In the summer of 1984, an image seared itself into the psyche of a nation: Alwyn Morris, a Canadian kayaker of Mohawk descent, rising above the podium at the Los Angeles Olympics, the gleam of gold around his neck from the kayaking event, his arm outstretched with an eagle feather soaring high in salute to his Indigenous roots. Morris became more than an Olympian; he evolved into a symbol of pride and possibility for his people. His accomplishments, both on the waters of competitive sport and through his extensive charitable efforts, earned him the distinguished recognition as a Member of the Order of Canada.
Fast-forward to today, and Alwyn Morris emerges in a different kind of spotlight—as one of the titanic figures behind Bovada, a behemoth in the realm of offshore online gambling, now at the heart of a maelstrom involving state regulators. Bovada, acclaimed for accepting bets in numerous jurisdictions across the United States, stands as a pillar in a nebulous industry—often a step away from the long arm of state regulations.
However, the tides may be turning as Connecticut joined the ranks of Michigan, both states with crested eagles of their own—licensed and regulated online gaming industries. Stepping into the fray, Connecticut’s Department of Consumer Protection Gaming Division announced its intent to clamp down, preparing to dispatch a cease-and-desist letter to the gambling fortress that is Bovada.
Michigan had already forged ahead, issuing its ultimatum on May 29, laying down a two-week siege for the company to vacate its operations within the Wolverine State or prepare to face legal repercussion. The ceaseless wheels of justice ground on the edges of legality; as the Michigan Gaming Control Board (MGCB) forthrightly pronounced Bovada’s continued operations an affront to state laws.
Bovada, not entirely a stranger to such rebuke, previously acquiesced to similar demands from other states, such as Delaware, New Jersey, New York, Maryland, and Nevada—all of which have enacted stringent laws banning unauthorized gaming entities.
The roots of Bovada can be traced back to the trailblazing vision of Calvin Ayre and his establishment of the Bodog brand in 2000—a time when the online gaming landscape was as wild as the rapids once navigated by Morris. Bodog propelled Ayre to the echelons of billionaires, yet following the enactment of the Unlawful Internet Gaming Enforcement Act (UIGEA) in 2006, Ayre divested from the American leg of his empire, bestowing it upon the Morriss Mohawk Gaming Group (MMGG), ensconced in the sovereign Kahnawake Mohawk Territory and helmed by Alwyn Morris as CEO. The plot thickened with the name change to Bovada in 2009 and the involvement of Harp Media BV, shrouded in mystery and incorporated in Curacao around 2017.
But the golden glimmers of Bovada have also been shadowed by legal tribulations. In February 2012, U.S. authorities confiscated the Bodog.com domain amidst allegations of illicit gambling, and though Ayre had purportedly stepped back, he found himself indicted on charges which concluded in 2017, with him pleading guilty to a minor misdemeanor, thereby shelving the remaining indictments.
The latest chapter unfolded as Bovada, along with Alwyn Morris, Calvin Ayre, and Harp Media, were embroiled in a class-action lawsuit launched by a Kentuckian, Billi Jo Woods. The suit seeks restitution for profits purportedly gleaned from illegal gambling operations—echoing the historical reverberations of another legal skirmish where Kentucky utilized its vintage claw-back law to secure a staggering $300 million settlement from PokerStars after a drawn-out legal battle.
The currents that propelled Alwyn Morris to the pinnacle of sporting valor now carry him through murky waters where the rules of engagement are as turbulent as the competition he once knew. Yet, the spirit of a champion often thrives under pressure, and the world watches on, transfixed, as this athlete-turned-mogul navigates the waves of controversy in the relentless pursuit of victory, both on and off the virtual playing field.
