The Reconstructionist: How PGA Tour CEO Brian Rolapp is Putting Golf Back Together

Brian Rolapp left the NFL to become CEO of the PGA Tour in the summer of 2025, walking away from two decades at a league he didn’t just rise inside of but helped build. The last several years of his career there he effectively ran the NFL business—the deals, the platforms and the broadcasts that turned an already dominant sport into the last appointment viewing left in American culture. He was the commissioner-in-waiting, the heir apparent to a job that pays more, commands more attention and carries far less daily uncertainty than the one he chose instead.

He left anyway, to lead a sport in the middle of an existential crisis it had largely caused itself. At age 54, he is a year into the job now, and his home office in Darien, Conn., has not caught up to the change. There is no golf memorabilia save for a family trophy, “The Rolapp Cup.” The football stuff has been left out of habit rather than sentiment, the residue of someone who has spent his career being told how good he is at what he does and has decided not to believe it. [...]

Ages 19 through 27 set the entire trajectory of his life, he says. He came home from his mission an almost-21-year-old college sophomore. Shortly after, his father died at 52. Rolapp met his wife, Cindy, not long after, married her, had his first child, and somewhere in that compressed timeframe became, in his own estimation, a person who knew what he wanted out of life at an age when most people don’t. “I think that’s kind of a rare thing,” he says, quietly enough that the sentence nearly disappears into the room.

The story of how he met Cindy is the one spot in hours of conversation where Rolapp’s voice picks up, faster, lighter, a story told at enough dinner parties to have worn itself smooth. He asked her out three times. The first go-around she said no; she had to watch her nieces. The second she had to do something for her grandmother. Rolapp assumed he was being gently but obviously turned down. A mutual friend assured him otherwise; that’s just who she is, she means it all literally. The third time, he asked if she wanted to get something to eat. Cindy said no; the Cowboys were playing the Cardinals on Monday Night Football, and she wanted to watch. She came over in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, having apparently spent zero time getting ready. His roommate told him after the game that if he didn’t ask her out again, he was an idiot.

Cindy has never cared, in the years since, what Brian does for a living, not out of indifference but by a deliberate boundary. “The only thing I care about,” he says, quoting her, “is that it doesn’t consume you, that it makes you a fuller human.” They do not talk about work at home. “Around the neighborhood, I was the NFL guy,” he says. “Now I’m probably the PGA Tour guy. Everyone else tries to define you by your job. I’m lucky to have a family that doesn’t.” For a while, that boundary lived in a small, deliberate joke—for years, Rolapp’s social media bio read simply “husband of one,” a wink at both the marriage and the faith it’s built on, a devout Mormon’s version of a punchline. It is, colleagues say, entirely on brand. Sincere enough to be meant, funny enough that nobody would mistake it for preaching. [...]

Rolapp’s title at the NFL was chief media and business officer. Officially, he ran league business operations; unofficially, he ran nearly everything at the NFL that wasn’t the games themselves. Media rights deals worth tens of billions of dollars went through his office along with the league’s digital strategy, built from basically nothing. When he started in 2003 the league was doing somewhere around $5 billion in revenue. This year, it will do roughly $23 billion. “I’m not saying I’m responsible for that,” he says, “but I was part of a hyper-growth stretch for a long time.”

Steve Bornstein, the former ESPN and NFL Network chief who recruited Rolapp from NBC to work at the NFL in 2003, says that’s underselling it. Bornstein says that Rolapp saw where the business was shifting—toward entertainment and media consumption onto phones and into digital spaces—years before that was conventional wisdom inside a league long organized around Sunday afternoons and cable carriage fees. What made him really effective, Bornstein says, had less to do with vision than with a habit most executives eventually lose. “It’s a person that listens and doesn’t just talk,” he says. “That’s his superpower. He listens, he synthesizes it, and then he asks intelligent, informed questions.”

Joe Siclare, the NFL’s longtime chief financial officer of 33 years, has never revised his first impression of Rolapp—smart, fluent in the media business in a way that never had to be re-earned. What Siclare remembers most isn’t the scope of Rolapp’s job so much as how he carried it. Rolapp rarely walked into a room already convinced he had the answer; he’d arrive with a position and let the facts move it, which Siclare came to see less as indecision than as a kind of discipline. “I think people felt like they worked with him, not for him.” [...]

Rolapp’s last stretch at the league is the clearest evidence of what all that listening and synthesizing produced. In March 2021, he oversaw the long-term media agreements that locked in Amazon, CBS, ESPN/ABC, Fox and NBC as the NFL’s broadcast partners for the next decade. He helped devise and implement the move of Sunday Ticket to YouTube, ending a more than 25-year run on satellite and transferring the league’s most devoted, highest-paying fans to a platform that didn’t exist when the package was created. He also led 32 Equity, the vehicle through which the league and its owners now make outside investments—one more example of building infrastructure for a business a decade before the rest of the industry admitted it needed one. 

“You’re only as good as your team,” Rolapp says, the closest thing to a mission statement in an otherwise unsentimental accounting of his own record.

That is precisely what makes his career change worth examining. Men who spend two decades succeeding inside one system rarely walk away from it at the moment of maximum leverage, and usually not for an organization in worse shape. “He was so valuable at what he did,” Lurie says, “that a lot of us, while genuinely happy for him, knew it was a devastating loss for the league.”

“I loved my job. I loved the NFL,” he says. “I probably could have done it forever.” He pauses on the word forever the way people do when they catch themselves nearly committing to something they no longer want. “To be honest, I was bored,” Rolapp says.

It’s a strange thing to admit about two decades that included a streaming buildout from scratch, a media-rights overhaul, and the slow migration of football from broadcast television to whatever comes after it—a stretch defined by constant change. That, Rolapp says, was also the problem. The change had become routine, the crises predictable, the same kinds of meetings producing the same kinds of decisions. There was less left to be curious about. He wasn’t looking for an exit, he says, but knew one was likely coming.

There was no obvious playbook for Rolapp’s new task. By the time he was named PGA Tour commissioner, the tour’s leadership had spent nearly two years locked in negotiations with Saudi Arabia’s Public Investment Fund and fans had grown exhausted by a schism that seemed indifferent to what they wanted.

What Rolapp did first was talk, in mostly informal sometimes hour-long conversations with players. The format, built around three questions, was almost naively simple for a man about to reorganize a multibillion-dollar sport: What do we do well? What don’t we do well? What would you change? What he found surprised him—a locker room that turned out to be smarter and more self-aware than its reputation suggested. He met players who loved the game without reservation but were more than ready to admit the tour itself had grown stale with too many events with too little imagination. As the months passed and the tour’s Future Competition Committee—the nine-person group led by Tiger Woods charged with reimagining the schedule—began to crystallize a direction, the conversations changed. “It became more of a validation of where we were going,” Rolapp says. “Still good. But different.”

This was different than the relationship he knew at the NFL, where the players’ union is collectively bargained, formal and distant by design. Golf was, at best, a fragile and personal trust between commissioner and competitors. That trust had frayed by the time Rolapp arrived, exacerbated by the tour’s surprise framework agreement with PIF in June 2023 that blindsided players who’d spent months publicly defending an institution that had been secretly negotiating with the enemy. Rolapp understood that whatever faith remained was thin, and that he wasn’t going to charm his way in. He went to work.

“I think he’s a guy that just kind of gets things done,” Scottie Scheffler said earlier this year at Bay Hill. “I met him last year at one of the playoff events. We sat down, and it was just, like, just getting right into it. He started asking questions and we started talking. It was like no nonsense—like, we’ve got an hour, let’s make the most of this hour. I loved it.”

