Exploring the Shift: Sports Betting from Casinos to Your Couch

As technologically savvy as I like to think I am, I have a confession. I don’t have a single sports app on my iPhone.

No DraftKings. No FanDuel. No betting app of any kind.

When I was younger and more competitive, gambling didn’t do much for me. I couldn’t win enough to make me happy, and I couldn’t lose enough to make me angry.

A man sitting at a casino table with a concerned expression, wearing a baseball cap and a light sweater, in a vibrant casino environment with digital screens in the background.

What kind of entertainment is that?

My last bet was a hand of blackjack at the Tropicana in Las Vegas, shortly before its new owners razed the place. That was an appropriate ending to my gambling career. I lost the casino, and the casino lost its building.

Gambling hasn’t changed, but gambling is now more accessible.

From the casino to the couch

I remember sitting in old casino sportsbooks.

I liked the Flamingo.

A wall of televisions showed different games. Baseball here. Horse racing there. Basketball on another screen.

My fantasy Buttheads Baseball League made pilgrimages to Vegas. A few Buttheads gambled heavily. I placed a few bets and enjoyed hanging with my friends.

Today, you don’t have to travel to Sin City to enjoy that experience. You don’t even have to leave the couch.

Modern televisions can display four games on one screen. Add another big screen, a tablet, and a smartphone, and turn your living room into a casino sportsbook.

Except you don’t have to tip a cocktail server.

The smartphone provides the betting window. You can check the score, look up the odds, and place a wager without getting up.

A cartoon depicting two men watching a baseball game. One man, visibly anxious and holding a phone, asks how to watch without betting money. The other man, relaxed with a drink, humorously replies that he prefers to lose for free.

The transformation accelerated in 2018, when the U.S. Supreme Court struck down the federal law that had prohibited most states from authorizing sports betting. The decision allowed states to decide for themselves, and online wagering spread rapidly.

Professional sports leagues, which once treated gambling as a threat to the integrity of their games, have embraced partnerships with betting companies.

The NFL has partnered with DraftKings, FanDuel and Fanatics. Casinos like MGM have joined the online action. The NBA, MLB, NHL and WNBA have also established relationships with sportsbook operators.

At one time, casinos wanted you to visit their establishment.

Now the casinos want to come home with you.

The sports year used to have a rhythm.

Now the seasons overlap. The sports calendar is like the 24-hour Denny’s menu.

Baseball stretches from spring into fall. The WNBA occupies the warmer months. Football begins in September. Hockey and the NBA arrive in October.

I have YouTube TV and discovered that I now get a cricket channel. I tried to understand the game when I went to South Africa for a movie project.

I’ll never figure out the T20/Limited Overs statistic.

All leagues always play on weekends.

Tuesday? There are NBA games.

Wednesday? Any sport except NFL games.

Thursday? Another football game.

Friday? More games, but I don’t think you can bet on high school football.

You’d better have stopped at Costco for snacks.

A minority with a lot of money

Most Americans don’t bet on sports online.

A couple sitting on a couch, with the woman looking at the man holding a tablet, expressing confusion about quality time together. They are watching a football game on TV, emphasizing their shared sportsbook account.

Pew Research Center reports that in 2025, about one in ten U.S. adults had placed an online sports bet during the previous year. The percentage was higher among younger adults.

Despite few sports bettors, gambling has become a multibillion-dollar business.

The American Gaming Association reports that in 2025, gamblers accounted for $17 billion in U.S. commercial sports-betting revenue. That’s the money sportsbooks retained after paying winning bets, not the total amount wagered.

You don’t need every sports fan to gamble. You need a small group of customers who place bets frequently enough, and in large enough amounts, to support a very profitable business.

Broadcasters get more ways to hold our attention. The rest of us get to watch the games, whether we bet or not.

That’s the irony. The gambling minority has financed a business that influences the sports-watching experience of millions of people who never place a wager.

Multiscreen America

This is where technology has changed how I watch sports.

A man sitting on a couch watching multiple sports games on a large TV while using a tablet and a smartphone to place bets. A cat is resting nearby, and there are snacks on the coffee table.

I like NFL RedZone.

RedZone solved one of my least favorite Sunday football activities: channel surfing.

