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by Sunny Andersen
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Bingo is gambling, plain and simple.
So why is the Lord smiling?
"B-29!" The call rings out across the vast church basement. Hundreds of markers hit the tables in a barrage of thuds. "N-51!" Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud. "Bingo!" The declaration, loud and confident, comes from my own parched throat. The bingo men come and grab the card from my hands. They check it for accuracy, and after confirming that I have indeed created the coveted "Crazy L," they carefully count out 250 dollars into my eager, sweaty palms. I kiss my lucky rabbit foot and my commemorative Statue of Liberty and continue playing as if nothing had happened. Little old ladies glance at me with disgust and declare that they were only one number off. One number too many, I think smugly to myself... I'm the one who's rolling in the cash. As I sit in a vivid afterglow in the belly of this grand church, I do not thank God for my redemption, my salvation or my good luck. No, I thank God for bingo.
This ain't your childhood's bingo. Played in the caverns of church assemblies and cafeterias, the game of bingo brings out the gamble-lust in many a God-fearing, pious player. Now, I don't want to be responsible for anyone's gambling habits, but boy oh boy is bingo fun, and man am I good at it! For the past month we have attended the Catholic church down the street religiously. Not for the sermons, but for the Tuesday night $15 Super Bingo. The first two weeks were wasted getting to know the game, the numbers, the rules, the art. In week three I won $250. In week four, thinking to myself "Wouldn't it be nice to win more money," I did, cashing out at 125 buckaroos. Not too shabby for a couple nights' work.
This, my friends, is how the church recruits a different breed of followers. Instead of the promises of the pews upstairs, life eternal and pearly gates, this caters to a much baser desire: quick cash. The devoted come, gather and prosper. A cultural melting pot, bingo attracts a varied, experienced and older crowd. The senior citizens seemed tickled to see a young lady like me out playing bingo. That is, until I won — then I was a young brat invading their turf. Beginner's luck, they called it.
Most players I spoke with have attended bingo services for more than twenty years. A handful also attend the church the other days of the week, but most travel from all across town for the chance at yet another bingo bonanza. Many of these avid players play almost every night of the week, and they wouldn't miss it for the world. It's a dedicated and tight-knit community — announcements are made occasionally for birthdays and the like. I'll never forget the time they announced a woman's 40th wedding anniversary. Was she by her husband's side, celebrating their longevity? Nope — he was nowhere in sight. Hey, 40 years is a long time, but bingo is forever.
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