Wednesday, November 11, 2009

KNOW WHEN TO WALK AWAY: Every man, if he lives long enough, sooner or later will find himself courting a night's sleep in Delaware. My time came early this week.

There is a great number of reasons to go to Delaware. That great number is "one," and it has something to do with incorporation. For some time, Delaware has been working on adding a second number ("number two," it would be called) to reflect its wagering industry. Delaware fervently wishes to style itself the number-two non-Indian gaming destination in the portion of the United States north and east of New Orleans.

Perhaps it has succeeded, but if anyone needs help understanding that Las Vegas and gambling have a symbiotic, not causal, relationship, Delaware is a good place to go to make that clear. I stayed at Dover Downs, which is both (apparently) the best full-service hotel within 15 minutes of Delaware's governmental seat and a state-of-the-art Delaware-style casino. When I found out I was staying at a casino, I was excited to play blackjack. Except Delaware prohibits table gaming. Okay, but with a little industry, I'd get there at 8:00 on a Monday night, just in time to take advantage of Delaware's much-ballyhooed legalization of NFL wagering. Except that you have to place your wager by midnight on Saturday.

So if there's no real sports book and no table gaming, what is there? First, slots, and acres of them. Second, chariot racing, which is befuddling to me. What is the point of chariot racing other than to favor professional gamblers at the expense of casual bettors? Third, laughable attempts to circumvent the table-gaming ban. The "blackjack" section of the casino -- right in the middle of the floor, where all casinos put their blackjack pits -- features a dozen or so kiosks set up like blackjack tables. Instead of tables, they have glass-covered videos screen where your virtual cards land, and instead of dealers, they have more large video screens with footage of what appear to be aging, inexpertly enhanced strippers in too-small cocktail dresses awkwardly miming the dealing of cards. Though obviously meant to provide a simulacrum of dealer interaction, their ill-timed fidgets and smiles make clear that you aren't present for them any more than they are present for you, putting them squarely at the floor of the uncanny valley. Which, in turn, emphasizes that you're just playing video blackjack on particularly gaudy machines.

What Vegas does exceedingly well is sell you on a hedonistic experience of which gambling is only a part. It gives you a wide variety of things to do -- eat, see, ride, relax -- and is perfectly content to stick its hand in your pocket for just the hour or two between your activities, or as a distraction while you're doing them. It serves up drinks and encourages friendly interaction with dealers and fellow players to cultivate the warm feelings that will bubble over into short bursts of impulsive, irrational wagers. Delaware-style gambling is the opposite of that. People's eyes are glassy from the video screens, and nobody is interacting with anybody. Sports bets must be made days in advance, so the bettors don't hang around cheering their interests and commisserating over setbacks. It's illegal to sell liquor at below cost, so you can drink only what you buy. Delaware-style gaming is a peculiarly antisocial kind of gambling, almost a defiant declaration that people will gamble even if it's not fun, and it assuredly is not. Good luck with that.

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