I used to spend Sunday afternoons with the remote in my hand, searching for another game during commercials. Now the two-minute timeout equals five minutes of TV ads.

I’d switch channels just in time to see a replay, or the announcer explaining what I’d missed.

RedZone does the searching for me. It jumps among games and shows scoring opportunities across the league.

I can see a key play in Cleveland without missing a touchdown in Kansas City.

Now I can watch the Broncos on one multi-view screen and RedZone on another. Baseball plays on the third screen, and news on the fourth.

The old casino sportsbook had a wall of televisions because bettors didn’t want to miss anything. Now we can reproduce that convenience in our living rooms.

The difference is that the casino provided the televisions. Now, we have to buy our own.

The smartphone lets us carry the betting window in our pocket.

The gaming transformation fascinates me, even if I have no intention of joining the betting public. I’m interested in the technology, the economics, and the way a business can change an entire viewing culture without requiring most viewers to become customers.

I don’t need to bet

For all this technology, I can still enjoy a Yankees game without having 20 bucks riding on the outcome. I can get emotionally invested in a Cleveland Browns football game without consulting the point spread. I can watch a spectacular catch, an acrobatic interception, or a last-second field goal without calculating what it means for my betting account.

Football trading card featuring a player in a red uniform with the number 20, representing the Kansas City Chiefs.

I prefer sports pools that are based on the luck of the draw.

I once won $2,500 on a progressive football pool at the Stockgrowers Bar in Lander, Wyoming. Patrons chipped in $5 a week for the entire season.

There were weekly winners, but the bar reserved the big prize for the last game. I sat at home and watched the Chief’s DB Deron Cherry intercept a pass, stalling what would have been the Vikings’ game-winning drive.

My numbers hit.

When my birthday falls on Kentucky Derby Day, my upstairs neighbor from Kentucky runs several horse-race pools. I’ll buy a $2 chance.

Over my life, I’ve learned there’s freedom in not having to watch every game. I missed the Browns game yesterday, but my dashboard screen showed live updates from Google.

A group of people engaged in a discussion around a table with brown paper bags marked with numbers. A woman in a black hat is displaying an object, while others watch and interact in a casual setting.

I made it home in time to see Andre Szmyt kick a game-winning field goal as time expired.

I don’t need to know every betting line. I know enough betting jargon to have a conversation with my gambling friends.

When I gambled in Las Vegas, I had to go to the sportsbook. Now, if I choose, the sportsbook can come to me on my 65-inch, four-screen setup.

I still won’t download a sports-betting app on my iPhone. Some vices are better left out of the house.

Rethinking Immigration: Lessons from the ‘No Kings’ March

Today, I attended the “No Kings” march. The crowd seemed smaller than at previous demonstrations I’ve attended, but the messages on the posters stayed the same. Signs scattered throughout the gathering condemned ICE, challenged its tactics, demanded accountability, and called for the agency’s abolition.

A person taking a selfie at the Boulder Farmers Market, with information booths and a crowd visible in the background. The person wears sunglasses and a cap, and there are colorful market tents set up.

Those signs got me thinking about how we arrived at this moment and whether we’ve learned anything from our history.

Controlling borders and regulating immigration are legitimate government responsibilities. How we carry out those responsibilities matters. An immigration system that separates families, instills fear in communities, and treats people as security threats before considering their individual circumstances deserves more than a budget increase and a political talking point.

It deserves a fundamental rethink.

How We Got Here

Immigration enforcement in the United States didn’t always work the way we know it today.

The U.S. Customs Service dates to 1789, when the federal government needed to collect tariffs and generate revenue. The Immigration Act of 1891 established a centralized federal role in immigration control. The following year, Ellis Island opened as a major immigration inspection station. Congress created the U.S. Border Patrol in 1924 to police land borders between official ports of entry.

In 1933, the government consolidated immigration functions into the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS). In 1940, the agency transferred to the Department of Justice and administered legal immigration and naturalization while enforcing immigration laws and deporting people who violated them.

That arrangement had its shortcomings, but it recognized that immigration involved more than enforcement. People applied for citizenship. Others faced removal proceedings.

Then came September 11, 2001.

A view of a street with a construction fence and debris in the background, showing the remains of a demolished building. A person in a coat stands on the sidewalk, with other buildings and cables visible.