“I clearly didn’t know a lot of things: how the tour worked, how the sport was set up, what was on the players’ minds,” Rolapp says. “But it’s also part of my leadership style. I’ve always believed humility and self-awareness are underrated leadership attributes, because they let somebody know what they don’t know. When you lose sight of that, that’s when leaders get in trouble, or they surround themselves with people who tell them what they want to hear, the classic yes men.”

by Joel Beall, Golf Digest |  Read more:

Image: Eric Ogden

[ed. Exactly what the sport needs. Contrast this leadership style with...oh, anyone else you can think of...]

Surfing the Bore Tide

The Allure and Peril of Riding an Alaskan Wave for Six Miles (NYT)

Image: Kerry Tasker

[ed. Not new but apparently increasing in popularity.]

Chinese All-Terrain Robots

 

[ed. Holy crap. Unitree's "Super Athlete". It'll take your gear up or down a mountain with ease and do a little pirouette at the end.]

The Most Effective Attacking Run at this World Cup

And why it works so well.

Heading into its quarter-finals, the 2026 World Cup had seen more than 90,000 passes, with close to 1,800 of those leading to chances on goal, and 2,367 shots, 280 of which found the back of the net.

These are some of football’s most quantifiable actions, simple to both track and evaluate their effectiveness because they involve the most important piece of equipment in the sport. The ball.

Naturally, players who move the ball closer to goal or are involved in possession sequences that end up in opportunities to score can be seen as impacting the game, the value of their actions derived from tangible outcomes.

But football is not a static sport. And as players move, they interact; swapping positions, creating spaces for others and dragging opponents into other areas of the pitch.

So what about decisions and movements without the ball, those that indirectly affect possession plays by creating that extra second of time and space for team-mates?

Developments in the quality and the availability of tracking data mean that some of football’s key off-ball movements are well-integrated into public analysis. But there is still ground to break when it comes to evaluating the secondary effects of off-ball runs on a wider scale: which ones are the most quietly effective, and who performs them best?

Using in-house data, FIFA’s Football Performance Insights team have noticed a trend.

Compared to previous World Cups, they have spotted that possessions including an off-ball run which targets the inside channels and the space in behind the opposition defence are leading to successful actions more frequently. In other words, attacking the gap between the widest defender and the centre-back nearest to them with a forward run is increasingly valuable.

Compared to the previous World Cup four years ago, possession sequences that include such a movement in the 2026 tournament are leading to around 2.7 shots on goal per 30 minutes of ball-in-play time — an increase of around 34 per cent.

Those runs are effective because they cause tension in the opponents’ defence. Most often, that full-back will have their eye on a winger, while the centre-back on that side will be tracking the striker.

A run from deep through that gap means one or the other has to leave their current player to follow it — and in the time it takes for the defenders to decide which of them should do that, the attacking player, with their forward momentum, has already stolen a march.

Here is an example from the round of 32, as England seek to break down a compact DR Congo defence, who are sitting a little deeper to try to get to extra time...

by Thom Harris, The Athletic |  Read more:

Images: uncredited/The Athletic

They’re the Best-Dressed Golfers in the World, and They’re Just Getting Started

The year is 2026, and the driving range at Riviera Country Club is packed with the best female golfers in the world for the United States’ national open. They’re wearing pleated pants, sweater vests and knitted polo shirts. Some are in ruffled skirts, others Bermuda shorts; a few are sporting long sleeves, others tank tops.

The No. 1 player in the world, Nelly Korda, is wearing a U.S. Men’s National Team soccer jersey, and Ina Kim-Schaad, the Mid-Amateur champion, has already gone viral for her wide-leg, high-waisted trousers, argyle cardigan and matching neck scarf.

What we’re seeing at events such as the U.S. Women’s Open and this week’s Evian Championship is only the beginning, and the women’s golf fashion space still has a long way to go in terms of variety, function and style. But those within the industry agree there is a window of opportunity, as companies are finally gathering the resources and utilizing the avenues needed to take off.

“It was just amazing to get the outpouring of support that I did,” Kim-Schaad, a former Wall Street trader turned sports psychologist, says. “And I do think that does signal, to some degree, that there is that craving for something different.”

There comes a time in every woman’s experience in golf when her attire is called into question. Whether it is the length of her skirt or the amount of her shoulders that is showing, country clubs and golf organizations have been policing women’s clothing since the moment they deigned to let women enter.

Professional players are increasingly buying into fashion choices that take full advantage of the freedom Michelle Wie West led the charge for during her LPGA playing days, from a creative and comfort standpoint. Now, the questions are shifting from “Is that allowed?” to “Where’d she buy that?”

You’d think it was the other way around. But the PGA Tour has more stringent attire policies than the LPGA Tour. Male touring professionals on the PGA Tour are required to wear long pants during competition and may wear shorts during practice rounds only if they are “knee-length, tailored and neat in appearance.” There is a 3-by-5-inch limit on logo size. The women on the LPGA are not subject to the same restrictions regarding their apparel or sponsorship logos.

The LPGA’s dress code is exactly one sentence: “Players are expected to dress in a professional manner and reflect a positive image to the public.”

Stephen and Erica Malbon, the couple behind the streetwear-inspired golf clothing company Malbon Golf, are never surprised when one of Jason Day’s splashy outfits gets flagged by the governing bodies in men’s golf. At the 2024 Masters, Augusta National famously asked Day to remove his sweater vest. So Malbon has naturally gravitated more heavily toward women’s golf fashion in recent years. Those same rules do not apply, and Malbon Women, with popular Englishwoman Charley Hull as its lead athlete, has been growing faster in popularity than they ever expected.

“The PGA (Tour) is like the no-fun police,” Stephen Malbon says. “The LPGA is like, be who you are, have fun, play and just get out here. I love that about women’s golf. The men look like sh– compared to the women, and it’s because the men can’t look good. What are you going to do with a polo and pants?”

As the women’s game has grown recreationally, so, too, has its fashion ecosystem. According to the National Golf Foundation, women account for 60 percent of the growth in on-course participation in the U.S. since 2019, aided by the sport’s boom during the pandemic. There are a record number of female golfers in the country, 7.9 million, topping the previous record of 7.1 million set in 2006, before participation dipped from 2007 to 2011 due to the recession.

“I think there’s been a trickle-down effect of OK, it’s not just old white guys playing golf anymore,” Erica Malbon says. “From our perspective in the industry, we want to make clothes that show people’s personalities, make a better offering for them to play golf and also feel fashionable and like themselves.” [...]

...]

Mastering women’s golf attire goes beyond keeping up with current styles or trends. It can be successful only if it prioritizes function while also providing options for differing preferences.

The sporting goods powerhouse considered new details, from certain silhouettes creating unwanted tan lines to the way a skirt drapes when a woman bends over to pick up her tee.

Any female golfer will tell you that women’s apparel has been plagued by one particular issue, which Nike has also addressed: pockets. The game is still figuring out how to incorporate pockets that are deep enough for yardage books, balls and tees. One tiny coin pocket placed on the very back side of a skirt or pair of pants just isn’t going to cut it.

Female golfers are especially in tune with the way clothing feels and looks on the body, too. Korda says she’s hyperaware of movement in her apparel — does it flow in the wind or stay stationary? Wie West says she isn’t fond of clothing that creates noise, so she avoids certain fabrics that cause her to hear herself while swinging. [...]

“The more diversity of design we have, the more women will feel like, wow, they’re really speaking to me, this feels authentic.”

Kim-Schaad says the majority of her golf wardrobe is not purchased from golf brands. She’d rather dress in styles that make her feel comfortable and confident than blend in with the rest.

