Copyright The Boston Globe
It didn’t take long for Everett to realize he had a problem. But when he visited support groups, he typically didn’t see anyone like him. Often, the gamblers were much older and talked of playing blackjack and poker in Las Vegas. How could he explain the temptation of having a sportsbook on his phone, right in his back pocket? “Those people are casino gamblers that are 10 years clean,” Everett, 31, said. “They don’t even know what a DraftKings account is.” Since 2018, when the Supreme Court struck down a law prohibiting sports betting in most states, sports gambling has transformed into a high-tech multibillion-dollar industry, but the spaces for support and treatment have remained the largely the same. Experts say not enough people are calling the toll-free numbers meant to help, and fewer go to therapy or make it through recovery programs. Therapists, researchers and recovering gamblers have begun to wonder if it is time to consider different approaches to addressing the problems specific to online gambling. Representatives from the gambling industry say that they are committed to helping problem gamblers. The companies spend millions of dollars promoting responsible betting, and most of the state funds used on addiction recovery come from taxes on gambling. “Creating problem gamblers is not a sustainable and durable opportunity for this industry,” said Joe Maloney, a spokesperson for the American Gaming Association. But experts say that problem gamblers are skewing younger. Gamblers Anonymous has seen an influx of young people, according to a spokesperson there. In Pennsylvania, where gambling revenue was among the highest in the country last year, two-thirds of the people asking the state to bar them from gambling are under 44. Many young men in particular are still struggling to find people who understand the particular challenges that sports gambling apps present, said Cait Huble, a spokesperson for the National Council on Problem Gambling. “They’re walking into these GA rooms like ‘I don’t see myself reflected here,’” she said, referencing Gamblers Anonymous. Sam Demello, a 38-year-old recovering compulsive gambler, described help lines like 1-800-GAMBLER as “the most analog solution to a digital problem.” He thinks the same is often true of Gamblers Anonymous. "If my two options are to sit in this dusty church basement with a bunch of old guys an hour every day for the rest of my life, or be an addict and continue to hide it from all of my friends and family, I’ll be an addict," he said. Some people are experimenting with new approaches. Last year, Demello launched a digital support platform called Evive to provide treatment options and connection. Another company, Birches Health, focuses specifically on young people and online gambling. “A decade ago, Birches Health likely could not have existed,” said Elliott Rapaport, the company’s founder. Gambling is the only behavioral addiction recognized by the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders that isn’t a chemical dependency. But defining it is difficult. One common indication of a problem is financial struggle, experts say. Some therapists say that behavior is an even better measure. Lying to loved ones is one classic sign, said Mike Sciandra, the executive director of the Nebraska Council on Problem Gambling, who is recovering from his own gambling addiction. Even more telling, he said, is when gamblers start exceeding their financial limits (going into debt, cashing out a college fund) or time limits (gambling during dinner, or at 3 a.m.). The apps made it easy for Everett to bet whenever he had the urge. He stayed up late gambling on sports he knew little about, like Russian table tennis and esports. His wife was unaware. Many days, “I was sleeping two, three hours a night, max, for a year,” he said. Gambling has become more convenient, but the look of it has changed, too. Apps offer so-called prop bets, which are opportunities to bet on an individual play or a player statistic. Experts say by adopting the look and style of video games, the apps are also particularly attractive to younger men. “It’s truly apples and oranges, as far as what gambling looks like today versus what it looked like even 10 years ago,” Sciandra said. When Everett quit betting for six months in 2023, an app offered him credit every week, called fantasy free play. If he won, the credit turned into cash. If he lost, he owed nothing. One day he decided to put $5 on a fantasy basketball team he created. “But then I did it the next day, and it turned into ‘I’ll just do five bucks at night,’” he said. “And then it turned to, ‘Well, I will do 20.’ It’s a slow progression to a fast progression, really quickly.” By 2024, Everett was 29, with no car and no job. His wife had kicked him out of his house, and he was attending three or four Gamblers Anonymous meetings a week, often virtually. But none of it quite clicked. Then, late last year, someone suggested he try a new weekly meeting, affiliated with GA, just outside Denver. Started by a former mixed martial arts fighter, the group was nicknamed the Young Person’s Gamblers Anonymous. It was a different kind of group in one key way: It catered mostly to people whose problems stemmed from online sports betting apps. On the surface, it used the same 12 steps, the same books. It even took place in a church building. But to Everett, it felt different. It wasn’t just that the others understood the lingo (though they did). Or that they had also hit rock bottom (though they had). It was that they dressed and talked like him. They laughed more. Most of them had gotten into gambling after 2018 and had crashed out only in the previous year. These days, there are dozens of people at every meeting. But the support extends beyond that. Everett plays basketball on the weekends with Ben A. and Matt F., two other members of the group who requested to be identified only by their first name because of concerns about their reputations. Others play pickleball or golf. And they text a lot. “Our rent went up 900 a month -- I have been having panic attacks again,” Everett wrote one day in September, adding: “But I’m staying clean.” “Stay strong,” Matt replied. “You’re in the best position of your life. Let’s stick with it. I’ll give you a call later.” Everett has been sober for 18 months, he said, and still doesn’t trust himself with a credit card. Most recovering gamblers do relapse. But this time, he’s more confident that he can stay sober. In early summer, Everett got together with Ben and Matt at a driving range. They laughed, hit golf balls, poked fun at each other and had a couple of beers. After a while, Matt pulled out a phone to watch the NBA Western Conference Finals. The Oklahoma City Thunder were routing the Timberwolves, Everett’s favorite team. “This is so bad!” Everett moaned. “Twenty-two points,” Matt agreed, looking at the score. Everett sighed. “Back in the day,” he said, “I would have had so much money on this game.” Then the pair lost interest, turned off the game and headed out. There was no spread to cover, no last-minute fourth-quarter money to be made. They had just been a few buddies, hanging out, watching a game.
