In an Iowa cornfield
somewhere the Black Sox are smiling, or will be if the Supreme Court rules in
favor of loosening federal restrictions on sports’ betting. And odds are the court will be inclined to
let states regulate that gambling—excuse me, gaming—activity as they see fit.
I’ve felt, literally,
the consequences of gambling; somebody once grabbed my butt when I volunteered
at Monday bingo at our parish; the proceeds went to Clare’s grade school. I survived, but came away with some
unpleasant memories, of the troll dolls and other lucky charms players used, of
how down-and-out so many of the people looked and how totally out of place one
well-dressed woman seemed.
Eventually, Monday
bingo at our parish went the way of the Latin Mass; too much competition from
video gaming. Indeed, when I pick up hot
dogs or Clare and I go hitting, there are video slot machines begging to be
fed. And just this week, I drove by a
parking lot where a casino-bound bus was parked. I couldn’t tell how many seniors had gotten
on the bus, but I did see one man working his walker ever so slowly to the
door. No doubt, the driver would make
sure to help him up the stairs.
If sports betting
becomes the latest panacea as the perfect, painless source of tax revenue,
maybe they can install bookie joints or whatever the euphemism is at all the pro
sporting venues, college ones, too. Like
I said, the Black Sox will be smiling.
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