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.
If you missed the first installment, you can begin at the beginning. Or download a collected version of all seven parts and get extras, like the accompanying playlist, from the Stories page.
~Matthew
Scene 5 - Trick Play
Marci stood during intermission, and stretched.
“You need anything?”
Eli looked up at her from where he slumped in the theater seat.
“A decision on whether we do this cruise would be great.”
“I meant from the concession stand, dummy.” She bent down and kissed his forehead. “I think I see my friends. I’m going to say hi, and see what they have.”
Marci walked out of the balcony aisle and back toward the stairwell exit, leaving Eli alone with his thoughts.
The local TEDx event seemed like a success, nearly filling the old venue. After being rejected, he’d briefly considered not coming out of spite. But events like this were probably good for building community. Showing up seemed like the bare minimum being asked of him to make that happen, so he was here.
The lights dimmed, signaling people to return to their seats.
“All right, all right, all right!” the MC declared over people returning to their seats. “We’re just about to get started again, here. While people take their seats, I wanted to, again, give a few shout-outs to tonight’s sponsors-“
Marci apologetically slid past couples at the end of the row to retake her seat next to Eli. She offered her box of popcorn, eyebrows raised questioningly.
Eli took a handful.
There was polite applause after the final sponsor mention.
“-OK! It looks like we’re about all back, and have I got a surprise for you!” The lights in the rest of the theater dimmed fully, leaving the MC in the spotlight. “Our next speaker is a local entrepreneur who recently broke out nationally in a big way. We couldn’t help but make room last minute for his timely talk, How Betting Builds Community. Please welcome to the stage… Tyler ‘Ty’ Hertzel!”
Eli choked on his popcorn, resulting in a coughing fit.
Marci looked up from Eli, confused. “Is that…”
Ty jogged from the wings, wearing a tight, black t-shirt, skinny jeans, and pristine white sneakers. The wireless microphone was almost invisible over his left ear.
He stopped center stage, looked down at his mark, and adjusted slightly as the applause faded. Ty took a deep breath, held it, and let the silence stretch… and stretch… and-
Ty spread his hands wide, referencing the entire room.
“Loneliness.”
He let the word hang.
Behind him, a screen came to life. The slide was entirely black, except for a single word written in white, blocky letters: “#loneliness”.
“It’s a pandemic. Not one measured in germs or masks, but a silent one. Dudes sitting in basements. Dudes driving trucks and working their side hustles. Dudes… alone.”
The slide advanced, and the screen lit up with what seemed to be an AI-generated picture of a man looking forlornly out a rainy window.
“I used to be alone,” Ty said, beginning a premeditated movement stage right. “As some of you might know, I played linebacker at State - Go Fighting Cards! - and when you’re on the field, you’re part of a team. You know the role you’re expected to play. You do it well - you hit someone, you make a play, and the crowd goes wild. That’s instant feedback. That’s reality.”
The screen switched to drone footage performing a flyby of an empty stadium.
Ty hit his mark and steepled his hands.
“But then the game ends. You graduate. Maybe you’re like me and you got a job… in real estate.” Eli heard a couple of people in the audience chuckle, nervously. “And suddenly, the volume goes to zero. You’re just a guy. No team. No tribe. Just one of the millions of nobodies adrift.”
The screen changed. The Bet Ballers logo filled the entire screen, scaled out of proportion to such a degree that it appeared pixelated.
“I was adrift, until I found my community.”
Eli slumped lower in his seat. Marci set down her popcorn and put her hand on his arm. “People tell you gambling is a vice,” Ty said, his voice rising. “They say it’s ‘risky’. They even say, ‘Ty, why are you still up at 3am watching Chinese amateur ping-pong?’”
Ty held for laughter for a second. When it didn’t come, he plowed ahead.
“I tell them: I’m not buying a bet - I’m buying a brotherhood.”
A new slide appeared. It was bisected horizontally. Above the line were the words SKIN IN THE GAME. Below that were the words FEEL SOMETHING REAL.
“Think about it. Watching a game on TV? Two team you don’t care about? Boring. Next thing you know you’re doom scrolling social media and shopping online just to feel something. It’s passive. It’s weak. It’s total spectator mindset when what you need is a grind-set.”
Ty stalked to the edge of the stage.
“But… you put fifty bucks on the over, and guess what? Suddenly, you’re in the arena. You’re sweating. Your heart rate matches the quarterback’s. You’re participating in history.” “And when you lose?” Ty began pointing to people in the front row, “Or you, or even you - when you lose, and you will, they will call it ‘failure’. They call it ‘reckless’. But you know what I call it? Shared sacrifice.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Eli muttered under his breath. Marci squeezed his arm both in support and as a warning. Eli rubbed his temple with his free hand.
The slide advanced to a photo of a wolf pack advancing through the snow toward the camera.
“When I’m in my exclusive Discord - shout out to those that put the big ‘D’ in Degenerates - and we all miss? That’s real. We bleed together. We feel that pain together. And in a world that wants you numb, sometimes the quickest way to feeling alive again is losing a thousand dollars.”
There was a drunken whoop from someone in the back on the lower level.
“Yeah - my man knows what I’m talking about!”
Ty returned to center stage amidst scattered laughter.
“Last week, on my show, I predicted the Ali Dettmer to the Raiders trade. The experts? The suites? They said no. They said, ‘Ty, where’s you’re data?’ But I didn’t use data. I used instinct. I used the collective energy of a thousand randos screaming into a chat room. And you know what?”
He paused for effect.
“We manifested it. We willed it into existence. The universe bends to the bold. We moved the line, and reality followed.”
The slide changed to a collage of recent news story screen shots.
“And we’re just getting started. Sports betting was just the beginning. Prediction markets take the best parts of betting, and apply it to world events. In a noisy, confusing world, anyone can put up or shut up. Got a hot tip on who will be the next president? Think you know when the war with Russia will end? Well, why not make cold hard cash with what you know.”
Ty shrugged, palms up.
“Play your cards right, and it’s like profiting from the news before its even news.”
Eli leaned over to Marci and whispered, “I think we should go.”
“If I leave you with one thing from tonight, is that we can make the future. Community isn’t potlucks. It isn’t who you happen to live by.” He pointed with both fingers at the TEDx red carpet he was standing on. “Real community is knowing that when you’re down to your last chip, when your back is against the wall, you have the courage to look at the odds, fact check the spread with your brothers, and say-“
Ty raised a fist.
“LOCK. IT. IN.”
The slide advanced one more time to present a QR code the size of the entire screen.
“My name is Ty Hertzel. Use the code BETBALLERS for a deposit match up to two hundred dollars. Let’s build something together!”
There was momentary hesitation, and then a slow, scattered wave of polite applause.
“He really thinks he crushed that, doesn’t he?” Marci whispered.
“Thank you!” Ty yelled, grinning before walking backstage.
Eli scanned the crowd, spotting a handful of phones trying to capture the QR code still on the screen.
“It was certainly… something.”
- End Scene 5 - Click here for the next installment of Moneyballer Americana.*