In the world of professional baseball, Shohei Ohtani stands as a once-in-a-century talent. Four-time all-star Justin Upton called him “the most talented player I’ve ever seen.” Derek Jeter put it simply: “It’s tough enough to just be a great hitter or an offensive player, or to be a great pitcher. For him to be able to do both is pretty remarkable.”
Yet in March 2024, this modern-day Babe Ruth made headlines for something far removed from his athletic prowess. Federal investigators uncovered a shocking betrayal: Ohtani’s personal interpreter and closest confidant, Ippei Mizuhara, had stolen $17 million from the superstar’s accounts to fuel a devastating gambling addiction.
The Oh My Fraud podcast episode “Sho Me the Money” dives into this extraordinary case of violated trust and circumvented financial safeguards. What began as casual $50 wagers for Mizuhara spiraled into an all-consuming addiction that saw him placing an average of 21 bets per day—a staggering 19,000 wagers over just 29 months—while chasing losses that eventually totaled $40 million.
From Trusted Interpreter to Master Manipulator
When Shohei Ohtani arrived in America in 2018, he faced the challenge that confronts many international athletes—navigating a new culture and language under intense scrutiny. Ippei Mizuhara wasn’t just an interpreter; he became Ohtani’s lifeline in America.
Born in Japan but raised in the Los Angeles area since age seven, Mizuhara was well-positioned to bridge two cultures. He first met Ohtani in 2013 while working for the Hokkaido Nippon-Ham Fighters in Japan. When Ohtani signed with the Los Angeles Angels in 2017, Mizuhara came along as his personal interpreter.
Their relationship moved beyond professional boundaries. Wherever Ohtani went, Mizuhara was by his side—at the ballpark, at restaurants, even during high-profile events. Mizuhara wasn’t just Ohtani’s voice in interviews, he was his closest confidant, personal assistant, and in many ways, his best friend in America.
This extraordinary access created the perfect conditions for fraud. During Ohtani’s rookie season, Mizuhara helped him open a Bank of America account, acting as the interpreter during the setup process. By 2021, Mizuhara had consolidated control by intentionally excluding Ohtani’s agent, accountant, and financial planner from accessing the account—claiming it was due to “Ohtani’s desire for privacy.”
With exclusive access established, Mizuhara replaced Ohtani’s contact information with his own anonymous email and phone number in the banking system. When banks flagged suspicious transfers, Mizuhara took an even bolder step—he impersonated Ohtani himself on calls with bank representatives.
The Addiction that Consumed Everything
Behind Mizuhara’s elaborate fraud stood a gambling addiction that had spiraled out of control. What began as modest $50 wagers evolved into bets worth hundreds of thousands of dollars at a time.
Between September 2021 and January 2024, Mizuhara placed a staggering 19,000 bets. That’s an average of 21 bets per day. Every day. That’s one bet per hour for 882 days…betting all day, every day.
During his 29-month betting spree, Mizuhara won approximately $142 million—an enormous sum that might seem like success. But those winnings were overwhelmed by losses totaling $182 million, leaving him with a catastrophic $40 million hole he had no legitimate way to fill.
His bookie was Matthew Bowyer, an illegal bookmaker with his own troubled past. Bowyer had filed for bankruptcy in 2011, claiming he had lost $425,000 gambling in Las Vegas over the previous two years. His extermination business had collapsed, leaving him with over $2 million in liabilities. But Bowyer transformed himself from a bankrupt bettor into a gambling kingpin, running his operation through offshore websites and call centers in Costa Rica.
As Mizuhara sank deeper into addiction, his communications with Bowyer revealed classic desperation. “Can I get one last bump? This one is for real, last one for real,” he texted Bowyer in June 2023, only to ask again the next day. He assured the bookmaker, “You don’t have to worry about me not paying,” even swearing on his mother that his next request for credit would be his last. Of course, it wasn’t.
By late 2023, Bowyer was demanding a $2 million payment, but Mizuhara was in too deep: “I’m trying my best, but I just don’t have it right now,” he admitted.
