Their Game’s Number Came Up

This was bad news, bleak news, the kind of news that drives some people to drink.

Which was convenient, since many of those upset by the news were standing in bars and liquor stores when they heard.

Hours after the California Supreme Court killed the state lottery’s keno game, calling it an illegal form of gambling, players throughout Orange County were staring into the abyss.

“I play this every day!” cried Bill Bryant, leaning his elbow on the beer-soaked bar at the Stag in Newport Beach, where keno was as much a part of the ambience as eight-ball and highballs.

Dark and dank, perfumed with stale suds and freshly exhaled cigarette smoke, the Stag has long provided sanctuary for those seeking camaraderie and a cold one. But every now and then, Bryant confided, those comrades get old.

“So you’ve got to have something to change your focus,” Bryant said. “And you can only watch so much TV.”

In a way, keno was like TV. Players picked from one to 10 numbers, each play costing $1. Within minutes, a master computer somewhere broadcast the winning numbers to TV screens at retailers throughout the state. Fortunes were won. Or lost. Mostly lost.

“Four old ladies won $500 yesterday,” bragged Mike Baird, the bartender at a Costa Mesa establishment called Shooters, which claims to sell more keno tickets than any bar in Orange County.

“This is going to kill the bar action,” Baird said, predicting addicted keno players will now travel to Las Vegas for their fix.

Several employees at Shooters bemoaned the loss of big-time keno players from the pool of customers, because such players invariably tip big. Dave Clarke, another Shooters bartender, estimated that he raked in $200 a week from generous keno winners.

“With a lot of our Happy Hour customers, maybe 50%, keno is the main reason they come in here,” Clarke protested.

Baird shook his head at the folly of California, giving away all that revenue that might have gone for schools and roads. Then he offered an idea that found some support among the late afternoon crowd:

“They need to build a big China Wall,” he said, “from Ventura to San Diego, and make it all one big casino.”

*

Back to reality, Bryant was staring at the keno screen, his expression tragic. Sure enough, the bad news was spelled out in blunt blue letters: “All Keno wagering stops today at 4:40 p.m.”

Talk about a buzz-kill.

He looked at a clock. Time enough for one more game.

“Ha!” Bryant yelled. “Last keno game ever, and I won a dollar!”

Asked how much he had invested over the years to win that dollar, Bryant became circumspect.

“He loses more than he wins,” said the afternoon bartender, Bruce Walker.

“Bah!” Bryant said, waving his hand in disgust. “I got nothing else to do.”