Thomas believed he had finally put his gambling problem behind him. The 35-year-old had been locked out of the major sports betting platforms, had watched his finances collapse into bankruptcy, and had every reason to stay away from wagering altogether. Instead, he discovered a new avenue that experts say is quietly becoming a haven for people wrestling with gambling addiction: prediction markets such as Kalshi.
His story, told to NPR while requesting that only his middle name be used because of the potential damage to his career, illustrates what specialists describe as a troubling and growing pattern. As the prediction market industry expands rapidly, they argue, it is offering an easy path back into compulsive betting for people who had been cut off from traditional sportsbooks—often with fewer safeguards and less regulatory scrutiny than the companies that once banned them.
Thomas's problems began during the pandemic, when he decided to experiment with DraftKings and FanDuel. What started as curiosity quickly hardened into a routine. He recalled that alcohol never held much of a grip on him—he could drink heavily one night and then go a year without another drop—but sports betting was different. It grabbed hold of him in a way nothing else had.
He was never much of a sports fan. Yet placing wagers on games struck him as a simple way to make money. He gravitated toward football and tennis, frequently betting through parlays—complex wagers that require several outcomes to fall into place at once and are notoriously difficult to win, even though they advertise the promise of a large payout.
At the time, Thomas was working from his home in Pennsylvania in the financial services industry. His job kept him tethered to his computer and phone, juggling emails and meetings throughout the day. According to his account, there were few waking moments when he was not also monitoring a bet or preparing to place one, the two activities blending together as he moved through his workday.
The financial consequences compounded over several years. Whenever a paycheck arrived, he would burn through it trying to recover money he had already lost, a strategy that only pushed him further into the red. By the time he stopped, he had accumulated roughly $75,000 in debt from credit cards and personal loans. More than $50,000 of that total came from online sportsbooks alone.
The pressure eventually drove him to file for bankruptcy in late 2023, according to federal court records. That filing brought a measure of relief, but it also marked how completely the habit had consumed his finances. Around the same time, the major betting companies had barred him from their platforms, closing off the primary channels he had used to place wagers.
For a period, those two developments—bankruptcy and the bans—appeared to function as a kind of forced recovery. With his accounts shut down and his credit in ruins, Thomas had neither the access nor the means to keep gambling the way he once had. But the emergence of prediction markets changed the equation.
Kalshi and similar platforms allow users to trade on the outcomes of events, including sports, elections, and other real-world occurrences. To regulators and industry supporters, these are financial instruments rather than games of chance. To someone like Thomas, however, the distinction appears to matter little. He relapsed on Kalshi after being exiled from conventional sportsbooks, finding in the prediction market a substitute that offered the same rush he had struggled to leave behind.
Experts who study gambling addiction say Thomas's experience is far from unique. They contend that prediction markets have become a go-to destination for compulsive gamblers looking to restart after being blocked or self-excluded from mainstream betting sites. Because these platforms often operate under financial regulatory frameworks rather than gambling laws, they may not be required to offer the same consumer protections—such as deposit limits, cooling-off periods, or self-exclusion registries—that states mandate for sportsbooks.
That gap is at the heart of the concern. Advocates warn that the rapid proliferation of prediction markets is outpacing the rules meant to protect vulnerable users, leaving people with serious gambling problems to navigate a landscape where the usual guardrails are absent or inconsistently applied. The result, they say, is that individuals who might have been flagged or barred elsewhere can sign up and begin betting again with relative ease.
The consequences for someone in Thomas's position can be severe. He had already lost tens of thousands of dollars, damaged his credit, and gone through the humiliation of bankruptcy. Relapsing through a new type of platform threatened not only his remaining financial stability but also the fragile progress he had made in stepping away from a behavior he described as uniquely addictive.
His case also raises broader questions about how the booming prediction market industry markets itself. Companies in the sector frequently distance themselves from gambling, presenting their products as tools for hedging risk or expressing informed opinions about future events. Critics argue that this framing can obscure the reality that the mechanics—placing money on uncertain outcomes—can be functionally identical to betting for users prone to addiction.
For Thomas, the distinction between a sportsbook and a prediction market collapsed entirely. He had been banned from the betting sites that once dominated his life and had filed for bankruptcy after years of losses. Then a new platform gave him a fresh way in, and he took it—a reminder that closing one door does not necessarily close them all, especially as the industry continues to evolve faster than the protections designed to contain its harms.
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