“I think that’s the biggest thing. Guys have no problem all wearing the same polo. But for women, it’s actually very different,” Kim-Schaad says. “It’s how we show our own personal flair.

“The more diversity of design we have, the more women will feel like, wow, they’re really speaking to me, this feels authentic.”

by Gabby Herzig, The Athletic | Read more:
Images:Kelsea Petersen / The Athletic; Photos: Ryan Sirus, Dylan Buell, Brenton Tse / Getty Images; Warren Little / Getty Images; Sean Haffey / Getty;Scott Halleran / Getty Images
[ed. Watching the Evian this week I thought the same thing... women's golf attire sure has gotten stylish and cutting edge these days. Very modern and flattering. Other segments of the 'athleisure' industry (and beyond) should take note.]

Cape Verde Blue Sharks
Chandan Khanna/AFP/Getty Images
via: Where is Cape Verde? Meet the tiny African island nation upsetting World Cup giants (Guardian)

[ed. Love this photo - pure joy.]

My Horrible, No Good Weekend at the UFC White House Fight

[ed. I didn't waste ten brain cells thinking about this 'celebration' - before or after. I guess it happened.]

If January 6th was violent projectile vomit then the Ultimate Fighting Championship's Freedom 250 event on the south White House lawn this weekend was the miserable subsequent spew of diarrhea from our sick electoral body. [ed. Yow.]

I spent the weekend ambling around the grounds that sit in the shadow of the Washington Monument, watching as it was transmogrified into a grotesque mishmash of a NASCAR rally and the Gathering of the Juggalos. America's vast, sunburnt underbelly of sunglassed men with names that end in -ayden and their vacant-eyed girlfriends descended on DC to, at least in theory, celebrate President Donald Trump's birthday and watch dudes beat the shit out of each other in a ring sponsored by crypto casinos, the now-unwoke Bud Light, and Saudi real estate, soundtracked by Godsmack and Diddy. The winning fighters received a special red, white, and blue raspberry "liberty juice" from Monster Energy to drink on camera and $425,000 worth of Trump's crypto tokens for their trouble.

I went into this weekend with a fairly open mind. There is something actually endearing about opening up the White House grounds to the public for a fun event that families can go to. But after 48 hours throwing back some of the most disgusting $30 margaritas I've ever had the misfortune of suffering through, my conclusion is that UFC's Freedom 250 could have only been dreamed up by a president and a fighting league that fucking loathes their own supporters.

I haven't experienced this level of profound pity for the average person attending an event since I used to report on crypto conventions. Which is appropriate, seeing as how Crypto.com was one of the high-level sponsors this weekend. At events like Ethereum Denver and Bitcoin Miami I met the same nice, normal-ish people looking for a good time, dropped seemingly unaware into a system designed to drain every last dollar out of them. If you are a UFC fan and you are reading this, please listen to me. I have now seen the machine up close. UFC CEO Dana White hates you. He doesn't even think you're a human being. [...]

On Saturday, we showed up early and still waited in line for nearly an hour in the blistering sun before we could get into the park. It got so bad that organizers started half-heartedly throwing water bottles at us. I joked that maybe the delays were because the TSA was running the security, only for my jaw to drop when we reached the gate and discover that, in fact, yes, the TSA was manning the metal detectors. Every guest also had to be searched by a Secret Service agent.

UFC reportedly paid $60 million to hold the fight at the White House. White, in a press conference on Sunday, said they would never do it again because of how expensive it was (they made about half the cost back in sponsorships). But it's unclear if they also paid for all the different law enforcement agencies to work the event. Aside from TSA and Secret Service, I spotted Homeland Security officers, US Park Police, DEA officers, the National Guard, and a whole bunch of local law enforcement. I am the last person to whine about the sanctity of law enforcement, but even I found it monstrous and depressing that our various law enforcement agencies were reduced to festival security.

Once we got into the Ellipse, there was shockingly little to do. You could take a photo in front of a WWE championship belt (both the UFC and the WWE are owned by the TKO Group), drink the aforementioned expensive alcohol, eat at a handful of food stands, take a photo with Monster Energy Drink booth babes, watch a guy rev a car in place at the RAM pop up, visit Meta AI's VR exhibit, and mindlessly stand in the field and watch Turning Point USA commercials play on a loop all day — complete with a Charlie Kirk voiceover. On the second day, they at least added a mechanical bull.

Beyond the TPUSA ads on the big screens, there was very little in the way of actual programming. On Saturday, there were some brief interviews with UFC fighters no one watched, the official weigh-in, which was bungled in ways we'll discuss in a sec, and a performance by the Zac Brown Band, where I watched what was quite possibly the worst guitar solo I've ever heard in my entire life. The night ended with, I'm not kidding, one single firework.

On Sunday, before the fight, there was a live taping of Logan Paul's Impaulsive podcast, which featured the Kick streamer Ninadrama, real name Nina Marie Daniele. The men in the crowd around me all started asking each other who she was. I'm not a prude and I am very aware that the entire weekend was based around a sport where men beat each other to a bloody pulp, but I, again, felt a bottomless pit of despair in my stomach looking around at all the families watching Paul and Daniele talk about how she should sell feet pics and why her Instagram followers keep making jokes about fingering her. Is this the best we can do? Is what we are? If Logan Paul's podcast is the result of 250 years of the American experiment then it was a failed experiment. [...]

Though I'm not sure the complete lack of amenities — and places to sit (I guess chairs are woke) — mattered to the UFC diehards that traveled from all over the world to watch the fight on Sunday night. I spoke to fans from across the US, Canada, and even further, none of whom seemed to be thinking particularly deeply about any of this. For what it's worth, they were all fairly nice. And the majority of them didn't even realize the event was connected to Trump's birthday until I reminded them. The big focus, instead, was gambling. Based on my own personal survey of attendees, it was split fairly evenly between FanDuel and DraftKings. And it seems like even the Trumps were trying to get in on the action. [...]

It wasn't just the question of "what is America" that loomed over the whole weekend for me, though. I also wondered whether this was all even worth it. Not just White's $60 million investment, but, also, Trump's continued endorsement of hypermasculine gutter culture. Can you feed a political movement with jalapeño vodka slams, Monster Energy Drinks, and potato chip skewers? The modern Republican Party has always been a coalition of vampiric aristocrats and a roving tailgate of redneck dopes, but at least the party of Reagan and Bush was smart enough to LARP as some mythic cowboy archetype. Do the JD Vance's and Marco Rubio's of the world think there is a path forward after Trump if they can capture the "guy who wears an Affliction T-shirt in the pool" vote?

As annoying as this weekend was, however, I actually think it's made me more optimistic about American politics than I've felt in a decade. I have seen what the combined power of Trump's oligarch cronies and their money can do. How weak and lazy it all is. How little impact and support $60 million buys them. A barren field, a sporting event that you had to buy Paramount+ to even watch, a bunch of "celebrities" no one's ever heard of, an undersold free event full of people who literally forgot it was Trump's birthday party!

by Ryan Broderick, Garbage Day |  Read more:

Image: uncredited

[ed. See also: Oiled-Up, Half-Naked Men Entertain President On 80th Birthday (Wonkette):]

***

Something around $30 million dollars was spent to turn the South Lawn of the White House into a giant cage fighting ring called “The Claw.” Behind it, on The Ellipse, was a small UFC festival. There was a large stage; scantily clad ring-girls; dumpy MAGA dudes in America-themed sleeveless T-shirts; bars shilling $12 Budweiser, $20 whiskey or tequila cocktails, $4 12 oz. cups of water; $25 burgers and kielbasas called “Giant Western Sausages”; portable chemical toilets; and two “free water” stations. There were two or three large stores offering a seemingly endless supply of UFC and Freedom 250 merchandise, like trading cards, T-shirts, hats, fingerless gloves and novelty championship belts. [...]

