Imagine a trusted doctor, hailed as a savior for the addicted, now entangled in the tragic death of a prominent NFL figure. That’s the unsettling story of Dr. Harry Haroutunian, a 78-year-old psychiatrist whose questionable practices have come under fire after the passing of Indianapolis Colts CEO Jim Irsay.
According to Daily Mail, the core of this saga revolves around Dr. Haroutunian’s long-term care of Irsay, culminating in a fatal cardiac arrest on May 21, 2025, at the Beverly Hills Hotel, amid allegations of excessive opioid and ketamine prescriptions.
Dr. Haroutunian, often called "Dr. Harry," rose to fame as the medical director of the Betty Ford Center from 2005 to 2016, where he built a reputation for treating addiction, even sharing his own recovery journey. But behind the polished image, whispers of controversy began to emerge.
In 2014, Haroutunian vouched for Dr. Elsworth Williams in a filing to reinstate Williams’s medical license, despite a history of dangerous prescribing and past sexual misconduct allegations. "I find [Williams], without question, an honorable and dignified man," Haroutunian declared. Such glowing praise for a tarnished colleague raises eyebrows about Haroutunian’s judgment, especially when Williams later surrendered his license again after failing key exams.
Fast forward to 2016, a California lawsuit by surgeon Dr. Mark Hiesterman accused Haroutunian of fabricating records to push him into a costly $100,000 rehab program at Betty Ford. Hiesterman claimed Haroutunian, who never even met him, falsely diagnosed alcohol abuse despite other doctors finding no issue. This smells like a cash grab, not care, though the case was dismissed in 2017, likely settled quietly.
By 2017, Haroutunian appeared in TV commercials for R360 LLC, a rehab referral platform later slammed by the Federal Trade Commission in 2022 for misleading patients. "You have to act like death is imminent," he intoned in the ads. Yet, with only a handful of providers on the roster, this urgency seems more like marketing than medicine, even if Haroutunian wasn’t directly implicated in the legal fallout.
Haroutunian’s relationship with Jim Irsay, spanning over two decades, took a dark turn in recent years. Irsay, a vocal advocate for addiction awareness despite his own struggles, leaned on Haroutunian for care, including a staggering regimen of up to 14 ketamine injections daily and hundreds of opioid pills.
A Washington Post investigation revealed that just days before two overdoses in December 2023, Haroutunian prescribed over 200 opioid pills to Irsay. This bombshell report, citing sources close to Irsay, sparked outrage across the NFL over such aggressive treatment methods. How does one justify this level of dosing to a man already battling addiction?
Ketamine, while FDA-approved under strict conditions, remains a controversial choice for those with substance use disorders. Experts like Dr. Marv Seppala have cautioned against its broad use, noting, "We have to be extremely careful." Haroutunian’s decision to prescribe it so heavily feels like playing with fire in a field that demands caution over experimentation.
On May 21, 2025, tragedy struck as Irsay, 65, succumbed to cardiac arrest in a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Haroutunian, staying with Irsay’s entourage at the time, signed the death certificate, attributing the cause to pneumonia and heart complications.
Police and county records cleared Haroutunian of responsibility for Irsay’s death, a decision that might leave some scratching their heads, given the preceding events. "We did everything we could to make him as comfortable as possible," Haroutunian told the Washington Post. Comfort is one thing, but was this care or a catastrophic misstep?
Now running a boutique rehab near Palm Springs, Haroutunian’s past actions cast a long shadow over his current endeavors. For 18 months, he was Irsay’s caretaker, a role that should inspire trust, not suspicion. Yet, the pattern of pushing boundaries—whether with pills, ketamine, or questionable endorsements—paints a troubling picture.
Irsay’s death isn’t just a personal loss; it’s a wake-up call for an industry often cloaked in compassion but sometimes driven by profit. The progressive push to destigmatize addiction is noble, but it cannot excuse oversight of those entrusted with vulnerable lives. Haroutunian’s story begs the question: Are we prioritizing recovery or enabling risky behavior under the guise of care?
While Haroutunian escapes legal blame for Irsay’s passing, the court of public opinion is far less forgiving, especially among conservatives who value personal responsibility over unchecked medical experimentation. The NFL community, reeling from this loss, deserves answers about how such practices went unchecked. Let’s hope this tragedy spurs reform, not just more headlines.
