I find the increasing numbers of television adverts for on-line gambling depressing. It seems that, during the day at least, there are more adverts for this than any other product. Presumable they are targeting those at home, the unemployed, the retired, the housewife or househusband, who they see as their biggest market. I know that now this is a huge market and I should hardly be surprised to see their marketing presence is large. It is estimated that about half of all betting is now undertaken online and in the UK it is thought £1.85 billion is spent on on-line gambling yearly and, of this, people spend £164,800,000 on on-line bingo. This is a lot of money for a frisson of excitement and the chance to see some flashing lights and it is no shock that they advertise heavily to capture this market.
I have ambivalent feelings towards gambling. I can understand the excitement that it engenders and I have no wish to unnecessarily restrict people’s choices but I have known those to whom it has become an obsession and have lost everything, their homes, their families, and their lives, to it. I’d wish that any advertising would be honest in portraying the pleasures it offers. It would probably be too much to expect them to portray the risks other than minimally.
I find the on-line bingo particularly upsetting. Bingo was once a massive pastime in the UK and every medium sized town would have its Bingo Hall, In addition bingo would be played in clubs and associations, indeed everywhere where a large enough group of people gathered bingo was played – old peoples homes, working men’s clubs, village halls, and so on. At this time Bingo was, in addition to gambling, a social event. One went out to be in a group of people to play Bingo and have a drink and a chat. It was, at one point, the most popular pastime for working class women. I can recall vividly my mother, and my grandmother, going out with groups of friends for a “night at the Bingo”, and it was “a night”; you bought your books and played a number of games, with intermission for snacks and drinks, and chatted with your friends. The possibility of winning made it more fun but the prizes were much more modest. I can remember the joy when ‘my Bingo-players’ came home with a set of bath-towels. Their success was the talk of the street.
This is the unfortunate change with the move to Bingo online. No longer is it a social event it is simply playing a game of chance. The organisers know this and therefore try to suggest, in their adverts, that this is not the case. This is why I dislike their adverts so much, they are fundamentally and deliberately dishonest. In all the on-line bingo adverts they stress the “community” and “togetherness” when it is precisely this which has been lost. They show people in groups chatting and sharing jokes. There are people dancing and playing games, or making music, together. Every advert has people eating and drinking together and enjoying the company.
This is what bingo did, in the past, offer. But that was then before on-line bingo. That was before 2005 and the Bingo halls started to close. I remember the Friday night smell of hair-spray as the women of my family bundled their hair high on their heads, and got into their best outfits, before heading to the bingo hall. What they got, in addition to a chance of bath towels, was a night of communal fun at a modest price. On-line bingo has none of this. It is a solitary affair, a way to give money to an anonymous corporation for a short lived, isolated shiver of anticipation. There is no need to get dressed up, no need to leave your home, no need to talk to anyone. Other than through the very unlikely event of winning it adds very little to your life and the adverts need to conceal this.
If they were more honest their adverts might be more valuable. If instead of showing happy, healthy, men and women gathered together for social interaction they showed the real deal people might think twice. An advert of a lonely man, sitting in his untidy flat, in his underwear, prodding his tablet in the vain hope of winning some cash, or a short ad of a women sitting in the cubicle of a W.C. hopefully thinking that this game on her phone will reward her enough to deal with her debt, might be more honest and more useful. Just as buying a particular car will not make us a rebel, nor wearing certain clothes make us an intellectual, neither will solitary gambling make us part of a community. We need people to put their pants back on, to go outside, and meet their friends and neighbours again.