I was getting up in the morning and betting on Lithuanian

Paul Merson once admitted: “I was getting up in the morning and betting on Lithuanian under-20 basketball matches.” These words, though spoken plainly, carry the weight of tragedy and the fire of warning. They are not about the joy of sport or the pursuit of knowledge, but about a descent into obsession, where the hunger for gambling overtakes reason, and the dawn, meant to bring renewal, becomes instead the stage for compulsion.

To awaken each morning should be to greet the sun with purpose, to begin the day with strength and clarity. But here, Merson confesses that the first act of his day was not creation or service, but betting. Not even on grand events or contests known to him, but on obscure matches—Lithuanian youth games—chosen not for love of sport but for the desperate itch of addiction. His words reveal how far a man may fall when control is surrendered, when the hunger for escape becomes stronger than the call of life itself.

The ancients knew the danger of such excess. They spoke of hubris, of appetites unrestrained that bring ruin upon even the mighty. In Rome, senators lost fortunes in games of dice; in Greece, men wagered their estates in reckless contests. The problem was never the game itself, but the soul enslaved by it. Merson’s testimony echoes this ancient truth: when one’s waking hours are chained to compulsion, freedom is lost, and with it the dignity of living fully.

History offers us countless mirrors. Consider Fyodor Dostoevsky, the Russian novelist, who himself fell prey to gambling, losing money and dignity in the pursuit of chance, even as he penned great works of literature. Or think of athletes and rulers alike who, consumed by indulgence, let their power slip through their fingers. Merson’s story is not unique, but it is piercing in its specificity—Lithuanian under-20 basketball, a detail so obscure it underscores how meaningless the wagers had become. The object did not matter; only the act of feeding the hunger mattered.

Yet within his confession is also a cry of redemption. To speak these words openly is to shine light upon the shadow, to admit the chains and thus begin the work of breaking them. His admission is not mere shame—it is wisdom born of suffering. It is the voice of a man who has walked the path of ruin and turned back to warn those who would follow. He reminds us that even when we lose ourselves, truth-telling can become the first step toward reclaiming life.

The lesson is sharp and clear: beware the small compromises that grow into chains. Gambling, indulgence, addiction—these do not begin with the Lithuanian youth games; they begin with a single choice repeated until it becomes a prison. If you find yourself waking in the morning with your heart set not on life, love, or purpose, but on compulsion, then you are drifting toward the abyss. Catch yourself, seek help, remember that your mornings are too precious to be sacrificed at the altar of chance.

Therefore, children of striving, take heed of Paul Merson’s words. Guard your mornings, for they shape your days, and your days shape your destiny. Do not let them be claimed by forces that shrink your spirit and enslave your will. Instead, rise with discipline, rise with vision, rise with gratitude. For the man who greets the sun with strength walks a path of freedom; but the man who wakes only to bet has already sold his dawn to darkness. Let Merson’s story be both a warning and a guide: addiction can consume, but confession and courage can restore.