If young, 90s Bill Simmons spent less time listening to Pearl Jam, he’d know the cardinal sin of crack sales: never get high on your own supply.
The number one sports podcaster, pulled to the mountaintop of sports media by the labor of Tom Brady, Kevin Garnett and David Ortiz (I promise you we wouldn’t know who he was if he grew up in Sacramento as a Kings fan). The most public connect—you need gambling, you head to Bill Simmons. He’s got all the discount codes and hotline numbers. Unlistenable to me, but we’ve all got our vices. Like I cannot stop playing MVP Baseball 2005 on my old PS2. My right fielder’s named Mark Kane and he just had a 60/60 season.
Bill Simmons now has the Massachusetts Gaming Commission banging on his front door, in the crib stressing, reassuring his wife “it’s no big deal”, after admitting on his podcast to using his daughter’s boyfriend to place bets for him in Mass by way of his LA castle.
“I get the code to make sure it’s me to my phone—I give him the code, he logs in and I have all this money I had from last year because I actually hit a bunch of futures last year and he’s putting in bets for me,” Simmons said, announcing his violation of California state law on his popular podcast.
Sports betting is only legal in 39 of the 50 states—though it feels mandatory as every national broadcast funnels casino odds down viewers’ esophaguses, “encouraging” us to download the lose-your-paycheck-apps—the number one sports podcaster jamming odds, awkwardly, mid convo, adding nothing of value to the discussion—just an addict furiously neck scratching, fixin.
Thankfully, we have unregulated prediction markets like Kalshi and Polymarket filling the voids in those states yet to legalize gambling—getting everyone in on all the action, ALL the action. You can bet on Love Island results, bombings and coup d’états—also Bucks v Raptors.
It was only a matter of time for the guy pushing crack on his audience for decades, while crack has been illegal in his state for decades, finally caught admitting to smoking his own batch, with the help of a teenage boy across the country who sleeps with his daughter.
Do all the crack your heart desires, my guy. We only live once, why not spend it showered in millions from companies preying on young, vulnerable men? Just some alcohol, AI and gambling ad reads between jokes that wouldn’t make me laugh at gunpoint and Drake Maye propaganda.
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