It should be noted that general admission tickets to the Fan Experience on the Ellipse were free, and seemingly given out at random to anyone who signed up on the UFC site. There were also some special VIP packages for deep-pocketed investors that ranged up to $1.5 million. [...]

But why not? It’s a goddamn UFC fight on the South Lawn! It’s like a grisly highway crash that backs up traffic for miles. Eventually, you creep close enough to submit to your lesser human instincts and gawk like a shaved ape when you finally pass the smoldering wreckage.

You Can Make Free Money on Polymarket. If You Know Math.

Betting is fundamentally about risk: You might win or you might lose. But what if you could always win?

Enter prediction markets, sites that let users bet on pretty much anything. Most of those users lose. But a savvy few have made a fortune using basic math.

Prediction sites like Polymarket and Kalshi offer many of the same markets. And usually, they post the same odds.

But sometimes the odds diverge — like in these markets about the 2028 Democratic presidential primary race.

In March, Kalshi had Gavin Newsom’s odds of winning at 29 percent, but Polymarket had them at 24 percent. These disparities are good news, if you’re gambling.

Taking both sides of the same bet is usually a wash. But not when there’s a price disparity.

In the example with Mr. Newsom, imagine you bought “Yes” on Polymarket, for 24 cents, and also “No” on Kalshi, for 71 cents.

If Mr. Newsom wins, then Polymarket owes you a dollar.

If he loses, then Kalshi owes you a dollar.

One of these bets must be a winner — so you’re guaranteed to make a dollar. But because of the disparity, you’ll only have spent 95 cents on the bets.

If this sounds like printing money, that’s because it basically is. It’s called “arbitrage,” long a favorite strategy of quantitative traders trying to juice profits from the stock market with minimal risk. You buy something at a cheap price, and simultaneously sell it at a more expensive price. It’s a win-win.

Some bettors are now using the same strategy to rake in thousands of dollars from online prediction sites. Moving quickly, they can take advantage of price gaps between exchanges like Polymarket and Kalshi, or even between the prediction sites and sports-betting sites like DraftKings and FanDuel. The wider the spread, the bigger the potential profit.

Ryan Noel, 25, has built a career arbitrage-betting (or “arbing,” as he calls it) during sports games. He regularly makes more than 1,000 arbitrage bets per week on prediction sites like Polymarket, Kalshi, Novig and ProphetX, in addition to online sportsbooks, he said.

“Software shows me the price of every sort of market at the same time,” said Mr. Noel, who started arbing in late 2023, while working as an actuary, before quitting his job last year. So far, the strategy has netted him more than $1 million, he said. “I don’t care about sports at all. I think watching sports is the most boring thing you can do with your time. I’m a mathematician.”

Math skills are essential — but so are the right tools, said Aidan Gawlowski, a Chicago-based college student who started arbing last year before coding his own software to hunt down prediction-market price discrepancies. Mr. Noel buys software from OddsJam, Pick the Odds and Bookie Beats that tracks price changes across thousands of markets, flagging the possible arbitrage.

“I figured out that there was this opportunity,” said Mr. Gawlowski, 21, who said he started betting when he was 14. “You’re mathematically guaranteed to make money.”

Some moneymaking opportunities last longer than others. The arbitrage with Mr. Newsom? It existed, unexploited, for weeks. During that period, you could’ve bought “Yes” on Polymarket and “No” on Kalshi, for a roughly 3 percent profit. (The probability spread of around five percentage points, minus Kalshi’s transaction fee.)

But there are a couple of reasons that opportunity was an anomaly. For one, the market doesn’t resolve for two years. That’s a long time to tie up money you could invest elsewhere, said Abraham Wyner, a professor of statistics and data science at the Wharton School at Penn. There’s also additional risk that some bets carry more than others: What if the election gets weird, and the sites don’t agree on what defines a Newsom nomination? Then, you might lose both sides of your bet.

That was enough to deter Mr. Noel and Mr. Gawlowski, who spend most of their time arbing on sports. There are loads of sites that let users bet on sports, meaning more chances for price discrepancies. And during games, odds must constantly update to keep up with live developments. That process takes time, which can translate into arbitrage opportunities.

“You can make a significant amount of money on a big N.B.A. day,” Mr. Gawlowski said. During sports games, Mr. Noel’s price-tracking programs catch an arbitrage opportunity every minute or so, he said.

These discrepancies often emerge when casual users, betting based on vibes, move a market just a hair out of alignment. Then arb bettors pounce, and their actions end up evening the odds across the sites again.

Taking advantage of these short-lived opportunities is hard enough for you and me. But the window is closing even for bettors like Mr. Noel and Mr. Gawlowski, as big financial institutions get in on the action with automated bots that can trade faster than any human. [...]

“Back in 2022, these arbitrage opportunities would last 30 seconds,” said Alex Llewellyn, 36, a professional sports bettor. “These days I execute bets in two to five seconds. And instead of 8 percent arbs, you generally see 4 to 5 percent.” [...]

Prediction sites, awash in Wall Street money and bots, are heading toward the same fate as other major financial markets. One-tenth of the top one percent of accounts on Polymarket rake in more than two-thirds of the profits, a Wall Street Journal analysis found.

“You’re not betting against Joe Schmo anymore,” said Alex Monahan, the founder of OddsJam. “You’re betting against a quant firm with infinitely better technology than you.”

by Evan Gorelick and Katherine Chui, NY Times | Read more:
Image: uncredited
[ed. Forget the opioid crisis - so yesterday. These days everybody's got a gambling addiction. Here's a different form of arbitrage: Net Gain (NYT):]

***

For the first game of the N.B.A. finals, my friends and I went to a bar offering a deal that seemed too good to be true: If the Knicks won, the bar would cover every customer’s tab, up to $100.

As tipoff approached, young people variously clad in starched button-downs and Brunson jerseys galloped from nearby Midtown offices for a chance at free booze. The line snaked around the block, and the bouncer made a show of blocking the front entrance. People screeched at one another. My buddy, already inside, shooed me in through a side door. (I heard someone whine, “Why does he get to go in?”)

Three hours later, when the Knicks overcame a 14-point deficit to take down the Spurs, strangers in the crowd were hugging and high-fiving. Outside, a passing garbage truck honked its horn in celebration. The entire city seemed to be shouting with joy. And at the Jeffrey, which bills itself as a neighborhood spot for “craft beer, cocktails and bites,” 726 beers, 385 cocktails and 175 smash burgers were on the house.

Over the hedge

When someone hands you a freebie, by all means: Take it. But you and I both know there ain’t no such thing as a truly free lunch. So while downing drinks, I kept asking myself whose money I was taking.

Turns out, it belonged to Kalshi users who’d bet on San Antonio — in other words, deadbeats and turncoats who had it coming. (Kidding! Kind of.) Before the game, the bar’s owner, a 50-year-old corporate lawyer, had used the prediction market to bet $5,000 on the Knicks. Since the Spurs were the favorites, that position netted him around $8,000 when New York prevailed — enough to cover nearly everything the crowd had consumed. If the Knicks had lost, the bar would’ve been out the $5,000, but it could have covered its losses with all those drinks and smashburgers. (Plus the free publicity — you’re welcome.)

Why Pro Golf is Full of Bad Marriages

Early in my career, a person I respected told me to find a woman who didn’t know who I was. On the surface, it made sense. Marry someone who isn’t chasing the lifestyle, isn’t measuring you by your World Ranking, loves you for reasons that have nothing to do with your sponsors.

