Baseball, as the old saying goes, forgives nearly everything except for one thing: gambling.
Using pine tar too high on the bat? Your legacy will be debated. Using steroids will get you booed in visiting ballparks and maybe inducted on your final ballot.
But gamble? Unforgivable.
Shoeless Joe Jackson and Pete Rose will forever be linked in exile. And today, two Cleveland Indians* pitchers, Luis Ortiz and Emmanuel Clase, are suspended and stuck in the gray area of "paid leave." This is MLB's way of saying "We're keeping a close eye on you, but we don't want to tell people what we're seeing."
Ortiz and Clase weren't just protagonists in the real scandal; they're examples of the high-stakes roulette wheel that baseball itself built.
Welcome to the House That Gambling Built
Watching an MLB game in 2020, either DraftKings or FanDuel announced itself before the first out. An attractive lady read a script or a QR code flashed next to the strike zone, but it was okay: she told us to "gamble responsibly."
Baseball faced financial challenges due to declining attendance, weakening regional TV contracts, and an aging fan base. But the league discovered a solution: gambling partnerships. Legalized sports betting became baseball's newest drug. And, you ask, what happened?
Like a junkie chasing a fix, MLB is shuddering from the side effects.
Fans aren't the only ones betting; players, umpires, and executives are tapping their smartphones, creating a mobile digital casino.
If you think players are immune to temptation, you're forgetting that they're human while not paying attention.
Ortiz and Clase: The Latest Faces in a Growing Pattern
MLB's integrity monitors flagged several suspicious bets that Ortiz placed. The bets seemed innocuous: Tiny wagers on whether a single pitch would be called a ball. Two games, two odd betting patterns, raising eyebrows across the league.
Next came Clase, the flamethrowing All-Star closer. Akin to Shoeless Joe, nobody said he placed bets, yet he's on leave.
That should tell you everything you need to know.
No team, successful or not, places its closer on ice in the middle of a contentious season unless the whispers they're hearing become deafening.
Cleveland is finding itself tainted; trading partners are backing away, mounting media questions, and, like a tightening noose, silence.
Gambling isn't exclusive to Cleveland; it's grown to be an integral part of the sport.
Gambling is Baseball’s Oldest Ghost
Like a dirty penny, the specter of the 1919 Black Sox scandal, in which eight Chicago White Sox players allegedly were bribed to throw the World Series, never goes away.
It became a defining moment for baseball, giving credibility and authority to the commissioner's office and handing Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis the power to banish simply by signing his name to Rule 21.
In a matter of weeks, the scandal taught a generation of fans that if baseball lost its integrity, the entire sport would collapse.
Move the calendar forward one hundred years, and the sport is wrapped around betting apps. What used to be silent whispers in back rooms was thrust into broad daylight.
Simply at the tap of a screen.
From Spot-Fixing to Smartphone Slipping
Gambling hasn't changed, but the tools have. Modern gambling doesn't need grand conspiracies, just a single pitch.
Microbetting means gamblers no longer need to fix games, just moments.
A wild pitch, missed call, or a reliever who inexplicably throws three straight balls when starting the ninth.
And the truth is that players don't need to place bets themselves; a text to a cousin, friend, or old high school teammates sharing a prediction, and the deed is done.
That's how Shohei Ohtani's interpreter fell, and Padres infielder Tucupita Marcano was banned for life last year. It's the same thing that forced our umpire Pat Hoberg a few months ago.
There isn't one rogue actor; we're talking about a systemic problem, a flaw in the armor that the league itself forged.
The Hypocrisy is Stunning
While cashing checks from sportsbooks, it's hard to take MLB seriously when it catches a case of the vapors over gambling.
When stadium lounges are built for Caesar's and MGM, broadcasts share betting odds. How, in the name of heaven, can the commissioner be taken seriously when he says he's concerned?
It's like handing a chronic arsonist matches when a tinderbox surrounds him.
MLB Commissioner Rob Manfred acknowledged the problem, saying the rise of in-game prop betting is concerning. That's one word for it. The better word might be "inevitable."
When you incentivize betting as part of the entertainment experience, you inadvertently incentivize manipulation, whether intentionally or not.
And if you think star players are immune to poor judgment, there's some swampland in Florida I'd like to show you.
Baseball’s Moral Compass Is Spinning
What happens if Emmanuel Clase is cleared? Would the league apologize? Would he be reinstated without a statement, or would the stench continue to linger?
What if he is guilty? Does he receive a quiet suspension followed by an even quieter release?
Would this be a good time to remind people of Trevor Bauer?
Related: Trevor Bauer and the Fire We Let Burn
Baseball has long been sold as America's pastime, a wholesome and traditional sport. Lately, it's acting like Vegas wearing cleats. Players cannot serve two masters.
Either the game is sacred or it isn't.
Stop If We’ve Seen This Movie Before
Pete Rose was banned for life because he bet on baseball. Ohtani's interpreter, who handled bets for others, was arrested. Marcano's career ended before it began because of his gambling addiction. Now, the careers of two Cleveland players hang in the balance.
Where will it stop?
It seems as though that handful of straw is beginning to weigh heavily on a camel. Baseball is one scandal away from a complete reckoning. Whether a huge star, a confirmed fix, or a player caught on wiretap, that's all that's needed for the game to destroy itself.
When, not if, that day comes, no amount of money from DraftKings saves the league from the backlash it deserves.
Final Thoughts
It didn't seem very long ago that baseball's primary concern was corked bats and syringes full of science. Now, the sport is on a knife-edge, worried about phone apps, text chains, and the half-second delay between a pitch and a bet.
The situation between Ortiz and Clase isn't just about them; it's about a league with a wide-open door to temptation while pretending the welcome mat wasn't full of gambling logos.
Baseball finds itself standing on a building's ledge after walking right to it.
Until the sport finds the courage to own up to its gambling mistakes, drawing a clear, public line with permanent ink, a great game with a rich history will find itself facing one pitch.
One that breaks the game.
*The team's correct name, without apology.
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