Gambling fever's tight grip
AFTER MY son turned 18 recently, I started finding scratched-out lottery tickets on his nightstand. He is now old enough to indulge his fantasy of easy money.
When it comes to gambling fever, he is not alone. The Bay State's top politicians are betting on quick, easy cash for the Commonwealth, beyond what the state lottery brings in.
State Treasurer Timothy Cahill recently endorsed a casino or two. He argues that the maxing out of lottery revenues is good reason to search for alternative revenue and predicts casinos could bring the state as much as $1 billion a year.
State Auditor Joseph DeNucci recently declared casino gambling "inevitable." In an interview with State House News Service, DeNucci suggested that House Speaker Salvatore DiMasi, a longtime opponent of gambling, is "warming up to it."
DeNucci also predicted that Governor Deval Patrick, who set up a casino gambling study group, will decide in favor of casinos.
It sounds plausible. How else is Patrick going to pay for the more than $3 billion in new programs that he is proposing?
When skeptics ask the governor about the affordability of his dreams, he talks about President Kennedy's mission to land a man on the moon.
For more circumstantial evidence of the direction this state could be headed in, consider the career path of Doug Rubin, Patrick's chief of staff. He worked for Cahill, then took a job as adviser to the Patrick campaign.
After Patrick's election, Rubin was already talking to assorted gambling interests about representing them as a consultant. Now that that he is chief political adviser to a sitting governor, it is hard to imagine that he's arguing against those interests.
The Mashpee Wampanoag Indians are currently pressuring Patrick to negotiate a binding agreement, called a compact, without any affirmative vote by the Legislature. An Indian-run casino became a possibility when the tribe won federal recognition after a 30-year battle.
The Wampanoags' quest could pave the way for slot machines at race tracks, as well as more casinos. Under Cahill's plan, which would have to be approved and implemented by Patrick and the Legislature, the state would look to develop gambling meccas, which would offer luxury hotels, gourmet restaurants, shopping, and event pavilions. The state would regulate them and get a piece of the action.
Less than robust state revenue forecasts give gambling proponents leverage. And Patrick's dreamy agenda provides another kind of pressure.
The governor is proposing free community colleges, universal preschool, full-day kindergarten, 1,000 new police officers, an extended commuter rail line, a $1 billion biotechnology investment, and property tax breaks.
That's like pulling a new BMW into my driveway, putting Red Sox season tickets in the glove compartment, leaving the hottest cellphone on the driver's seat, filling the trunk with video games and DVDs -- and then asking my son if this dazzling array interests him. Of course it does. But just like the taxpayers of Massachusetts, he has no way to pay for it.
It's painful for an 18-year-old to think of all the time and hard work it would take to earn enough money to buy that whole package. So, it's off to buy a lottery ticket and dream about hitting the jackpot.
It's painful for Massachusetts taxpayers to face the prospect of more taxes to pay for expanded state services. So, it's time to throw the state wide open to gambling and dream about a jackpot of new state revenue.
The key question: Will expanded gambling really bring in new money? Or, "Does it just rearrange the deck chairs?" asks state Representative Daniel E. Bosley, chairman of the House Committee on Economic Development and a longtime opponent of casino gambling in Massachusetts.
There are also potential social costs, from crime to gambling addiction.
There is an alternative to raising revenue through more taxation or expanded gambling. That would be not buying more than you can afford.
The merits of that approach apply to teenagers and governors alike. Such restraint isn't popular in this age of instant gratification, but it is a wiser fiscal path than the one some Bay State politicians may be plotting.
Eighteen-year-olds are still entitled to their fantasies. The older and wiser have an obligation to recognize the truth.
Betting on easy money can be risky business.
Joan Vennochi's e-mail address is vennochi@globe.com. 