In the aftermath of the terrorist attacks, Congress passed the Homeland Security Act of 2002. The government dismantled the INS and transferred its functions, along with those of the U.S. Customs Service, into the newly established Department of Homeland Security.

By 2003, three agencies had taken shape:

  • U.S. Customs and Immigration Service (CIS), responsible for administering lawful immigration and citizenship applications.
  • Customs and Border Protection (CBP), responsible for border security and enforcement at ports of entry.
  • Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), responsible for interior immigration enforcement, detention, deportation, and certain criminal investigations.

The restructuring reflected a new national security environment, placing immigration enforcement within a department built to protect the country from security threats.

Crossing a border unlawfully is not automatically the same thing as posing a threat to national security. Yet the post-9/11 framework embeds immigration enforcement within a broader security system, where the tools, priorities, and institutional culture emphasize apprehension and removal over the circumstances of individual people.

We should be asking whether that approach serves the country today.

Reagan, IRCA, and a Different Approach

Immigration reform wasn’t always the political third rail it has become.

A blue campaign button featuring the word 'REAGAN' in bold white letters, with the slogan 'Let's make America great again' underneath.

In 1986, President Ronald Reagan signed the Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA). The law provided a path to legal status for approximately 2.7 million undocumented immigrants who met its eligibility requirements, including continuous residence in the United States since January 1, 1982.

Reagan understood that millions of people had already established lives here. They worked, raised families, paid bills, and contributed to their communities. Removing everyone who lacked legal status would have been an enormous undertaking, with consequences extending far beyond the individuals targeted.

IRCA offered a compromise. It combined legalization for eligible immigrants with employer sanctions for hiring unauthorized workers and increased resources for immigration enforcement. The legislation was imperfect, and its enforcement provisions created their own problems. Nevertheless, it demonstrated that a conservative president and a bipartisan Congress could acknowledge an uncomfortable reality: an immigration system that ignores the lives people have built here will never resolve the problem simply by ordering them to leave.

I have a personal reason for thinking about that history.

The Tanaka Farm: A Local Lesson in Immigration Policy

Near Longmont, the history of the Tanaka Brothers Farms offers a revealing local chapter in the complicated relationship between agriculture, immigration, and federal policy.

A weathered white building with a red roof is situated in an open field, surrounded by sparse trees and grass under a partly cloudy sky.

The Tanaka family’s agricultural story stretches back through the experiences of Japanese Americans who built lives and businesses in Colorado, including people whose families endured incarceration during World War II. The family’s farming operation relied on immigrant labor.

IRCA’s employer-sanctions provisions eventually extended to agricultural employers, bringing new compliance obligations to an industry dependent on seasonal labor. By the early 1990s, the Tanaka Brothers Farms operation had entered bankruptcy proceedings.

The timing invites questions about how immigration policy, labor requirements, agricultural economics, and the treatment of farmworkers intersected. It does not, by itself, establish that IRCA caused the farm’s collapse. That history deserves a closer look at the evidence, the decisions, and the people who lived through the consequences.

Three individuals engaged in conversation by a gate outdoors, with a grassy area and a building in the background.

I’m pursuing those questions in a book and documentary project that examines the Tanaka farm and the larger agricultural history of the Boulder-Longmont area, including the Japanese American community, migrant labor, and the forces that shaped who worked the land—and who ultimately benefited from it.

Local history can reveal what national political arguments often obscure. Immigration policy doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It reaches into fields, workplaces, families, and communities, with consequences that can last for generations.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Today’s turnout may have been smaller than I expected. That doesn’t make its message less urgent. Public attention comes and goes, but federal enforcement policies continue to affect people’s lives long after demonstrators return home.

A person wearing a gray beanie holds a cardboard sign that reads 'Melt Ice' at a protest, with other protesters and signs visible in the background.

We need to distinguish between enforcing immigration law and treating enforcement itself as the ultimate goal.

An alternative would preserve legitimate border controls while establishing clear limits on enforcement powers, meaningful independent oversight, due process, and humane treatment. It would create workable legal pathways for people with deep roots here, meet the demand for immigrant labor, and let employers and workers comply with the law without turning entire communities into targets.

We should also ask whether ICE, as currently structured, is the best way to accomplish those objectives. No federal agency deserves immunity from scrutiny because Congress created it, presidents reshaped it, and changing political priorities gave it new missions.

