Dexter McCullough, Contributor Misleading.com 1:10 PM 10/24/25
Dexter says, “They didn’t just cross a line—they bulldozed it, torched it, and auctioned off the ashes. I’m not here to play referee; I’m here to rip the jersey off this league’s hypocrisy and hang it in the rafters of shame.”
I’ve seen a lot of bad bets in my time. But few as brazen, as corrosive, and as revealing as the one the NBA just got caught holding. When federal agents arrested Chauncey Billups, Terry Rozier, and Damon Jones in connection with a sprawling gambling sting—complete with mafia-backed poker games, insider betting, and rigged performances—it wasn’t just a scandal. It was a mirror. And what stared back was a league that sold its soul to the sportsbook, then acted shocked when the devil came to collect.
Let’s not pretend this is about a few rogue actors. This is about a system that incentivizes secrecy, rewards proximity to power, and treats integrity like a marketing slogan. The NBA didn’t just tolerate gambling—it courted it. It built partnerships with FanDuel, DraftKings, and Caesars. It plastered betting odds across broadcasts. It sent rookies straight to Las Vegas for summer league, then told them not to inhale. And now, with the arrests of Billups and Rozier, the league wants us to believe it’s blindsided. Please.
According to the federal indictments unsealed this week, Rozier allegedly tipped off associates that he’d fake an injury and exit a game early—allowing them to place over $200,000 in bets on his underperformance. Billups, meanwhile, is accused of helping rig underground poker games using high-tech shuffling machines that relayed card data to mafia-linked players. Jones, the connective tissue, allegedly shared insider injury info about LeBron James and Anthony Davis before games. The FBI arrested over 30 people. The NBA placed Rozier and Billups on immediate leave. And the league’s spin machine kicked into gear, emphasizing cooperation and surprise. But as former player Randy Livingston put it, “I’m not surprised at all.”
Neither am I. Because this isn’t just about addiction—it’s about ambition warped by access. Rozier makes $26 million a year. Billups is a Hall of Famer with a coaching gig. These aren’t desperate men. They’re men who believed they could outplay the system because the system taught them to play dirty. Charles Barkley called it “total stupidity.” Kenny Smith tried to frame it as addiction. But I see something deeper: a culture of entitlement, secrecy, and performative ethics. These men didn’t just gamble—they weaponized their insider status. They didn’t just cheat—they monetized trust.
The NBA’s embrace of gambling wasn’t subtle. After the 2018 Supreme Court decision legalizing sports betting nationwide, the league rushed to monetize the moment. It inked deals with sportsbooks, integrated betting data into broadcasts, and rebranded gambling as “fan engagement.” Critics warned of integrity risks. The league shrugged. Now, with mafia-backed poker games and rigged performances in the headlines, the NBA wants to play victim. But this is the cost of the Faustian bargain. When you turn your product into a betting platform, you invite manipulation. When you normalize gambling, you incentivize exploitation.
And this isn’t new. Baseball had the Black Sox scandal in 1919. Eight players from the Chicago White Sox conspired with gamblers to throw the World Series. They were banned for life. Pete Rose, one of the greatest hitters in MLB history, was exiled for betting on games as a manager. The NFL suspended players for betting on their own teams. Tennis has battled match-fixing for years, with players on the Challenger circuit targeted by betting syndicates. Even cricket saw its heroes fall—remember Hansie Cronje? The South African captain took bribes to fix matches. He died in a plane crash before he could testify. In each case, the pattern is the same: insider access, opaque systems, and a culture that rewards silence. The NBA’s scandal is just the latest chapter in a long book of betrayal.
Let’s not gloss over the mafia angle. Billups and Jones allegedly helped organize poker games tied to the Bonano, Gambino, and Genovese crime families. These weren’t casual card nights. They were high-stakes scams using altered shuffling machines to steal millions. Victims were fleeced, debtors were hunted, and the NBA’s fingerprints were on the table. This isn’t just a sports scandal—it’s organized crime. And it raises chilling questions: How deep does this go? Who else is compromised? What other games were rigged?
LeBron James’s name surfaced in the indictments—not as a defendant, but as “Player 3,” whose injury status was allegedly leaked by Jones. LeBron denies involvement. There’s no evidence he participated. But the fact that his health data became currency in a betting scheme shows how porous the system is. If LeBron’s ankle soreness can trigger a $100,000 bet, what does that say about the league’s data security? About its medical ethics? About the commodification of player bodies?
This scandal isn’t an aberration—it’s a design flaw. The NBA built a system where gambling is normalized, insider access is monetized, and accountability is outsourced. It created a culture where players are brands, coaches are assets, and integrity is negotiable. And now, with federal agents knocking, the league wants to feign shock. But I see through the performance. This was misleading by design.
I’ve covered this league for decades. I’ve watched it evolve from a game into a product, from a sport into a spectacle. I’ve seen players fined for criticizing refs while owners cut deals with casinos. I’ve seen the league preach social justice while partnering with surveillance states. I’ve seen the gap between image and reality widen until it swallowed the court whole. And now, I’m watching that gap collapse.
The NBA will investigate. The media will speculate. Fans will debate. But unless the league confronts its own complicity—its own value system—this will happen again. Because the problem isn’t just Billups or Rozier. It’s the ecosystem that made their bets seem worth it.
I don’t buy the redemption arc. I don’t want the teary interviews or the carefully worded apologies. I want transparency. I want accountability. I want the league to admit that it built a house of cards and handed out poker chips. I want it to stop pretending that integrity is a slogan and start treating it like a foundation.
Because here’s the truth: the NBA didn’t just get caught in a gambling sting. It got caught in a lie. A lie about what it values. A lie about what it protects. A lie about who it serves.
And I’m not done digging, for now! Count on follow-up. I want to hear from you!
I guess I’m not done digging, late addition.
Damon Jones, a former NBA player and longtime associate of LeBron James, allegedly shared non-public injury information to facilitate illegal betting, according to federal indictments and reports. Prosecutors say Jones texted a coconspirator that LeBron would be out for the February 9, 2023 game, prompting a large bet on the opposing team. The move turned insider access into a gambling asset, compromising both medical confidentiality and competitive integrity. Jones was arrested in October 2025 and charged with conspiracy to commit money laundering and wire fraud. The Lakers weren’t just implicated—they were collateral damage in a scheme that weaponized trust.