The reasoning is airtight. What such a relationship does to your game is another matter.

I’m not talking about bad marriages. For most guys out here, the right partner is the only reason any of this is sustainable. She’s running the house, the kids, the calendar, the bills while you’re three time zones away missing a cut by one. She’s the voice on the phone Sunday night calming you down after a closing 74. The right person at home is the most underrated edge in professional golf, and it’s not close. Plenty of guys would have washed out years ago without the unglamorous, unphotographed work of a spouse holding their life together. That’s what makes the harder cases so confusing. Sometimes the genuinely supportive spouse or girlfriend, the person doing everything correctly by any normal standard, can wire backward into bad golf.

A lot of the best players out here have been with the same person since before they were famous. The high school sweetheart, the college girlfriend—she’s been there through the grind. She was there in the mini-tour years when you were sharing a rental car with your caddie and eating at McDonald’s. She watched you miss cuts and come home deflated and go right back out the following week. She knows what a Monday qualifier looks like. She understands why you’re on the range at 7 in the evening when the tournament ended at 4. She’s not asking why you’re binging course footage instead of Netflix. She’s been shown a thousand demonstrations of what this life actually requires, and somewhere along the way made peace with it. That’s no small thing. That’s years of negotiation that never have to be spoken aloud because the terms were established before anyone had anything to negotiate over. That dynamic works.

The woman who meets you when you’re already out here, who falls for the version of you that’s successful and sponsored and on television, she’s meeting a finished product. She didn’t sign up for the obsession because she never saw the ugly underbelly that often powers it. She saw the result, which can look from the outside like a man who plays golf for a living and has a lot of free time. Explaining the difference is harder than it sounds, and some guys never quite manage it.

Sometimes relationship dynamics shift. Some guys hit their mid-30s, their kids are getting older, and they want a change. They don’t want to wake up and find the children are off to college, that they missed ballgames and birthdays, that their kids barely recognize them. That’s a man getting his priorities straight. It’s often the same deal with a second marriage. Players who’ve been through a divorce are usually not making the same personal mistakes twice. The issues that ended the first marriage—usually just travel and time, not anything scandalous—are front of mind. That player has done the reflection. He’s had the hard conversations, probably with a therapist, definitely with himself at midnight in a hotel room on the back nine of a bad season. He knows where things went wrong, so he adjusts. He softens. He eases the schedule, comes home earlier, takes fewer optional practice rounds, skips a pre-tournament trip he would have previously considered non-negotiable. He texts back faster. He’s present in the ways he wasn’t before. By most human measures, he is better. But the game has no interest in what’s reasonable or mature. It only knows what you give it.

That’s the uncomfortable truth at the center of all this. Professional golf doesn’t reward balance. The guys at the top of the world rankings are not balanced people. They are obsessive, single-minded, occasionally impossible to be around and completely fine with all of that. When a player starts genuinely dividing his attention—not just his time, but his mental energy, his hunger—his golf notices before he does. His best is still very good. It just doesn’t happen as often, and out here, the real trick is getting the most out of yourself when your best isn’t available, so that’s exactly where you see the drop off.

The genuine disasters—the controlling spouses who create scenes, who make demands of agents and sponsors, who insert themselves into decisions that have nothing to do with them—are rarer than tour gossip might suggest. Most of the horror stories are exaggerated, or they’re about friction on the business side rather than anything that touches the actual golf. Even then, it’s not always a straight line to worse tournament results. I know one player whose wife was, by consensus among everyone who dealt with her, a complete nightmare. Managers, sponsors, tournament officials—everyone had a story. Yet, this guy played some of the best golf of his life when she was at her worst. (After the kids, she settled down.) The explanation I heard from a mutual friend made more sense than it should have: If she was going to cause that much trouble, he’d better make the whole thing worth it. Sometimes chaos focuses a man. It’s not a model I’d recommend, but I’ve seen stranger things produce birdies.

by The Undercover Pro w/Joel Beall, Golf Digest |  Read more:
Image: Madison Ketcham

[ed. Probably applicable to many other sports, as well. And there are so many 'distractions' out there.]

Bye, Bye SI

On Friday, several of Sports Illustrated’s best and brightest writers, or what remains of them, announced they’d been laid off.

Jeff Pearlman, who made his bones as a journalist for SI when it was one of the world’s most prominent sports magazines, had his heart broken all over again.

Among those who said on social media that they’d been laid off were Stephanie Apstein, Tyler Lauletta, Kyle Koster, and Mike McDaniel. Meanwhile, Front Office Sports reported that several longtime writers — including Greg Bishop and Michael Rosenberg — were laid off as part of the latest round of cuts at SI.

This is, of course, just the latest in a long series of cuts and reorganizations for the once-proud sports media brand that now trades on its reputation to create merchandise, resorts, and mostly mediocre editorial content, sometimes aided by AI.

“As a guy who wrote for Sports Illustrated for a long time and a guy who loves Sports Illustrated, like loves, loves, loves… this stuff carves me up,” Pearlman said in a TikTok video. “And it’s one thing that they get rid of writers, they lay people off. What I hate the most is that these corporate douchebags who have taken over the magazine view it just as a name now.

“That’s all Sports Illustrated is. It’s a name. It’s something to put on cruise ships. It’s something to put on clubs. It’s something to put on popcorn. Literally, there’s a Sports Illustrated popcorn. It’s something to put on whatever you can shove that thing on. That’s what it is now. Sports Illustrated has become nothing more than a way to attract people… It’s just so disturbing.”

Pearlman then ran down the who’s-who list of prominent sports writers who once graced the magazine’s pages. [...]

Pearlman, who left SI in 2002, says he could see the writing on the wall even back then.

“I started knowing SI was in trouble, I would say, for me, a couple of things,” Pearlman said. “Number one, when they f*cked up adjusting to the internet. Big time screw-up. Number two, when they laid off all of their photographers, considering it’s literally Sports Illustrated. Number three, when they just decided to destroy their library. Like, literally take the SI library, which was awesome, and just give it away.

“And now here we sit. The last of their name writers gone. Now, basically an empty vessel for selling sh*t to idiots and for getting people to gamble away their money on sports. It sucks. It’s a dark day in sports.”

by Sean Keeley, Awful Announcing|  Read more:

Image: Sports Illustrated Resorts, Jeff Pearlman

[ed. Rolling Stone business model.]

Your Backpack Got Worse On Purpose

VF Corporation started as Vanity Fair Mills. Bras and underwear. They paid $762 million for a company called Blue Bell and picked up JanSport in the deal. That acquisition made them the largest publicly traded clothing company in the world.

Then they went shopping.

In 2000, they bought The North Face. Same year, they bought Eastpak. In 2004, Kipling. In 2007, Eagle Creek. By the time they were done, VF Corporation controlled an estimated 55% of the US backpack market.

More than half. One company.

Every time you stood in a store in the 2010s and compared a JanSport to a North Face to an Eastpak, you were comparing three labels owned by the same parent corporation. Same earnings call. Same margin targets. Same quarterly pressure. The sense that you were choosing between competitors was a fiction that VF Corp had no incentive to correct.

Competition is what kept these brands honest when they were independent. If JanSport built a shitty bag in 1985, you walked across the aisle and bought an Eastpak instead. That threat disciplined every material choice, every stitch count, every zipper spec. Once they all report to the same parent, the discipline evaporates. Nobody needs to outbuild anybody. The only pressure left is the one coming from above: hit the margin target.

The easiest way to hit a margin target is to make everything a little worse, across the board, all at once.

