I’ve spent years writing about the intersection of technology, culture, and policy. When social media is increasingly used to create events, rather than report on them, I find that work increasingly relevant.
It is one thing to write an essay here or a newsletter there. Given the potential harms, utilizing adding additional forms, like narrative, seems warranted. Moneyballer Americana is a seven-part novelette about a struggling bluegrass musician who accidentally ignites a sports-betting media frenzy.
Come back each day for the next installment. When all seven parts are published, they’ll be compiled into a single downloadable version.
~Matthew
Scene 3 - Booth Review
Marci came home with groceries as Eli was scrolling through the show’s email.
“Hey, can you help me with these?”
Eli popped up off the counter barstool and took both of the paper bags. Marci hung her winter coat on a peg near the door, next to her school para badge.
“No band practice tonight?”
“Rupert had sick kids, so we postponed.” Eli took the frozen items out of the bag and began making room for them in the fridge’s freezer. “For the best, probably. Gives me a chance to figure out what to say to them about the TEDx gig.”
Marci rolled up her sweater sleeves to help. “You heard back?”
“Yep.” Eli pushed aside a bag of peas. “The usual, ‘Thank you for your submission. We received several outstanding applications. Unfortunately, we could only select a handful, blah, blah blah.’”
“I’m sorry.” Marci tenderly put her arms around Eli’s neck and hugged. “I know you guys worked hard on your pitch.”
“Thank you.” They kissed briefly and then Eli turned back to the remaining items in the bag. “Oh well. The conference’s loss, really. I had a really killer mandolin solo prepared.” Marci smiled.
“I’m sure you did. Any news on the bluegrass cruise?”
“It might still happen,” Eli said, half-heartedly, “We still have a slot to perform. The deadline to let them know is coming up.” Eli sighed, looking at the handful of bills waiting for attention on the counter. “But I just don’t know if that’s the right call with everything else going on.”
“Well, we’re not solving anything on empty stomach. Let’s get some food on.”
Over supper, Eli recounted the most recent show. It had been quite the affair. Last Tuesday’s conjecture over Ali Dettmer had become this Tuesday’s reality - the Raiders had made the trade. Ty and Lance had spent the stream crowing.
It was after that production that Lance had given Eli access to the show’s email, “on a trial period”. Something about “a chance to hammer on his winner grindset”. The thousand unread messages, many new since the previous taping, suggested a different reason.
“So, I know you just started working with these guys, but,” Marci hesitated, forked hotdish suspended in the air, “is this like an act? Like, are these characters they do for the show? Or are they like this all the time?”
Eli had his suspicions, but his Mom always said if you don’t have anything nice to say, write a song, instead. Maybe he’d do that later.
“I don’t know,” Eli concluded. “They’re certainly… enthusiastic.”
After helping finish the dishes, Eli poured a glass of wine for himself and Marci. He then turned on the TV. After some fumbling, he found the right combination of apps and logins for the Thursday Night football game.
Marci raised an eyebrow.
“Is this our life now?” she teased.
“Call it research.”
Marci smirked, sat her glass down, and picked up her book off the end-table. She stretched her legs so that her woolen-socked feet could rest in Eli’s lap.
Like a majority of Americans, Eli been to the occasional Super Bowl party or stumbled across a football game while flipping channels. But sitting there, studying what the game had become, was a different experience.
He thought he’d strum his guitar along with the commercial jingles, but quickly abandoned that plan. There wasn’t much to play along with.
“ENTER THE PROMO CODE, AND GET $200 IN BONUS BETS AFTER YOUR FIRST DEPOSIT.”
“BOOSTED ODDS ON THE OPENING KICKOFF DISTANCE! SCAN THE QR CODE BEFORE THE KICKER LINES UP!”
Most had celebrities that Eli recognized. But there was the one that was little more than a mascot holding a “FREE MONEY” banner for a majority of the ad, before violently exploding into multi-colored confetti.
It was hard to harmonize off of explosions and shouting.
Eli had always thought of Ty and Lance as their own distinct thing. But he was surprised by how much the pregame patter could be mistaken for an episode of Bet Ballers. The chyron repeated the spread live.
