibility as a sports betting content creator was directly correlated to the size of my bets.

• The love of money doesn’t sleep. I will never win enough to say, “Okay, we did it. I can stop betting now!”

• Betting for the purpose of making money is dangerous for me.

• If I don’t have unlimited accounts and arbitrage software, my goals in this industry have to shift.

These are just some of the reflections from myself as a bettor—not even related to myself as a creator. We can get to those later.

I am in the political minority of the sports betting landscape. I believe the government and corporations have a responsibility to act first in the interest of the people—not profit. I believe regulations are important and necessary if we want to curb problem gambling. I believe a commercial or advertisement from FanDuel that ends with “please gamble responsibly” has already missed the point.

This is also a symptom (or addiction) of a life I lived for the last four years as a “professional bettor.” I wouldn’t call myself a true pro, as my earnings died when my accounts did. And without an odds screen and arbitrage feed, I’m just your typical sports junkie-wannabe-square. But while I had accounts, Discord notifications, Underdog News Alerts, connections/relationships, and everything else it takes to be a “pro bettor” in 2025, I was tied to my phone. Constantly. I conditioned myself to be permanently online; after all, that was “work.”

But now that I don’t gamble full time, “work” is still online — and unplugging feels like missed opportunity. I am working on that.

I hope this avenue helps. My fears are the same as they always are — what if no one reads this? What if I waste my time? What if I say something “wrong” and lose credibility in an ecosystem that loves keeping score? When I type them out, they sound like dumb reasons to not try.

So, we are going to try. If you’re familiar with the content I create on YouTube, you may be able to infer what I’ll publish here. If you’re new to GMG, here are 61 words that’ll help:

The sports betting industry is not a net positive for humanity. It was good to me, but isn’t “good” to 95% of people. It remains good to me as I’ve leveraged it for content. With that privilege, I feel a responsibility to create sports betting content that is “ethical.” Some may disagree entirely with the possibility of that premise — … fair.

Mobile gambling is just beginning, and I fear the repercussions at scale. I believe people can participate in a healthy way — but I also believe we are lacking meaningful regulation that could add much-needed guardrails. We can talk about all of that later.

For now, I’ll leave you with this comic that I think about often. Is my involvement in sports betting doing more harm than good? Am I helping or hurting in this (current, at worst; future, at best) epidemic? I’m not sure, but know I am asking myself that with every passing day.

(If you’re struggling with the relevance of this comic, just change “society” to “sports betting.”)