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Tuesday, Oct 7, 2008
In California, betting to win can be a buttoned-down, corporate slog through the salary-man trenches.
Jan 10, 2002 | At 5:45 p.m. on a Saturday, every seat at the pai gow poker tables in Colma's Lucky Chances casino is taken and several more players cluster around, leaning over the seated players to place their bets. The air is filled with the clatter of ceramic chips, voices raised over each other -- mostly in Chinese and Vietnamese -- and the occasional aroma of noodles, which can be ordered and eaten at the table so the players need never leave their seats.
The room is divided into two sections. In one, mostly male Caucasians play traditional poker games. On the other side of the room, the almost entirely Asian clientele play "California games," the most popular of which is pai gow poker, a hybrid of traditional Chinese dominoes and American style poker. On this side of the room, players are of all ages and almost 50 percent are women. They're not dressed up for a night on the town, but comfortably, in jeans and sweatshirts. There's little laughter and conversation. Players may toss a comment to a friend standing behind them but their eyes remain on the game, which proceeds at a brisk pace.
On one particular night at Lucky Chances a crowd of Asians is clustered around a popular table with a minimum bet of $100. Sitting in their midst is a young, white male wearing khakis, a smart, blue button-down shirt and an official-looking name badge. He stands out, not only because he is white, but because he has by far the largest rack of chips at the table in front of him. The rows of $100 chips total around $45,000 but he's placing them conservatively, while keeping a close eye on the game and glancing occasionally at a small chart, just visible under his rack of chips.
At 6 p.m. an older Asian man comes up behind the young white player and taps him on the shoulder. The white man greets him and gets up, and the Asian man takes his place at the table. His shift over, the first player fills out some paperwork in plain view, puts on his jacket and leaves. None of the other players seems to notice or care, and the game continues uninterrupted.
To many people, the term "professional gambler" conjures the image of a suspicious character in a smoke-filled bar, a hustling cardsharp with tricks up both sleeves, preying on the innocent. He's got a cigarette between his lips and he knows all the fancy shuffles. In the movies, the protagonist usually sees through his winning streak and uncovers him as a cheat. But in California today, professional gambling is a salary-paying job. Such gamblers work for entirely legal corporations that specialize in making a profit from games like pai gow. They even wear name badges identifying them to other gamblers.
"Casino props with college degree preferred needed asap," reads a recent classified ad in the San Francisco Chronicle. "Will train to play casino games. Experience not necessary."
A few professional, or "prop" players, as they're known in the industry, are gambling addicts who've found the perfect outlet for their obsession. But for most of them gambling is a job for which they draw a salary. They don't hustle and they certainly don't cheat; they are company men and women.
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