MLB's Gambling Gamble: When You Lay Down with Dogs...

Let’s just say it: Major League Baseball has a gambling problem. And I don’t mean Pete Rose.

Nope, this time it’s not about the all-time hits leader or even Joe Jackson, who, by the way, still hasn’t been proven to do anything but hit .375 in the 1919 World Series. This time it’s on MLB itsel the very league that once proudly etched “Rule 21” into the soul of the sport like it was Moses delivering commandments at Cooperstown.

The rule is simple and crystal clear. It's posted in every clubhouse in America like a sacred scroll:

"Any player, umpire, or club or league official or employee, who shall bet any sum whatsoever upon any baseball game in connection with which the bettor has a duty to perform, shall be declared permanently ineligible."

Now fast forward to 2025, where that sacred scroll has been shredded, laminated with FanDuel stickers, and auctioned off to the highest sportsbook bidder. MLB didn’t just open Pandora’s box, they sold the naming rights to it and threw in a promo code for your first parlay. It's like Indiana Jones agreeing to slap a DraftKings logo on the Lost Ark before wheeling it into the warehouse.

Let’s talk about Cleveland Guardians pitchers Emmanuel Clase and Luis Ortiz. Both have been placed on paid leave ,yes, paid leave while MLB investigates possible gambling violations. Ortiz’s pitches, for example, drew suspicious betting activity in multiple states. And Clase, once a dominant closer, is now “on hold” like he’s disputing a cable bill with a customer service agent named Chad.

But the impact of this goes way beyond a couple of guys in uniform sitting at home binge watching “The Drew Carey Show.”

Clase was a key trade chip for the Guardians. The kind of arm that could fetch a haul at the deadline and help reshape Cleveland’s future. Or, had he been moved, the kind of high-leverage reliever who might have made a difference in October for a contender trying to nail down the 27th out. But who’s going to trade for him now? What GM wants to roll the dice (pun very much intended) on a closer with a possible gambling suspension hanging over his head?

And here’s the kicker: Clase may have unintentionally tanked an entire company.

Finlete, a San Diego startup that sells fans the chance to invest in an athlete’s future earnings, made Clase its poster child. Literally. Clase was the big draw. The Mariano Rivera of their portfolio. Finlete raised over $315,000 from more than 280 investors who bought a piece of Clase’s career. In return, Clase got over $237,000 up front and agreed to hand over nearly 0.29% of his salary.

But now? That career might be veering off course faster than a Ricky Vaughn fastball before he got his glasses. If MLB finds he bet on a game his team played in, he could be banned for life. If it was any other MLB game, the penalty is a one-year suspension. Either way, that investment portfolio suddenly feels riskier than taking a pitch two inches off the plate with Angel Hernández behind the dish.

Sure, Finlete’s boilerplate warned investors not to put in money they couldn’t afford to lose. It also cited injuries, illnesses, and work stoppages as risks. But I’m going out on a limb here and guessing “federal gambling probe” wasn’t on page one of the prospectus.

Finlete’s founder, Rob Connolly, insists that the August dividend will still be paid “as scheduled,” and says they’re “closely monitoring” the situation. That’s a nice way of saying, “We’re refreshing Twitter every 45 seconds like the rest of you.”

The truth is, Clase’s future earning potential which is what Finlete investors are betting on depends on him playing. If he’s declared ineligible, that pipeline dries up faster than Jobu’s rum before a Cerrano at-bat.

Connolly once compared Clase to Mariano Rivera and said landing the deal was “incredible.” At the time, he probably didn’t know how right he was, it’s incredibly risky, incredibly messy, and now, incredibly ironic.

And yet again, the ripple effects of MLB’s cozy relationship with the gambling world come into view. It’s not just about rules or punishments it’s about trust. Trust in the integrity of the game. Trust that outcomes aren’t influenced by someone hedging a microbet on the first pitch of the third inning.

When baseball became business partners with the very industry it used to treat like toxic waste, it opened up the game to risks far beyond a blown save. Now it’s not just players being investigated it’s the credibility of the sport, the futures of franchises, and even a fan-funded startup all caught in the collateral damage.

And Emmanuel Clase? He's no longer just a closer. He’s the face of a scandal that may have closed more doors than he ever opened with a fastball.

This isn’t even the first wave. Last year, Tucupita Marcano got a lifetime ban for betting on baseball. Four other minor leaguers got one-year suspensions. And oh yeah, Pat Hoberg, an umpire MLB ranked among its best was canned after sharing a legal betting account and then conveniently deleting some messages investigators wanted to read. Must’ve been a coincidence.

Here’s the problem: MLB opened the floodgates. They saw those big sportsbook dollars, licked their chops, and dove in headfirst. Now most stadiums have a betting lounge. Every commercial break pushes a parlay. And every second screen experience screams, “Bet on the next pitch!”

Take Cleveland, for example. Progressive Field has its very own sportsbook inside the stadium. So if a reliever allegedly wants to place a bet, they wouldn’t even have to leave the ballpark. How convenient for Emmanuel Clase and Luis Ortiz. All alleged, of course. But when gambling kiosks are closer than the bullpen phone, what could possibly go wrong?

Microbets. Prop bets. First-pitch-outside-the-zone bets. What could possibly go wrong?

Everything.

Because when you get in bed with sportsbooks, you're not just making money, you’re laying down with dogs. And as the my father always said, "you lay down with dogs, you get fleas." And in MLB’s case, those fleas now include possible pitch manipulation, clubhouse distractions, and a whole lot of hypocrisy.

How can the same league that banned Pete Rose for life now pay players to sit at home while it sorts out whether they bet on a ball or strike? How can the same commissioner, Rob Manfred, who recently declared lifetime bans end when a player dies (apparently not even baseball purgatory is sacred anymore), act surprised when his billion-dollar betting bedmates start tracking suspicious activity in real time?

Let me be clear: I’m not defending gambling on baseball. In fact, I’m not sure there’s anything worse. Gambling undercuts everything I love about this game its rhythms, its purity, its unpredictability. It's not scripted. It’s not professional wrestling. It’s baseball.

But what I am defending is common sense. Granny doesn’t let Sylvester babysit Tweety Bird ,and you don’t build sportsbooks in stadiums, surround players with betting promos, and act surprised when someone allegedly places a wager. You don’t sell advertising space to sportsbooks, let fans place bets from their seats, and then act shocked when players get caught up in the chaos.

This was predictable. This was inevitable. And this was completely preventable.

Baseball’s rich history has always warned us about the dangers of gambling. The Black Sox scandal nearly killed the game. Pete Rose’s exile turned into a Hall of Fame-sized debate. But now we’ve gone from "Say it ain't so, Joe," to “Download the DraftKings app and bet now!”

There’s a word for that. It starts with “H” and ends with “Y.” And MLB owns it now.

Look, the game of baseball is still beautiful. The players, for the most part, are still playing it straight. But the league office? It sold its soul for short-term profit and long-term headaches. And those headaches are only just beginning.

So while Clase and Ortiz sit at home, and sportsbooks count their cash, I’ll be over here watching the Mets and wondering what Rule 21 even means anymore.

And I’m not betting on an answer.

Maybe I’m just the old man on the porch, yelling “Get off my lawn!” while baseball evolves into something I barely recognize. But I can’t help feeling like the soul of the game is being auctioned off, one parlay at a time.

Am I overreacting? Misreading the moment? Or is this exactly the slippery slope we were warned about?

I’d love to hear your thoughts , drop a comment below. Let’s talk about it.