What government builds, government can change.

Reagan’s IRCA compromise reminds us that immigration policy need not be a choice between unrestricted entry and mass deportation. The history of the Tanaka farm reminds us that federal decisions can have consequences far beyond the halls of Congress and the headlines of the day.

The “No Kings” march reminded me that government derives its authority from the people. That principle must mean more than showing up with a sign once or twice a year. It means insisting that government agencies remain accountable to the public they serve.

If our immigration system produces fear without lasting solutions, divides families without addressing the forces that draw people here, and consumes public resources without resolving the problems it was created to solve, then defending the status quo is not responsible governance. It is a refusal to learn.

We can secure our borders without abandoning our humanity. We can enforce laws without treating every undocumented person as a threat. And we can demand accountability without pretending that the only choices are to accept the system as it stands or abolish every form of immigration enforcement.

That work shouldn’t end when the march ends.

Navigating Happiness: Lessons Across Generations

Raymond Notaro grew up in Clinton, Massachusetts, a small town (Pop. 15,000) with a blue-collar character and, as he describes it, a rougher edge. He and I come from different generations, but our conversations kept bringing us back to a familiar place: the experiences that shape us may look different across generations, yet the lessons learned remain the same.

Our intergenerational writing class is exploring “The Pursuit of Happiness.” Twenty University of Colorado upperclass students each pair up with 20 community members. We do some in-class writing in response to prompts, then discuss what comes to mind.

When Ray and I compared our similar interpretations of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, I wondered whether happiness might have less to do with climbing toward the top than with figuring out when we have enough.

We’re both pursuing happiness. Ray figured out what took me seven decades to learn.

At 73, I’ve spent a lifetime wandering Superman’s American Way. You know, “faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive,” bigger is better than weaker, richer is better than poorer, winning is better than losing as we fight for “Truth, Justice, and the American Way.”

Ray approaches Maslow from a different direction. Fifty-two years younger than me, Ray has a head start on minimalist happiness. He describes self-actualization as meeting his physiological and safety needs and doesn’t need to climb any higher.

“Give me a granola bar, a bottle of water, a place to sleep, and I’m good,” he told me. Ray likes to camp. He recounted a recent outing to the Bridger-Teton National Forest. “We didn’t think about going to Grand Teton National Park or Yellowstone.”

I worked, accumulated possessions, collected baseball cards, and filled my days with the ordinary stuff of life, wondering if I needed more. I thought of self-actualization as a point in life I would reach through experience, accomplishment, and accumulation. Like many Americans, I’d spent decades adding layers to my life.

Now I’m peeling them away.

Ray won’t have layers to shed.

After being reminded how a 1,000-year flood or an urban wildfire can wipe out the material aspects of life, Swedish death cleaning has become part of my routine. I’m sorting through possessions, simplifying my surroundings, and reconsidering what I need to get by. I’m a regular on Facebook Marketplace.

Meeting with Ray reinforced my downward slide and my happiness in the basics: physical needs, safety, and striving for the Dalai Lama’s notion of nothingness.

I accumulated far more than I ever needed. I’ve been letting go.

I envy Ray.

“I’m majoring in International Relations.” He has studied in Germany and wants to visit every country. He showed me a metal ring with charms his mother gave him from the 21 countries he’s visited. “I want a job that allows me to travel. I’m filling out an application to study abroad again.”

Ray’s happy to claw his way toward the middle of Maslow’s hierarchy, laying the foundation for a life that doesn’t require much more than enough to create meaningful experiences.

I made it to the top, but I had to stop.

I ran out of time.

Ray hasn’t, and he’s not wasting his.

Our paths look different, but we’re heading toward a similar understanding of happiness. Ray is building a life around having just enough. I learned that my enough is too much after a lifetime of wanting more.

Our conversation led us to the people who have taught us how to live. Ray played soccer for the Clinton High School Gaels and started all four years. The coaches named him to the Midland Wachusett League All-Conference team. He had opportunities to play at the next level at the University of New England or Stonehill.

“I needed to get out of Clinton,” he said about moving out of his hometown. “I came out for a ski trip. Visited Boulder and decided on CU. Good vibe here. Clinton isn’t that far away, really. I’ll be going home for a reunion with my family and friends at the end of October for my birthday.”