What they changed

Denier count is the most measurable indicator of fabric durability. It measures fiber thickness. A bag made with 1000-denier Cordura nylon can survive years of daily use. Drop that to 600-denier polyester and you have a bag that looks identical on the shelf and lasts half as long.

Denier counts dropped across VF Corp's backpack lines.

YKK makes the best zippers on earth. They're Japanese, they cost more per unit, and brands that care about longevity use them because a zipper failure kills a bag faster than fabric wear. On VF Corp's lower-tier models, YKK hardware got swapped for generic alternatives. A few cents saved per unit across millions of bags.

Stitching density went down. More stitches per inch means stronger seams. Fewer stitches means faster production. When you're running millions of units through factories in Vietnam, Bangladesh, and Cambodia, shaving seconds off each seam saves serious money. It also creates failure points at every spot where the bag takes stress. Strap junctions. Zipper terminations. The bottom panel.

None of this shows up on the shelf. The colors are right. The logos are crisp. The product photography is excellent. You discover what you actually bought three months in, when the stitching pulls apart at every stress point.

Someone in the industry pushed back on an earlier version of this piece with a fair point: VF Corp's brands still operate with their own design teams and their own headquarters. The brands aren't literally merged. And the premium tiers within North Face and JanSport still use quality materials. The Summit Series from TNF still has Cordura. You can still find a JanSport with YKK zippers if you know where to look.

All of that is true. But it actually makes the argument worse, not better.

The fact that VF Corp kept the premium tiers intact while degrading the entry-level and mid-range products means this was a deliberate segmentation strategy. They still make the good version. They just also sell a garbage version under the same trusted name, in the same stores, to the people who don't know the difference. The brand reputation built by decades of quality products is now being used to move cheap products to buyers who trust the logo.

Walmart's JanSport and REI's JanSport are not the same bag. But they carry the same name, and that's the point. The name is doing the selling. The product doesn't have to.

The warranty is doing the same thing

JanSport still advertises a lifetime warranty. It sounds like a company that stands behind its product.

Go try to use it.

You ship the bag back at your own expense. That runs $12 to $25 depending on size and where you live. You wait three to six weeks. That's the current turnaround per JanSport's own warranty page. Then they evaluate the damage.

"Normal wear and tear" isn't covered. Only "defects in materials and workmanship." Think about what that means for a bag engineered to last two years. When it starts falling apart at eighteen months, that failure can be classified as the product reaching its expected lifetime, not as a defect. The warranty language is structurally designed to exclude the exact type of failure the product is now built to have.

People who do get warranty replacements report receiving bags that are worse than the one they sent in. Thinner fabric. Cheaper hardware. You mailed back a 2016 JanSport and got a 2025 JanSport, and those are fundamentally different products.

The warranty used to be legendary. JanSport used to be the brand people cited when they talked about companies that actually stood behind their stuff. That reputation still exists in people's memories. The warranty now runs on that leftover trust.

One person told me they called about getting a zipper replaced on a JanSport from the late 90s. They were told it was normal wear and tear. They tried tailors, got quoted $50 to $100 for a new zipper. They looked at buying a new JanSport and saw how far the quality had fallen. They ended up buying a used backpack at a thrift store for four dollars.

Ten to twenty used bags for the price of one new one that'll fall apart. That's where we're at.

by Keyana Sapp, Worse on Purpose | Read more:
Image: via
[ed. See also: Your Dinner Got Worse On Purpose (WoP):]

***

A truck pulls into the alley behind two restaurants. Same truck, same hand cart, same flats of frozen jalapeño poppers walking through two different kitchen doors that share a back wall. Two different menus, two different price-points… the exact same food supplies.

The truck is Sysco. They deliver to more than 400,000 of the ~749,000 restaurants in America. Roughly one in every two. The steak and eggs at a diner in the Texas Panhandle and the steak and eggs at a breakfast joint in northern Maine taste functionally identical because they came off the same pallet at the same distribution center, processed against the same private-label spec, on the same line, by people who never knew which restaurant the boxes were headed to.

This is what the system was built to produce. The same dinner, served to 400,000 different rooms, by people who think they are running their own restaurants.

The truck stops everywhere

Sysco does not just feed independent restaurants. They feed hospitals, federal prisons, military bases, public schools, and the food service companies that supply the cafeterias of the United States Capitol. Fiscal year 2025 closed at $81.4 billion in net sales. The customer count sits at roughly 730,000 across 10 countries, with 337 distribution centers and around 1,719 employed drivers.

The thing people should understand is what those numbers do at the supplier layer. When Sysco moves a spec on a chicken breast, the spec moves on the plate of a restaurant-goer, a public school kid and a federal prisoner in the same week. When Sysco strikes a single supplier deal for frozen seafood, the cafeteria at the United States Congress and the chow line at the Bureau of Prisons end up with the same case from the same boat. [...]

The clam chowder in a New England diner and the clam chowder in a Florida diner come out of the same Sysco can. The biscuits at a Tennessee breakfast joint and the biscuits at a Wisconsin one come from the same frozen case. Regional cuisine, the kind that used to be the reason people drove to a particular restaurant in a particular town, requires regional ingredients and regional suppliers and a chef with the leverage to source both. As Frerick put it, “every independent diner becomes an off-brand Denny's."

Among line cooks, the saying is simpler. “When a Sysco truck pulls up to the loading dock, the kitchen has stopped trying.”

Dr. Bobby

Bobby Wagner, former Seahawks star, earns honorary doctorate from Utah State.

Former Seahawk Bobby Wagner … oops. Former Seahawk Dr. Bobby Wagner had to crack a few jokes when he took the stage at Utah State University’s graduation last week.

Wagner, who played for the Seahawks from 2012 to 2021 and again in 2023, returned to his alma mater on April 29 as the commencement speaker. During the ceremony, Wagner received an honorary doctoral degree from Utah State.

“If you didn’t know, my name is now Dr. Bobby Wagner,” Wagner said. “And to any family members here, you need to update my name in your phone. It’s ‘Dr.’ now. I will no longer respond to ‘Bobby.’ It’s Dr. only.”

The honorary doctorate adds to a long list of accolades that Wagner has collected throughout his career. In addition to his Super Bowl win with the Seahawks, he is a 10-time Pro Bowler and six-time All-Pro. Wagner also was named the 2025 Walter Payton NFL Man of the Year.

Wagner’s jokes were on display when he accepted that award, too.

“I really didn’t think I was going to win this award,” Wagner said on stage after learning he won the Walter Payton award. “I almost didn’t even come to be honest. I’m glad I did.”

While accepting that honor back in February, Wagner delivered a speech that balanced humor with thoughtful reflection and gratitude for his mother who died of stroke complications when Wagner was a student athlete at Utah State.

Speaking to a crowd of more than 6,000 graduates in late April, Wagner joked about how lucky the graduating class was to have a Target in town, a luxury that wasn’t around during his time, before telling the story of how he ended up at Utah state.

He recalled a winter visit he made to the university with his mother. On the trip, he was offered a scholarship and despite having no other scholarship offers, Wagner told his mother he wanted to take his chances.

“She told me I either accept the scholarship, or I wasn’t coming back home,” Wagner said standing at the podium. “Back then there was no Ubers. There was no NIL. I wasn’t getting paid. So, I accepted the scholarship.”

“One of the things that taught me was the place you least expect to be is the place you’re exactly supposed to be,” Wagner said.

Wagner went on to be a four-year starter at Utah State, leading the program to their first bowl game in 14 years. He tied the school record with 446 career tackles and earned various other individual honors.

After graduating, Wagner was selected by the Seahawks in the second round of the 2012 draft.

