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In a dazzling display of governmental irony, Brazil decided to block over 2,000 gambling websites this Friday—because, you know, nothing screams responsible oversight like shutting down the fun after millions have already plunged into the digital dice pit. The move, a part of the grand regulatory spectacle orchestrated by none other than President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, came with all the grace of a drunken samba dancer. The government just woke up to the fact that tens of millions of people have turned into online betting aficionados over the last five years. Who knew?

Despite betting being authorized back in 2018—because obviously, nothing screams “sound policy” like legalizing something and then pretending it’s all under control—the irony is ripe. Most forms of gambling are still illegal, but sure, let’s just keep those online temptations rolling. Right now, we have a modest 96 companies operating 210 websites, dangling their licenses like a carrot while awaiting government approval, because who doesn’t love a good bureaucratic limbo when addiction is at stake?

Dario Durigan, an executive from the Ministry of Finance with a title as promising as a “playground safety officer” in a boxing ring, confidently proclaimed that these blockades are aimed at “protecting players’ integrity.” Integrity? In a world where cash-strapped families are tossing their Bolsa Familia budgets into the online Abyss of Despair and Desperation? Bravo!

Psychiatrists are wringing their hands over a surge in gambling addiction as families scramble for loose change, and banks are reporting increases in “mysterious transactions.” But hey, at least the media companies and soccer clubs are raking it in, courtesy of sponsorships from betting companies. It’s the circle of life, Brazilian style—while the players plunge into financial ruin, the clubs celebrate their new jersey sponsors. A toast to the rich irony!

And let’s not forget the latest twist: the federal government is now desperately trying to prevent welfare money from being gambled away. Nothing says “we care” quite like having to draw lines at food security for families while simultaneously shaking the money tree for sponsorship dollars.

As the uncertainty over the fate of these gambling companies looms like a dark cloud over Brazilian sports, local teams are fretting over lost revenue. It’s almost touching to see how deeply they care—about their wallets, not the families betting their last hopes on a roll of the dice. Maybe in the end, we’ll all just gather at the local stadium, throw on our team jerseys, and place bets on whether the government’s next move will be even more ridiculous. The irony is too rich to pass up.

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