I asked Ray to tell me about an adult outside his family who had a positive influence on him and instilled a lesson he still carries today.

He told me about his four-year physical education teacher, Mr. Paul Zapantis.

“Mr. Zapantis chaperoned a high school trip to Europe my senior year. He’s an adult I could talk to in confidence. He taught and also worked at the funeral home. I could visit him there.”

In small towns, people often work more than one job. When I lived in Lander, a town of 7,000, I worked in the city administration and also covered sports for the twice-weekly local paper.

“Clinton’s a rough town.” On account of that, Ray explained that his high school maintained strict rules. Authority figures enforced discipline and expected students to follow directions. Zapantis took a different approach. “He trusted us.”

Rather than relying on rules and punishment, Zapantis treated young people with respect. He set expectations and trusted his students to meet them. Ray remembers that Zapantis established a standard students didn’t want to disappoint.

“Some adults are scary. Mr. Zapantis is a good guy. When we came back from Europe, he invited us out for breakfast at Lou’s Diner. Six in the morning. We all showed up. He gave me the travel bug.”

Ray told me about the biggest lesson he learned from studying abroad in Germany in 2025.

“A group of us went to Munich for Oktoberfest.” He recalled. “A bunch of Dutch guys were singing a song about Max Verstappen [a well-known Formula 1 race car driver from the Netherlands]. We joined in the fun. The police showed up and detained us, not for drinking. One of the Dutch kids looked like he gave the Nazi salute [After World War II, the German government criminalized anything promoting Nazism]. They detained me, but they mostly wanted the Dutch kid.”

What struck me about Ray’s story is that he realized what he had learned from Zapantis extends to a higher level. In environments like his school and in Germany, where strict rules governed much of life, there’s a distinction between demanding good behavior and inspiring it. It’s important to build relationships, but to act responsibly.

Ray told me that respect works both ways. An adult who respects a young person sends a message that the young person matters, that someone believes in them, and that they have a responsibility to live up to that belief.

Zapantis raised the bar by trusting his students to reach it.

Ray also spoke about his supportive family. His father’s family immigrated from Sardinia, while his mother’s roots reach back to Ireland. Their experiences reminded me of my family’s history as Japanese immigrants. Our families came from different parts of the world, but both encountered the challenges of finding acceptance and belonging in America.

Our shared experiences gave me another point of connection with Ray. Our families carried their cultural traditions and experiences into an America that didn’t always welcome immigrants with open arms. The details differ, but the desire to belong, be treated fairly, be respected, and build a secure life crosses generations.

That’s another reason Ray’s story about Zapantis resonated with me. Respect shapes how people, young and old, should see themself, how they treat others, and what they expect from the world.

As Ray and I talked, I kept returning to our opposite, yet similar approaches to Maslow’s hierarchy. I began my journey believing that happiness meant being like Superman, reaching higher, achieving more, accumulating the rewards of life.

Ray is reimagining Superman’s American Way. He’s content to establish a solid foundation and build a life around what he considers essential.

The pursuit of happiness doesn’t necessarily mean climbing higher or grasping for more.

Ray is beginning with the basics. I’m trying to return to them. Our conversation reminded me that happiness isn’t a destination reserved for the accomplished or those who have accumulated the most.

For Ray, the lesson began with a teacher who trusted him enough to act respectfully and to do no harm. For me, it’s taken decades of living, collecting, and now letting go to recognize how much of life depends on what we give one another, rather than take.

I doubt that I’ll reach the Dalai Lama’s nothingness because I spend too much time watching Netflix and sports. Ray has a better chance of traveling to 172 remaining nations. That’s beside the point. Our paths don’t have to match for the lessons to connect.

Ray carries Mr. Zapantis’s influence forward by treating people with respect. He extends the trust that helped shape him. Knowing a caring adult believed in you, and then carrying that belief into the lives of others, may be the most enduring form of happiness.

I spent much of my life believing happiness awaited me near the top of Maslow’s mountain. Ray, 50 years younger, reminded me that the top is closer to the ground.

Ray has a granola bar, a bottle of water, a room, and an airplane ticket. I have another carload of boxes I’m packing to donate to the American Heritage Center at the University of Wyoming.

The way up is climbing down.