And more ads. So discordant with the broadcast’s triumphant, orchestral fanfare bumpers.
“So that’s what a parlay is?” Marci’s book sat in her lap as she watched, confused. “My kids at school are always going on about it.”
“Not just your kids. I had to convert a lesson to gambling-eese at the middle school this week just to get it to click.” Eli turned the laptop around so that Marci could see the inbox’s unread count. “And then there’s all these, too.”
“Well, they certainly run enough ads. That’s got to cost a lot.” It was a good point. Eli decided not to mention one of the companies in the ads also owned the stadium naming rights, which would cost even more money. A headache was forming behind his eyes; the kind he usually got during tax season.
The game, itself, wasn’t much of a distraction from his growing unease. While not being a “sports guy”, Eli could appreciate a good performance. This, however, was not one of those, with both teams seeming out of sorts on a short week.
“Tonight’s injury report brought to you by BETTER BEATDOWN, the social betting game where YOU CAN BEAT YOUR FRIENDS FOR FREE.”
Eli kept the game on in the background while he triaged the inbox.
There was a new item atop the queue, “Request for Sponsorship Details”. After a bit of Googling, it seemed legit - a national sports bar chain was looking to find non-traditional media partners. They were interested in basic stats for the show, along with some sponsorship suggestions.
Lance had shared a doc with him for “advertising opportunities”.
Eli studied the rate card. It seemed low, especially for this company. This was a household name - unlike the ball-shavers and “low T” supplements that comprised a majority of the first month of his production. And the “clunk” his Outback’s drivetrain made when shifting at speed wasn’t going to fix itself.
He pasted the template into the response, first doubling the price. Then he remembered Huey, Dee, and Louis from school. Eli hesitated for a moment, backspaced, and then tripled what he had started with.
Would that be enough?
There was another ad.
“WINNERS NEVER WAIT! GO BIG OR GO HOME.”
The universe had decided then. Eli hit send.
The remaining triage was tough sledding. For every legitimate potential sponsor or cross-promotion opportunity, there were dozens of messages from the show’s “fans”. They asked for customized line-up advice. Complaints about bets gone bust. Even one full-on prayer request.
Then there was the one from someone claiming they lost their car payment because they took the wrong side when Lance shouted, “LOCK IT IN.”
Eli had to set the laptop aside after that last one. Marci had long ago left to ready herself for bed. Eli returned to the game, hoping for a distraction. But, in the slog, it was clear that even the broadcast team was struggling for angles to keep the audience engaged.
“This is a night both teams would rather forget. Then again, nobody cares about who wins - only who covers.”
Eli was about to turn the TV off when the color commentator mentioned the Ali Dettmer trade, and threw to the sideline reporter for an “update”. Eli scrambled for the remote and, then, turned the volume up.
“-when asked what inspired the Dettmer trade, Raiders’ General Manager, Spencer Rourke remained vague, almost coy, alluding to the idea being ‘in the air’. Well, after some digging, we tracked the idea back to the source; a little online show streaming twice a week out of the midwest. And you won’t believe the name, guys.”
Eli’s stomach dropped.
“That’s right, as best we can tell, Wednesday’s blockbuster trade was inspired by a podcast named Bet Ballers.”
The guys in the booth both chuckled, ruefully, as if they both knew the punchline to a dirty joke that couldn’t be said out loud.
“Of course it would be.”
“What a world, partner. Boys will be boys - am I right?”
This made no sense. The “story” had been made up, and now they were covering it on national television.
“Is that important?”
Eli blinked and looked up. Marci stood in the bedroom’s door frame, holding her toothbrush. She pointed to his phone.
Eli hadn’t noticed it vibrating. He flipped it over. It was a group text with Ty and Lance.
“DDUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDEESSSSSSSSSSSSS”
The exact nuance was difficult to follow, but it was clear that Ty and Lance had seen the sideline report, too.
The laptop dinged. Eli pulled it back toward him.
It was a new email - from the potential sponsor.
“How soon can we sign?”
Eli was shocked.
But not as shocked as he was by the email that arrived the next day.