Jontay Porter was supposed to be a comeback story. The younger brother of Denver Nuggets star Michael Porter Jr., he had battled injuries that derailed his early career. When he got a shot with the Toronto Raptors in 2023, it felt like redemption.
Then came March 2024. Federal investigators discovered Porter had been sharing inside information with gamblers, manipulating his playing time to influence prop bets. The NBA banned him for life. He was 24 years old.
Last week, federal prosecutors unsealed two massive indictments naming over 30 people—including active NBA coach Chauncey Billups, Miami Heat guard Terry Rozier, and former player Damon Jones. The investigation revealed illegal high-stakes poker games tied to organized crime families, insider trading schemes involving player information, and millions in fraudulent bets.
If you've been tracking gambling scandals across professional sports, you'll notice a pattern: who gets caught, who gets prosecuted, who gets grace, and who doesn't.
Welcome to the National Betting Association, where the house always wins, and the rules for playing seem to depend on your color, your profile, and your market value.
The Shohei Ohtani Precedent
When Shohei Ohtani's interpreter, Ippei Mizuhara, was caught embezzling $16 million to cover gambling debts, the MLB superstar emerged unscathed. The narrative was immediate: Ohtani was the victim. Federal prosecutors agreed. Mizuhara faced charges. Ohtani kept his $700 million contract, his endorsements, his reputation. He won the World Series.
The assumption of innocence was total. The institutional protection was complete.
When Jontay Porter's case broke, the Raptors cut him immediately. His agent dropped him. Endorsement deals vanished. There was no crisis management team. No sympathetic press coverage. No benefit of the doubt.
"The double standard is glaring," says Dr. Travis Gosa, a sociologist at Cornell University who studies race and sports. "When a white athlete is connected to gambling, the assumption is they've been deceived or led astray. When an athlete of color is involved, the assumption is criminality. It's not subtle."
The Gambling Gold Rush
To understand why so many athletes are getting caught in gambling scandals, you have to understand how completely sports betting has consumed American culture in the last five years.
In 2018, the Supreme Court struck down the federal ban on sports betting. Since then, 38 states have legalized it. The industry has exploded from $300 million in annual revenue to over $120 billion. Sports betting is now a bigger industry than Hollywood.
And professional sports leagues have embraced it with open arms. Every broadcast features betting odds. Every arena has sportsbook lounges. NBA Commissioner Adam Silver has been one of the most vocal proponents of legalized gambling in professional sports.
"The leagues have turned gambling from a vice to a revenue stream," says Patrick Rishe, a sports economist at Washington University in St. Louis. "They've monetized every angle. Every stat. Every prop bet. They've essentially turned their athletes into gambling commodities."
But here's the contradiction: while the leagues profit from gambling, athletes are prohibited from participating. The rules are clear. The enforcement is aggressive. And the patterns of who gets caught—and how they're treated—reveal something ugly about power, privilege, and protection.
The Pattern Nobody Wants to Name
Some people get caught in gambling scandals and recover. Others disappear forever. Some get one-year suspensions. Others get lifetime bans. The difference correlates heavily with three things: race, market value, and institutional support.
"Look at the data," says Dr. Gosa. "White players in the NFL who violated gambling rules? Mostly one-year suspensions, then reinstatement. Players of color? Banned for life or multiple-year suspensions. Same violation. Different consequences."
Calvin Ridley (white) bet on NFL games, got suspended for a year, came back. Shaka Toney (Black) bet on NFL games, got suspended for an entire season, never returned. Both violated the same policy. Different outcomes.
Tucupita Marcano (Venezuelan player, minimal prior notoriety) placed 387 bets and got a lifetime ban—the first active MLB player in 101 years to be permanently banned. Andrew Saalfrank (white pitcher in minors) placed bets and got a one-year suspension, then was reinstated. First-time offenders. Radically different enforcement.
Pat Hoberg (white umpire) was connected to illegal gambling accounts through friends. MLB investigation cleared him of personally betting or influencing games, but fired him anyway. He can apply for reinstatement in 2026. Jontay Porter shared information and got a lifetime ban with no path back.
The patterns aren't random. They're not coincidental.
Why Black Athletes Get More Caught
There are structural reasons for this disparity.
"Black athletes, particularly young ones, are more likely to come from working-class and low-income backgrounds," explains Dr. Gosa. "They're more likely to have extended networks that include people involved in gray-market or illegal gambling operations. They're more likely to be approached by people who knew them before they were famous. They're more vulnerable to exploitation."
The average white athlete comes from suburban or privileged backgrounds. Their social networks are more insulated. Their families have intergenerational wealth and connections that provide protection.
Black athletes often become overnight millionaires in their early twenties with limited financial education, extensive family obligations, and social circles that include people operating on the margins of legality.
