Phil Mickelson apparently gambled more than $1 billion and lost close to $100 million—and then complained about how the PGA Tour handled his money.

Mickelson has said he no longer gambles. But golf is still paying for his addiction. When time passes and the full history of the PGA Tour and LIV Golf is told, Mickelson’s gambling could end up as the first scene. More than any other current player, he pushed LIV into existence. If Mickelson hadn’t lost so much money gambling, would he have been so determined to jump to a new tour that could replenish his savings? And if he hadn’t been so determined, would LIV leaders Greg Norman and Yasir Al-Rumayyan have convinced any other stars to jump? Mickelson did not jump first, but that was only because he was fighting a public relations battle after his comments about the Saudis. He was first in line for months.

The latest allegations come from gambling legend Billy Walters’s new book, Gambler: Secrets From a Life at Risk, which was excerpted on the Fire Pit Collective on Thursday. The golf world has eagerly anticipated Walters’s book because everybody assumed he had dirt on Mickelson—and there may be more to come when the full book is released.

The excerpt is not revelatory, but it does bring some clarity. Mickelson had already acknowledged that a gambling addiction threatened his lifestyle. It was common knowledge that he and Walters are ex-friends.

I did not expect to read that Mickelson placed 43 bets on Major League Baseball games in one day, mostly because I didn’t think he had the patience to watch that much baseball. I mean, this was before the pitch clock. I also did not expect to read that Mickelson tried to bet $400,000 on the U.S. to win the Ryder Cup, but that’s because I have seen Mickelson play in the Ryder Cup. (Editor’s note: Mickelson issued a statement Thursday afternoon denying he bet on the Ryder Cup.)

But I assumed Walters would detail huge gambling losses for Mickelson—and it’s possible that even Walters does not know the full extent of them.

Addicts get desperate and make awful decisions, whether they are famous or unknown, wealthy or destitute. Mickelson deserves empathy for his gambling addiction—even if, as with the proposed bet on his own Ryder Cup team, he tried to cross ethical lines. If you have ever loved an addict or are one yourself, you know that at their lowest points, addicts cannot think of anything but feeding their addictions.

But the depth of Mickelson’s addiction should inform any analysis of his actions after he apparently stopped gambling. He complained about the Tour’s “obnoxious greed.” He screamed that the Tour was sitting on “$20 billion in digital assets.” He complained that he did not own the media rights to shots he had hit. Then he helped create LIV and threw the game he loves into a chaotic state for more than a year. He sued the Tour for antitrust violations, then withdrew his name rather than go through a possible trial. When the PGA Tour dipped deep into its reserves to try to keep its remaining stars happy, Mickelson acted like he was right about the Tour all along.

He sold the story well enough that many people bought it. Could the PGA Tour have been more transparent? Absolutely. Could it have afforded to pay stars more? Probably.

But it feels like a lot of the same people who believed the Tour was sitting on money also believe the Tour reached its “framework agreement” with Saudi Arabia’s Public Investment Fund because it was going broke. You can’t have it both ways.

If the PGA Tour was sitting on $20 billion in assets, do you really think it would have tried to strike a deal with the people who funded LIV Golf? Did it occur to Mickelson that pretty much every sports league considers the footage from its own events to be proprietary? NFL players are supposed to pay a licensing fee to show footage of themselves for any commercial reason, even when they speak at a corporate meeting.

Did Mickelson notice that when LeBron James plays an NBA game, the only advertisement on his jersey is for a company that pays the Lakers? PGA Tour players splatter their clothing with ads for sponsors who pay them—and only them. They can use clubs and balls from any company they choose. What is that worth?

Mickelson convinced himself he knew something other people didn’t.

As much money as he had, he became hell-bent on getting more.

Gosh, it’s almost like Mickelson just redirected his gambling impulses toward his fight with the Tour.

Addicts deserve empathy, Mickelson included. But actions deserve scrutiny. Publicly admitting he had a problem is not the same as Mickelson taking full responsibility. The PGA Tour did not dig his hole. He did it. All of golf would have been better off if he had owned it.