“We’ve essentially given the tribe a monopoly on sports betting for the next (30) years,” Brandes said.

“And, oddly, it deprived the state of the largest tax revenue base that could have been captured in a multioperator market.” Complications were inevitableīrandes argues that the growth of sports betting has been so rapid nationally, there is no telling how much more money Florida could have made by taxing independent operators instead of accepting a flat rate from the tribe. “The path chosen by the state was the one most riddled with litigation obstacles while depriving consumers of reasonable choices,” said Daniel Wallach, a South Florida attorney whose practice focuses exclusively on sports betting. Not to mention, the rest of the nation seems to think Florida cost itself hundreds of millions in tax revenues by handing the tribe a 30-year monopoly in a rapidly growing industry. There are still legal battles pending in federal and state courts, including a debate whether a bettor with a smartphone and an app 100 miles from a Seminole casino can be interpreted as wagering on tribal land. Besides the bitter rivalry between the Seminole Tribe and the pari-mutuel industry, there’s the voter-mandated constitutional amendment that was designed to keep gambling in check but was sidestepped by the governor. So why is Florida still tiptoeing its way around the casino floor? Why is sports betting only now making a limited return after a two-year absence? And why is there still uncertainty about its future?

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