The linebacker’s speech continued on, talking about the importance of building connections and going after personal goals. In addition to his NFL career, Wagner has various off-field pursuits including the Phenia Mae Fund and FAST54 that promote stroke education in honor of his mother. Wagner also recently earned his MBA from the Howard University School of Business.

Wagner’s 15-minute speech was threaded with jokes, including some well received trash talk.

“It’s fun to be able to talk trash to every other school, like I tell them, ‘I don’t know, Stanford’s cool, but it’s not Utah State,’ you know what I mean?” Wagner said.

by Sofia Schwarzwalder, Seattle Times | Read more:
Image: Dean Rutz/Seattle Times
[ed. Dr. Bobby. Blessed with class and talent. Seattle's been lucky. We've had Ichiro, too.]

LIV R.I.P.

LIV Golf will soon be gone. Its collateral damage will linger.

LIV Golf is on life support. The circuit that promised to disrupt the sport by liberating players and democratizing power is losing support from Saudi Arabia's Public Investment Fund. Its architect, PIF governor Yasir Al-Rumayyan, has stepped down. A recent event was postponed, the league citing heat and a soccer scheduling conflict. LIV insists the project continues, scaled down from its Golf But Louder origins, with a restructured board of directors hoping to find new investment to keep it running come 2027. The rest of the evidence is harder to soften. No funding, no captain, no fanbase to absorb the financial and reputational weight the league is now dragging, its marquee star Bryson DeChambeau openly entertaining a return to the tour he sued.

Should LIV's attempt at survival fail, it leaves behind a landscape permanently altered—Fissures that will take years to close, loyalties that calcified under pressure, and a generation of fans that watched the sport they love hold itself hostage. It is tempting to declare winners. This is understandable and mostly wrong. Let's be precise about what happened, because there is a specific kind of silence that follows a standoff that neither side truly won, with the participants left wondering what, exactly, they were fighting for.

LIV Golf was not, at its core, a golf league. It was a geopolitical instrument. Saudi Arabia spent an estimated $5 million to $8 billion on the venture because soft-power exercises work. PIF understood, correctly, that associating the kingdom's brand with the game was worth more than any conventional PR campaign could deliver. The players who signed were not naive about this. Some convinced themselves the cause was separable from the source. Others simply didn't care. Both positions were defensible in their own way, and both were, ultimately, wrong.

The LIV product was mediocre, although that was besides the point. What made LIV genuinely, existentially dangerous was its bottomlessness, and the greed that bottomlessness unleashed. There is no conventional competitive response to an opponent who has decided that losses are acceptable. The PGA Tour spent a century building a system of merit. LIV walked in and wrote checks that made that system feel like a prank. When Dustin Johnson signed, when Brooks Koepka and Bryson DeChambeau and Jon Rahm signed, each name felt like another stone pulled from a wall that had seemed permanent.

The tour suspended the defectors, asked its remaining membership to fight for the league, then reversed course and announced a framework deal before the deal existed. It was the behavior of an institution that had never gamed out the scenario it was now living through. Jay Monahan was right to fight. He was wrong to pretend, for as long as he did, that the fight was about the integrity of the sport rather than the preservation of the tour. The PGA Tour outlasted its opponent in part because a foreign government decided to redirect its attention elsewhere. That is not the same as winning. The tour had strategy and endurance. It also had luck, and the difference between strategy and luck is the kind of thing institutions are tempted to revise in their own favor afterward.

The professional golf landscape after LIV looks like a neighborhood after a flood—structurally intact in most places, yet waterlines on the walls everywhere you look. The players who stayed, who watched colleagues leave, who made the calculation that their careers and their principles required them to remain, who played through the uncertainty of a tour that was simultaneously suing a competitor and negotiating with it, were never celebrated for staying. Loyalty tends not to be. You are left with the satisfaction of having made a decision you can live with, and you get to watch the tour eventually extend an olive branch to the men who burned it. [...]

The most lasting damage may be the hardest to quantify, which is the goodwill of the audience. Golf as a participation sport was growing before LIV, lifted by a pandemic-era surge that had introduced millions of new players to the game and returned millions of lapsed ones to it. Rounds played hit a 40-year high. Equipment sales broke records. Junior participation climbed. The sport had momentum it had not felt in a generation, and the timing was rare, a confluence of cultural availability and demographic interest that the industry had spent decades trying to manufacture. It then spent the next five years asking that audience to care about a labor dispute between multi-millionaires and a sovereign wealth fund.

The casual fan, always the most important and most fragile constituency in any sport, is not an idealist. That fan understands athletics are not synonymous with saints. However, that fan requires the sport to be primarily about sport. LIV made that impossible. Every tournament existed inside a larger conversation about money and loyalty and the kingdom's human-rights record, a conversation most fans had neither the appetite nor the obligation to follow. The hardcore audience stayed. The hardcore audience always stays. But the viewer who had started watching after 2020, who was learning the rhythms of the season, who had not yet decided whether this was a sport that belonged in the rotation alongside the NFL and the NBA—that viewer was handed an exit ramp, week after week, for five years. Some took it. The industry will be measuring the cost of that for a long time.

The damage was particularly harmful because it was cumulative, a slow tax on attention paid in storylines nobody asked for. Golf exhausted its fans quietly. That is, in certain ways, harder to recover from. The current effort to frame Yasir's departure, PIF's pullout, and the postponement of the New Orleans event as "strategic decisions" is part of the same pattern. What this moment does offer is clarity. For five years, golf operated under an atmospheric pressure of uncertainty. Would the deal happen, would more players leave, would the framework collapse, would the Saudis walk away? That pressure is lifting. The air is cleaner. You can see farther. [...]

There is a version of this story that ends on the triumphalist note. Golf survived! The sport is resilient! That version is incomplete. What LIV revealed, underneath the politics and the money and the posturing, was a question the sport had long avoided asking itself directly: What is professional golf actually for? Is it a meritocracy or only in name? Is it a global sport, or a primarily American entity with global marketing? Are its players independent contractors or franchise assets? Does the history of the game belong to the tour that administers it, or to the game itself? These are not new questions. LIV pulled them into the light and refused to let anyone look away.

The soul of golf has never belonged to a tour or a sovereign wealth fund or a television contract. It belongs to the men and women who play the game, watch it, argue about it. Who make any of this matter in the first place. They were sidelined, asked to spectate a fight they did not start. The game has outlasted wars and scandals and its own periodic conviction that it was dying. Not gracefully, not cleanly, but through a stubborn refusal to be finished. For five years the sport lived that refusal out loud, without much dignity. Survival means little without an accounting of what it cost.

by Joel Beall, Golf Digest |  Read more:

Image: Icon Sportwire

[ed. See also: LIV Golf members have reached out to PGA Tour about return, but terms and pathways will be more restrictive (GD).]

Sports Go Sports

The Trump administration tries to set broad NCAA policy by fiat, as in Executive Order, demanding a five-year eligibility cap, one free transfer, national agent registry, medical care protections for athletes, women’s/Olympic sport protections and a ban on NIL collectives it calls ‘fraudulent schemes.’

This is not how our government works, but Trump would to just declare things, so he’s trying to threaten NIH or other funding to force the universities to do what he wants, even when what he wants has been ruled illegal by courts and doesn’t actually have a working legal definition or plan to deal with the existing court rulings. He just thinks he can say ‘implement these things or else I will cut your funding, even though the courts probably think that is illegal, I don’t care,’ and sit back.

Kyle Saunders: And here’s the thing Heitner caught that deserves more attention than it’s getting. Section 4(b) of the order conditions the NCAA’s rulemaking mandate on actions taken “to the extent permitted by law and applicable court orders.”