"These aren't bad people," says a former NBA player agent who requested anonymity. "They're young men who suddenly have millions of dollars and fifty people in their ear telling them how to use it. Some of those people have good intentions. Some don't. And when gambling gets involved, you've got the perfect storm."
The Exploitation Pipeline
An athlete—usually young, usually earning their first substantial contract—gets approached by someone they trust. A childhood friend. A family member. Someone who was there before the fame.
That person introduces them to someone who runs a sports betting operation. Nothing illegal, they say. Just information sharing. Just conversations.
Because sports betting is now legal and ubiquitous, it doesn't feel dangerous. The NBA promotes it. How bad could it be?
Then come the requests. "What's your injury status?" "Are you playing tonight?" The athlete answers. Why not? It's just conversation.
Then money changes hands. A "gift." A "bonus." Nothing tied directly to gambling, of course.
By the time the athlete realizes they're compromised, they're already in too deep. And when federal investigators come knocking, the athlete takes the fall.
"The people running these operations are professionals," says Gosa. "They know exactly how to exploit young athletes. They know the vulnerabilities. They know the psychology. And they know that when things go wrong, the athlete will be the one who gets destroyed, not them."
The Institutional Response
When Shohei Ohtani's case broke, he had immediate access to elite legal representation. His agency, CAA, mobilized a crisis management team. The Dodgers stood by him. MLB Commissioner Rob Manfred made statements emphasizing Ohtani's victimhood.
When Jontay Porter's case broke, the Raptors cut him immediately. His agent dropped him. There was no crisis management team. No sympathetic press coverage. No possibility of redemption written into his punishment.
"That's the difference between being an asset and being expendable," says the former agent. "Ohtani is worth $700 million to the Dodgers. He's untouchable. Porter was on a two-way contract. He's replaceable. The institutions protect who they value."
And in American sports, valuation often breaks down along racial lines.
The Business of Betting
Sports betting is a business designed to extract wealth from vulnerable populations. Sportsbooks target young men. They target communities of color. They advertise relentlessly in spaces where disposable income is limited but hope is high.
"Gambling preys on the same communities that have been economically marginalized for generations," says Dr. Gosa. "It's not an accident that the heaviest sports betting activity is in Black and brown communities. These are places where people are looking for a way out, and gambling promises easy money."
The NBA knows this. They know who's watching. They know who's betting. And yet, when athletes from those same communities get tangled in gambling scandals, the response is swift punishment with minimal mercy.
"The hypocrisy is stunning," says Rishe. "The leagues profit from gambling. They promote it. They encourage it. But when athletes engage with it—even tangentially—the hammer comes down. And it comes down hardest on young athletes without institutional protection."
Chauncey Billups: The Exception
The October 2025 indictment reveals something telling: Chauncey Billups is a Hall of Famer who earned over $100 million during his career. He has institutional power and credibility.
And yet he was allegedly involved in illegal poker games tied to organized crime families, allegedly luring victims into rigged games for a cut of the proceeds.
But Billups is being prosecuted as a criminal actor in an organized crime case, not as a gambling violator. He's being connected to the Mafia, not just to gambling.
Compare that to Jontay Porter. Porter shared information. Porter didn't coordinate with organized crime families. But Porter got a lifetime ban and disappeared from public consciousness.
Billups gets arrested as part of a mob investigation. Porter got erased from basketball.
The Systemic Failure
This isn't just about individual bad decisions. It's about a system that profits from gambling, promotes gambling, and then punishes the most vulnerable people when they get caught in the machinery.
The leagues have made billions from sports betting partnerships. They've turned their athletes into commodities for prop bets. They've saturated broadcasts with gambling content. They've normalized betting culture.
But they haven't provided corresponding education, support, or protection for athletes navigating this new landscape.
"Where's the financial literacy program specifically about gambling?" asks the former agent. "Where's the counseling for young athletes about predatory relationships? Where's the institutional support when an athlete gets approached by someone running a betting operation?"
The answer: it doesn't fully exist. The leagues profit from gambling but don't protect athletes from its consequences.
And when things go wrong, the punishment is selective. Some athletes—those with enough power, privilege, or market value—get grace. Others get erased.
The National Betting Association
Professional sports have become the National Betting Association. Gambling isn't adjacent to basketball, football, or baseball anymore—it's embedded in them. Every possession has odds. Every player has prop bets. Every game is a betting opportunity.
Jontay Porter is banned for life at 24. His career is over. His future is ruined. Meanwhile, the sportsbooks that profited from the information he shared are still operating. The people who exploited him are still running their operations. The NBA is still collecting checks from gambling partnerships.
Terry Rozier is facing federal charges. Chauncey Billups is accused of involvement with organized crime.
Some got grace. Some got destroyed. The difference wasn't always the severity of the violation. In the National Betting Association, the consequences are always severest for those with the least power.