Michael Osborne once figured he could make a living by betting on sports.
“Winning 700, 800 bucks at 15 when I was working in the grocery store making $200 a week, I thought I was a big deal. It was nice walking around in high school with that wad in your pocket,” recalled Osborne, now 37. “That’s the hook, line and sinker. I’m thinking, 'This is easy. I know sports, I love sports. I might never have to work again.”’
He ended up $500,000 in debt, in legal trouble and ultimately, suicidal.
“I lost everything,” Osborne said. “Cars, family, house, career. There was nothing left for me to lose.”
With treatment, Osborne shed his gambling addiction. Now, instead of seeking to support himself by wagering on sports, he’s dedicated his life to helping others with the same misguided notion.
Osborne is owner and executive director of Baltimore-based Harbour Pointe, a residential treatment facility that is solely dedicated to curing addiction to gambling. Founded in 1985, Harbour Pointe treated 104 people last year, including women and CEOs.
“I’ve handled everyone from millionaires to people whose parents, uncles, brothers and friends chipped in to get them a month of care,” said Dr. Jack Vaeth, a board certified psychiatrist and a member of the Harbour Pointe medical staff.
The National Gambling Impact Study Commission estimates that each year an average of $230 billion is illegally wagered on sports in the United States. A study by the National Institute of Mental Health concluded 4.2 million Americans are addicted to gambling, 60 percent of whom have yearly incomes under $25,000.
“Gamblers are difficult to treat. People love to bet on football because they think they know the game and believe they can beat the odds,” said Jeffrey M. Beck, managerial assistant at the New Jersey-based Council of Compulsive Gambling.
Osborne’s first experience with Harbour Pointe came when he was 19. His parents bailed him out of a $6,000 debt to a bookie under the stipulation he receive treatment for his problem.
“They brought me here and dropped me off. But once the bookie was taken care of, I felt like I had learned my lesson,” Osborne said. “I told myself I would never get to that point again. I started calling in bets from here. I did what I needed to do to get through it and that was the end.”
Only it wasn’t. Osborne got a job in real estate and stole from customers’ escrow accounts to pay off debts to offshore bookmakers. In August 2003, facing jail time after violating probation, he was homeless and walking along the side of railroad tracks trying to decide what to do next.
“There was nothing else to live for,” he said. “It was either going to be death or one last-ditch effort of getting help and trying to come out of this.”
He returned to Harbour Pointe, finally righted himself and, in 2006, took control of the facility.
Osborne receives personal and vocational support from LeRoy Yegge, his best friend and Harbour Pointe’s business development manager. The 43-year-old Yegge has a story that’s very similar to Osborne’s.
“I started pitching coins at 7 years old after school. I was winning and feeling good about it,” Yegge said. “I went to the racetrack at 12 years old. Went with $20 and walked out with $180. It was the greatest thing I’d ever seen.”
He got a job at the track at 15, and in high school was booking bets for his teachers to feed his habit.
“I’d bet on sports, horses, cards,” Yegge recalled. “If there were two flies in a room, I’d bet on which one landed first.”
Yegge remained afloat until 2002, when he stole his wife’s identity and maxed out her credit cards to pay off his gambling tab. She threw him out of the house, and Yegge was living on the streets of Baltimore before he finally checked himself into Harbour Pointe.
Having battled their own demons, Osborne and Yegge know firsthand of gambling’s addictive power. Summoned by desperate families, they have traveled as far as California for “an intervention.”
“We go out with two plane tickets and book three to come back,” Osborne said. “There’s an immediate connection. I say, ’I’m not a doctor and I won’t pretend to be one. But I can tell you where you’ve been, where you’re at now and where you still have to go.’ That gets their attention.”
About 93 percent of those visited return to Harbour Pointe even though the eight-bed facility is not cheap: A five-week session costs $20,000.
A man who cured his gambling addiction at Gamblers Anonymous scoffed at the price.
“It’s a moneymaking deal,” said Chris, who would not give his last name. “If people really want help, they can come to GA for nothing.”
Harbour Pointe officials insist the individual treatment they offer is far more effective. Each patient receives one-on-one attention in meetings with the medical staff and former gamblers such as Osborne and Yegge.
“What we find is that gamblers are manipulators and liars,” Osborne said, “so if you put them in groups all day what you do is give them a path to not look at their own issues.”
Psychologist Thomas T. Truss, the clinical director at Harbour Pointe, said, “I value the role that Gamblers Anonymous plays as a self-help group, but there’s a world of difference in what we offer: an in-depth exploration of the subject’s life history.”
Vaeth said, “The key is the individual one-on-one treatment. My role is to look at the whole person. When someone comes here, our goal is not only to get him to quit gambling, but to have him emerge as the optimal person he can be.”
Yegge says he started gambling because his parents divorced at an early age and betting served as an escape.
“Typically, what we ultimately find is that gambling ends up being a smaller problem of a bigger problem,” Osborne said. “That’s where we’re different. Programs these days only treat the addiction and not the overall person. And it’s equally important for us at Harbour Point to find what we call the fuel to the fire. If we only treated the gambling, when these real issues came to the surface again an individual will relapse.”
Says Yegge: “Coming here is not a cure. It helps you realize what’s going on with yourself.”
Osborne says the abstinence rate after leaving Harbour Pointe is around 73 percent. He plans to open a new facility in West Palm Beach, Fla., next year.
Osborne hasn’t made a bet since 2003 but is still paying for his mistakes. He was told recently to appear before the real estate commission because he stole $28,819 and owes more than $126,000 in fines.
Osborne has no desire to make a bet to get the money back. Similarly, Yegge knows exactly what would happen if he ever succumbed to the urge to gamble again.
“If I went out today and played a dollar on my number, my luck is so bad that I’d probably win,” he said. “I’d have all that money in front of me. The very first bet I’d make could send me down that road again.”