The order contains its own limiting principle. It knows it can’t override the courts. It says so, in its own text, and then directs the NCAA to do things that courts have already ruled are antitrust violations.

The good news is that there seems to be momentum behind passing something, and everyone smiled about the order. The bad news is that all of that is meaningless.

How did we end up with a legal system where there is no punishment for repeatedly issuing orders that you yourself know are illegal, other than ending enforcement of those illegal orders after someone sues, thus allowing this to be used as leverage?

Shrug.

by Zvi Moshowitz, DWAtV |  Read more:

[ed. Don't know much about the issue in question, but this short description of Trump administration strong-arm tactics is near perfect. It's a strategy. Here's another Republican doing exactly the same thing (using the legal system to run out the clock): DeSantis plots end run of Florida law to create more GOP House seats (Axios).]

We Haven’t Seen the Worst of What Gambling and Prediction Markets Will Do to America

Here are three stories about the state of gambling in America.

1. Baseball

In November 2025, two pitchers for the Cleveland Guardians, Emmanuel Clase and Luis Ortiz, were charged in a conspiracy for “rigging pitches.” Frankly, I had never heard of rigged pitches before, but the federal indictment describes a scheme so simple that it’s a miracle that this sort of thing doesn’t happen all the time. Three years ago, a few corrupt bettors approached the pitchers with a tantalizing deal: (1) We’ll bet that certain pitches will be balls; (2) you throw those pitches into the dirt; (3) we’ll win the bets and give you some money.

The plan worked. Why wouldn’t it? There are hundreds of pitches thrown in a baseball game, and nobody cares about one bad pitch. The bets were so deviously clever because they offered enormous rewards for bettors and only incidental inconvenience for players and viewers. Before their plan was snuffed out, the fraudsters won $450,000 from pitches that not even the most ardent Cleveland baseball fan would ever remember the next day. Nobody watching America’s pastime could have guessed that they were witnessing a six-figure fraud.

2. Bombs

On the morning of February 28th, someone logged onto the prediction market website Polymarket and made an unusually large bet. This bet wasn’t placed on a baseball game. It wasn’t placed on any sport. This was a bet that the United States would bomb Iran on a specific day, despite extremely low odds of such a thing happening.

A few hours later, bombs landed in Iran. This one bet was part of a $553,000 payday for a user named “Magamyman.” And it was just one of dozens of suspicious, perfectly-timed wagers, totaling millions of dollars, placed in the hours before a war began.

It is almost impossible to believe that, whoever Magamyman is, he didn’t have inside information from members of the administration. The term war profiteering typically refers to arms dealers who get rich from war. But we now live in a world not only where online bettors stand to profit from war, but also where key decision makers in government have the tantalizing options to make hundreds of thousands of dollars by synchronizing military engagements with their gambling position.

3. Bombs, again

On March 10, several days into the Iran War, the journalist Emanuel Fabian reported that a warhead launched from Iran struck a site outside Jerusalem.

Meanwhile on Polymarket, users had placed bets on the precise location of missile strikes on March 10. Fabian’s article was therefore poised to determine payouts of $14 million in betting. As The Atlantic’s Charlie Warzel reported, bettors encouraged him to rewrite his story to produce the outcome that they’d bet on. Others threatened to make his life “miserable.”

A clever dystopian novelist might conceive of a future where poorly paid journalists for news wires are offered six-figure deals to report fictions that cash out bets from online prediction markets. But just how fanciful is that scenario when we have good reason to believe that journalists are already being pressured, bullied, and threatened to publish specific stories that align with multi-thousand dollar bets about the future?

Put it all together: rigged pitches, rigged war bets, and attempts to rig wartime journalism. Without context, each story would sound like a wacky conspiracy theory. But these are not conspiracy theories. These are things that have happened. These are conspiracies—full stop.

“If you’re not paranoid, you’re not paying attention” has historically been one of those bumperstickers you find on the back of a car with so many other bumperstickers that you worry for the sanity of its occupants. But in this weird new reality where every event on the planet has a price, and behind every price is a shadowy counterparty, the jittery gambler’s paranoia—is what I’m watching happening because somebody more powerful than me bet on it?—is starting to seem, eerily, like a kind of perverse common sense.

From Laundromats to Airplanes

What’s remarkable is not just the fact that online sports books have taken over sports, or that betting markets have metastasized in politics and culture, but the speed with which both have taken place.

For most of the last century, the major sports leagues were vehemently against gambling, as the Atlantic staff writer McKay Coppins explained in his recent feature. [...]

Following the 2018 Supreme Court decision Murphy vs. NCAA, sports gambling was unleashed into the world, and the leagues haven’t looked back. Last year, the NFL saw $30 billion gambled on football games, and the league itself made half a billion dollars in advertising, licensing, and data deals.

Nine years ago, Americans bet less than $5 billion on sports. Last year, that number rose to at least $160 billion. Big numbers mean nothing to me, so let me put that statistic another way: $5 billion is roughly the amount Americans spend annually at coin-operated laundromats and $160 billion is nearly what Americans spent last year on domestic airline tickets. So, in a decade, the online sports gambling industry will have risen from the level of coin laundromats to rival the entire airline industry.

And now here come the prediction markets, such as Polymarket and Kalshi, whose combined 2025 revenue came in around $50 billion. “These predictive markets are the logical endpoint of the online gambling boom,” Coppins told me on my podcast Plain English. “We have taught the entire American population how to gamble with sports. We’ve made it frictionless and easy and put it on everybody’s phone. Why not extend the logic and culture of gambling to other segments of American life?” He continued:

Why not let people gamble on who’s going to win the Oscar, when Taylor Swift’s wedding will be, how many people will be deported from the United States next year, when the Iranian regime will fall, whether a nuclear weapon will be detonated in the year 2026, or whether there will be a famine in Gaza? These are not things that I’m making up. These are all bets that you can make on these predictive markets.

Indeed, why not let people gamble on whether there will be a famine in Gaza? The market logic is cold and simple: More bets means more information, and more informational volume is more efficiency in the marketplace of all future happenings. But from another perspective—let’s call it, baseline morality?—the transformation of a famine into a windfall event for prescient bettors seems so grotesque as to require no elaboration. One imagines a young man sending his 1099 documents to a tax accountant the following spring: “right, so here are my dividends, these are the cap gains, and, oh yeah, here’s my $9,000 payout for totally nailing when all those kids would die.”

It is a comforting myth that dystopias happen when obviously bad ideas go too far. Comforting, because it plays to our naive hope that the world can be divided into static categories of good versus evil and that once we stigmatize all the bad people and ghettoize all the bad ideas, some utopia will spring into view. But I think dystopias more likely happen because seemingly good ideas go too far. “Pleasure is better than pain” is a sensible notion, and a society devoted to its implications created Brave New World. “Order is better than disorder” sounds alright to me, but a society devoted to the most grotesque vision of that principle takes us to 1984. Sports gambling is fun, and prediction markets can forecast future events. But extended without guardrails or limitations, those principles lead to a world where ubiquitous gambling leads to cheating, cheating leads to distrust, and distrust leads ultimately to cynicism or outright disengagement.

“The crisis of authority that has kind of already visited every other American institution in the last couple of decades has arrived at professional sports,” Coppins said. Two-thirds of Americans now believe that professional athletes sometimes change their performance to influence gambling outcomes. “Not to overstate it, but that’s a disaster,” he said. And not just for sports.

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There are four reasons to worry about the effect of gambling in sports and culture.

by Derek Thompson, Substack |  Read more:

Image: Eyestetix Studio on Unsplash

[ed. See also: Exclusive: Trader made nearly $1 million on Polymarket with remarkably accurate Iran bets (CNN).]