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The Hidden Cost of Gambling’s Glitter: A Personal Reflection on Addiction and Accountability.

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At 64, I carry a lesson from my childhood that has shaped how I navigate the dazzling yet dangerous world of gambling. When I was a young boy, my father took me to the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. As we stood in its opulent halls, surrounded by the clinking of slot machines and the grandeur of a palace fit for a king, he turned to me and said, “Markie, this place was not built from winners.” Those words, spoken decades ago, have never left me. They are a reminder that the glittering allure of casinos—and now, the relentless ads for online betting—comes at a cost, often paid by those least equipped to bear it.
 
The Temptation That’s Hard to Escape
Today, I feel deep sorrow for those who struggle with gambling addiction, a weakness that can consume lives. While I enjoy visiting California’s tribal casinos for their affordable, high-quality dining—where gamblers indirectly subsidize my meals—I’m troubled by the broader gambling landscape. Unlike tribal casinos, which are avoidable, the rise of online sports betting and daily fantasy sports (DFS) platforms like PrizePicks has created a new challenge. Their advertisements bombard us on television, social media, and websites, infiltrating spaces that even those who avoid gambling hubs like Nevada can’t escape.
 
For people with a gambling problem, these ads are more than an annoyance—they’re a trigger. The National Council on Problem Gambling reports a 45% spike in helpline calls from 2019 to 2022, a period coinciding with the rapid expansion of sports betting after the 2018 Supreme Court decision to overturn PASPA. In California, where online sports betting remains illegal, platforms like PrizePicks operate in a legal gray area as DFS, considered a “game of skill.” Yet their ads, promising big wins or “risk-free” bets, mimic the allure of gambling, targeting vulnerable individuals with relentless precision.
 
A Moral Dilemma: Profiting from Pain

I find tribal casinos less troubling because they’re a choice—one can stay away. Their revenue, about $8 billion annually in California, supports tribal economies and funds programs like the Revenue Sharing Trust Fund, which distributes $1.1 million yearly to non-gaming tribes. The food is cheap, the quality is high, and I can enjoy the experience without betting a dime. But the state’s tolerance of pervasive DFS and offshore betting ads feels different. It’s as if California, by failing to regulate these ads, indirectly preys on its vulnerable citizens, even if it doesn’t yet profit directly from online betting.

The moral question is stark: should states benefit from industries that thrive on addiction? In states like New York, where sports betting is legal, a 51% tax on revenue fills public coffers, but at what cost? Studies suggest 10-20% of casino revenue comes from problem gamblers, and online platforms likely follow a similar pattern. When California voters rejected Proposition 27 in 2022, which would have legalized online sports betting with promises of tax revenue for homelessness and tribal development, they signaled unease with this trade-off. Yet the ads persist, and offshore sites, unregulated and untaxed, continue to target Californians without contributing to programs like the state’s underfunded Office of Problem Gambling.

A Call for Compassion and Action

My father’s advice—“this place was not built from winners”—is a warning for anyone tempted by gambling’s promise. It’s a reminder that the house always wins, whether it’s a tribal casino with a 5-15% slot machine edge or an online platform with slick algorithms. For those with a gambling weakness, the stakes are even higher. The constant ads, inescapable on sports broadcasts or social media, make it harder to stay in control, especially for those who’ve chosen to live in states like California to avoid gambling’s pull.

We can do better. California could push for stricter advertising regulations, like New York’s limits on “risk-free” bet promotions, to protect vulnerable residents. The state’s Office of Problem Gambling, reachable at 1-800-GAMBLER, offers counseling and self-exclusion programs, but its budget pales compared to the gambling industry’s billions. Individuals can take steps too: use ad blockers, opt out of personalized ads, or seek support through groups like Gamblers Anonymous. But systemic change is needed to stop the bombardment of triggers.

A Personal Plea
I write this not just as someone who enjoys a casino meal but as someone who sees the human toll of gambling’s unchecked reach. My father’s words gave me a shield, but not everyone has that clarity. For those struggling, know that you’re not alone, and resources exist to help. For the rest of us, let’s advocate for a system that prioritizes people over profits, ensuring that the glitter of gambling doesn’t blind us to the pain it can cause.

Published by Editor, Sammy Campbell.

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