BINGO’S NEW ADDICTS
As machines replace cards, players gamble more than they can afford
The vast interior of Toronto’s Delta St. Clair bingo hall looks like a cross between mission control and a low- rent Las Vegas.
Scores of video terminals line the tables, letting enthusiasts play the live event electronically, or pump money digitally into individual, virtual bingo games that begin and end in seconds.
Adjacent to them are banks of what are called electronic break-open ticket devices, but appear and behave much like slot machines.
Bingo was once gambling’s innocent, slow- paced genre — the place where bored grandmothers came to wager a few dollars of pension money in a genial setting. That bygone era, however, is quickly vanishing. Ontario has become the latest jurisdiction to electrify the traditional bingo hall, introducing machines meant to breathe fresh life into a dying mode of entertainment — while parting players from their money far more quickly and easily than before.
The change has been a godsend for the charities that take a cut, but is raising concerns about a possible new frontier in problem gambling. A just-published analysis suggests the electronic games have the same features that make video slot machines so addictive, all while hiding behind bingo’s folksy image.
“They’re under the radar of people that live in these communities, and under the radar maybe even of municipal politicians,” says Kevin Harrigan of the University of Waterloo’s gambling research lab, who spearheaded the study.
“They’re not described as a casino, (but) if you have one facility with over 400 machines where you can gamble every 1.5 seconds, that’s a pretty significant gambling facility in your neighbourhood.”
Even some of the patrons of St. Clair, located in a worn, semi- industrial pocket of the city’s west end, are troubled by the introduction of what they call slot machines.
“It’s just intriguing people to gamble more,” said Mike Morie on a quick smoke break between live bingo games. “They’re trying to squeeze everything they can get out of you.”
But the operators and beneficiaries of the facilities say they are working hard to confront potential addiction problems, and insist the games are relatively harmless.
Regardless, electronic gambling’s incursion into the world of bingo may have been inevitable. Revenue from traditional bingo parlours — typically regulated by the provinces as a source of cash for charities — has long been shrinking.
In Ontario, the take until recently was plunging by 10 per cent a year, the number of charities benefiting from the proceeds falling just as rapidly, says Lynn Cassidy, executive director of the Ontario Charitable Gaming Association.
“It was a very tired product,” she said. “We actually had charitable programs that closed, laid off staff because they weren’t able to generate enough funds.”
B.C. has gone the furthest to jump- start the moribund industry, adding actual slot machines and electronic table games, as well as electronic bingo terminals into halls. Quebec converted some of its bingo parlours into something called Kinzos, which include slot machines as well as a live game that networks with other locations.
In a “revitalization” program launched in 2011, the Ontario government renamed bingo halls charitable gaming centres, adding TapTix machines — the so- called break- open ticket games — and electronic bingo terminals.
The “play- on- demand” screens let gamers have virtual cards — as well as the oldfashioned paper ones — in live, communal bingo. The devices also offer individual, fast-paced games with colourful graphics.
The changes reflect what the public was requesting in market surveys, says Ryan Bissonette of the Ontario Lottery and Gaming Corp, required by the Criminal Code to control the electronic machines.
As the new technology has rolled out, revenue from the electronic and paper games at 31 bingo halls jumped from $ 40 million in 2012-13 to $ 74 million in 2013-14, he said. The average spent per person per visit has not risen dramatically — sales have soared as the number of customers grows, said Bissonnette.
Cassidy says the charities’ piece of the proceeds has jumped by as much 75 per cent per bingo hall, to a total of $ 28 million. “It’s made a huge difference,” she said.
Problem gambling has become a largely accepted, and ignored, byproduct of the provincially run gaming industry, which nets $13 billion a year.
But Harrigan warns in his study that placing electronic games next to traditional, lowkey paper bingo and its longtime devotees, “is potentially far more dangerous to players than the general public might realize.”
It’s early days for the Ontario bingo halls yet, and the large majority of people do gamble responsibly, says Nigel Turner, a research scientist with the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health. But simply making such machines available inevitably leads to more people getting hooked, he says.
“The money you generate is a good proxy for the problems,” says Turner. “Any time you increase the availability of a form of gambling, you increase the potential that people are going to lose control.”
Nationwide, the Responsible Gambling Council reports that 6,400 problem gamblers and family members received treatment in 2013-14 — and that does not include three provinces where statistics were unavailable: Alberta, Quebec and Newfoundland.
In a paper just published by the International Journal of Mental Health and Addiction, Harrigan and colleagues document how the individual games on electronic bingo terminals have the same features that in slot machines have been proven to — inadvertently at least — encourage addiction.
They highlight near misses, provide repeated losses disguised as wins, show lists of past wins and are so fast-paced, Harrigan estimates someone wagering $ 4 at a time could lose up to $480 per hour.
As for the TapTix machines, they are, technically speaking, different than slots. The latter’s computer has a random-number generator that determines the result of each virtual spin. The TapTix is programmed with pre-determined outcomes that are revealed with each push of the button.
To the user, though, they seem much the same. I depleted most of a $20 bill in about 15 minutes — my bets averaging 75 cents each — before hitting a jackpot of sorts that left me ahead $12. Unlike the average gambler, no doubt, I cashed out at that point.
“Basically, they’re slot machines,” says Turner.
But Paul Pellizzari, the Ontario gaming corporation’s social responsibility chief, says the electronic games — despite the fast-growing revenue — remain an adjunct to the main attraction: live bingo. People are simply not spending that much on the e-machines, he argues.
And unlike before the agency got involved, each bingo hall now has a kiosk where players can find information on problem gambling, while staff are trained to look out for early signs of trouble.
The charity facilities also get regular, educational visits from the Responsible Gambling Council, said Pellizzari. “It’s becoming part of the culture of the bingo halls.”
Even Harrigan concedes that the gaming corporation is giving much more attention to problem gambling generally than it did in the past.
Yet for the diehard fans of bingo and its social vibe — like Mike Morie’s in-laws, who “just want a place to come and have something to do” — the machines and their often-solitary players have changed the halls forever.
“It’s not a leisure pastime anymore,” Morie said outside the St. Clair hall. “I think it’s more to do with gambling now.”