The Betrayal Uncovered
The scheme began unraveling in March 2024, just as the Dodgers were preparing to open their season in South Korea. The Los Angeles Times reported that Ohtani’s name had surfaced in a federal investigation into an illegal gambling ring, sending shockwaves through the sports world.
Before the full story was known, Mizuhara gave an interview to ESPN, trying to control the narrative. He claimed Ohtani had willingly paid off his gambling debts: “Obviously, he wasn’t happy about it and said he would help me out to make sure I never do this again,” Mizuhara claimed. “He decided to pay it off for me.”
The statement raised more questions than answers. Soon after, Ohtani’s camp denied the claim, and the truth emerged—Mizuhara had been lying. The money transfers weren’t a favor from Ohtani. They were theft.
The theft wasn’t limited to direct payments to bookmakers. In a secondary scheme, Mizuhara used Ohtani’s account to purchase approximately 1,000 baseball cards worth $325,000 through eBay and Whatnot (a live shopping marketplace). He had these cards shipped to the Dodgers clubhouse under the alias “Jay Min”—possibly to monetize some of the stolen funds or create deniability for missing money.
Baseball’s Gambling Demons Return
For baseball, the scandal reopened old wounds concerning the sport’s complicated relationship with gambling. When the Ohtani-Mizuhara story broke, it echoed baseball’s darkest chapters.
In 1919, eight Chicago White Sox players conspired with gamblers to throw the World Series. The “Black Sox” scandal nearly destroyed America’s pastime. Baseball’s first commissioner, Kenesaw Mountain Landis, banned all eight players for life. The message was carved into baseball’s bedrock: gambling meant permanent exile.
Then came Pete Rose, baseball’s all-time hits leader. In 1989, an investigation revealed Rose had bet on baseball games, including ones he managed. Despite his legendary status, the punishment was absolute: permanent banishment from baseball. To this day, even after his death, the game’s hits king remains ineligible for the Hall of Fame.
When news broke that millions had moved from Ohtani’s account to a bookmaker, baseball held its collective breath. As the podcast explains: “The sport could handle murder scandals, doping scandals, even cheating scandals. But gambling—that was different, that was existential.”
There was a collective sigh of relief when Ohtani was cleared—he hadn’t bet on anything. He was a victim, not a perpetrator.
The Consequences and Lessons
In June 2024, Mizuhara pleaded guilty to bank and tax fraud. By February 2025, he received a 57-month prison sentence. The court ordered him to pay $16.7 million in restitution to Ohtani and $1.1 million to the IRS for unpaid taxes on the stolen funds.
Matthew Bowyer also pleaded guilty to operating an unlawful gambling business, money laundering, and subscribing to a false tax return. As of the podcast’s recording, he was still awaiting sentencing.
At its heart, this story isn’t just about gambling—it’s about the failure of financial controls at every level. The banking systems that should have detected suspicious transfers, the oversight that should have spotted irregular patterns, and the basic protections that should have prevented unauthorized access all failed.
The podcast distills the central lesson into four simple words: “Trust is not a control.” No matter how close the relationship, proper financial controls must always be maintained. As the host suggests, perhaps high-profile individuals like Ohtani need to consider an unusual role: “If you’re making that kind of money, shouldn’t the best paid person in your entourage be the person who keeps an eye on everyone else in the entourage?” While that might sound cynical, it could have saved Ohtani $17 million.
The Ippei Mizuhara saga joins a long list of gambling-driven frauds. Jonathan Schwartz stole millions from his clients. Amit Patel embezzled funds from the Jacksonville Jaguars. All three perpetrators convinced themselves that redemption lay just one lucky wager away—a delusion that drives the vicious cycle of addiction, loss, and escalating fraud.
The patterns are always the same: what starts as casual betting transforms into an obsession so powerful it destroys careers, relationships, and lives.
Listen to the full Oh My Fraud episode to learn more about this remarkable case, which blends America’s pastime with a powerful cautionary tale about addiction, trust, and financial controls.