Willow Glen, California Since 1992
Opinion
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There is no keno in this casino in Reno By Mark W. Mayfield My family recently returned from our third annual trip to Reno, Nev., a gambling mecca that should change its official motto from "The Biggest Little City in the World" to "The Little City that Sucks Money from Your Wallet." The reason for our yearly pilgrimage is a prestigious four-day basketball tournament in which my son and his teammates have the wonderful opportunity to be soundly defeated by some of the tallest 13-year-old players in the world. Of course, this situation will change as soon as my son completes his long-awaited vertical growth spurt, which will eventually enable him to shoot the winning basket over an extremely tall opponent at the 2012 NBA championship, after which he will humbly accept the MVP award and tearfully dedicate the trophy to his "incredibly unselfish father," who willingly missed dozens of classic episodes of The Andy Griffith Show so he could go outside and show his son the correct way to dribble, shoot free throws and taunt opposing players. But for now, my son will valiantly, futilely compete against much bigger boys, eagerly waiting for a UFO to land on the basketball court and abduct any opposing player taller than six feet. During our previous visits to Reno, my wife and I avoided the hotel's casino. We are not gamblers. We are God-fearing, hardworking Americans who steadfastly believe that the only way to achieve wealth is to inherit it from a rich relative. But this year, we saw several other God-fearing, hardworking Americans win large jackpots on the hotel's slot machines, and the allure of unbelievable wealth became too strong to resist. As we planned our gambling strategy over dinner in one of the hotel's restaurants, a scantily attired woman approached our table and asked, "Keno?" Although I'd never heard the question before, I promptly replied, "Not yet, but I hope we have lots of keno later! And I hope you have lots of keno, too!" She looked at me with a puzzled expression and walked away. "What does 'keno' mean?" asked my wife, obviously impressed by my ability to understand gambling lingo. "I think it's an old American Indian word that means 'good luck,' " I replied. "The Chamber of Commerce probably uses it to create catchy rhyming slogans like, 'There's Lots of Keno in Every Casino in Reno, the Little City that Sucks Money from Your Wallet.' After dinner, my wife and I gathered our courage and walked into the casino, desperately hoping that we wouldn't encounter other "basketball parents" or my sixth-grade Sunday School teacher, who angrily warned me about the eternal punishment for gambling after she caught me betting with another kid on which team would win the 1970 World Series. We put on our disguises and nervously began our quest for unbelievable wealth. As I fed a $10 bill into our chosen nickel slot machine, I exclaimed the only gambling-related saying I could remember: "Baby needs new shoes!" My wife pushed the "max bet" button and immediately won 100 "credits." ("Credits" are like invisible nickels that stay inside the slot machine until you bet them or push the magic button that turns them into real nickels.) "Shouldn't we stop now?" my excited wife asked, apparently believing that we had already achieved "unbelievable wealth." "Let it ride!" I shouted, suddenly remembering another gambling-related saying. (Nearby gamblers gasped in amazement at my nervy all-or-nothing attitude.). After a few more max bets, we were the proud owners of lots of invisible nickels. Suddenly feeling like a big-time gambler in one of those old movies with Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra, I turned to a fellow slot player and said, "My dame is having lots of keno in this casino in Reno." "Stop calling me your 'dame!' " said my wife, whose phony beard had fallen into her lap during the excitement. That's when the stupid slot machine decided to end our keno in a casino in Reno, and began to swallow credits at an alarming rate. Within a few short minutes, our invisible nickels were gone. "So, Mr. Big Shot Gambler, do you have any more good-luck sayings?" asked my sarcastic wife as we rode the elevator to our room. "Yeah," I said. " 'You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em.' " You can e-mail Mr. Big Shot Gambler at markmayfield@mindspring.com. |
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