The game goes on

When it comes to casinos, no end to volley of opinions

MIDDLEBOROUGH - The legislative fight over casino gambling up at the State House is sliding nicely into mayhem. House Speaker Sal DiMasi is working feverishly to kill Governor Deval Patrick's bill allowing three casinos in the state, so the hearing to be held on it there this Tuesday promises to be a sweetheart.

While the bile builds, we forget about another casino saga that is moving quietly along a separate track. I'm talking about the bid by the Mashpee Wampanoag tribe to build a casino in Middleborough, the very place where I heard a ghost recorded by a pair of paranormal investigators a couple of weeks ago say, "Hell, no."

Oh, you forgot about the Wampanoag gambit? You thought that the State House spectacular was the only game in town? No, no, no.

Dismiss Middleborough at your peril. If Patrick's bill goes down, which appears likely, all eyes turn to the town, where the tribe is pushing hard to realize its dreams of ka-ching. Big casino operators behind it are hungry, and much of the citizenry is salivating over the millions supposed to come their way from gambling profits.

Middleborough was split over the Wampanoag play before the federally recognized tribe bought 540 acres there last year, so in a scene out of Bergman, warring casino persuasions formed separate clusters in an empty field one day last summer to be counted.

There were two votes, actually. The first one, to accept a compact with the tribe, passed. To confuse matters, those who remained after that vote then turned down the casino in a nonbinding referendum.

The casino war there has been dormant lately, but the fire-eaters on both sides will soon be on parade again when the federal Bureau of Indian Affairs holds hearings later this month in Middleborough and Mashpee, home of the tribe, over the scope of issues to be considered in its environmental impact statement on the casino.

Middleborough, meanwhile, is a "Ballad of the Sad Cafe" sort of place today. Maxim Motors, which made firetrucks and apparatus sold around the world, is shuttered. Shoe companies are gone, along with most of the dairy farms.

"This town needs a lot of boost," adds Wendy Wiksten, whose family has been there since the 1600s.

Casino proponents like Wiksten want it for the obvious reason that the town is broke. School roofs leak; class size is huge; the Fire Department needs a new fire truck.

Sound familiar? The Middleborough fight is a microcosm of the state fight. Casino supporters at both levels desperately need money. If the town is hurting, the state faces a 20-year infrastructure backlog approaching $20 billion. Casino money, granted, would make but a tiny dent in this, but then casino killers like DiMasi have yet to produce a coherent alternative to address the problem.

If outnumbered, the Middleborough opposition is robust. In its ranks are surrounding towns that believe they'll get the congestion spill from the casino without any of its benefits. Others warn of the usual plagues: crime, cultural decline, identity loss.

Here's where it gets tricky. I vowed never to wander too deep into this wilderness of casino mirrors but, God help me, I have, so bear with me.

At some point - God knows when - the Bureau of Indian Affairs will decide whether to give trust status to the tribe's land. Trust status is the gold that establishes sovereign Wampanoag territory and protects it from state interference. This would allow the tribe to install Class II gaming and, if the stars are right, a casino.

Class II is limited to bingo machines where people play against each other instead of the house. These machines are informally referred to as bingo slots, because they look exactly like slot machines. The state has no control over Class II gaming in areas with trust status.

But the tribe still wants a casino. Look for it to propose negotiations for one with the state. We're talking things like revenue sharing and oversight. If defeated this week, Patrick, who initially opposed the Wampanoag play, would find a deal with the tribe, the only gaming source left.

Any such agreement would need approval by the Legislature, and that's no done deal. There is no reason to expect DiMasi to offer his blessing on this, given his loud opposition to casinos. If the casino play dies, there's always Class II gaming, which is nothing to sneeze at. Just ask the Seminoles in Florida, with their wildly successful Class II gaming operations.

Either way, says Middleborough selectman Adam Bond, a fervent casino supporter, the town will get the same $7 million to $12 million a year. Nuts, counter opponents, who maintain that the sugar plums projections by supporters are illusory. Middleborough resident Rich Young, president of Casinofacts.org, the main opposition outfit, says that after including the expenses of handling a casino, the base of $7 million will net a big zero.

But the town is hurting, I point out. "So does everyone in the state get a casino in their neighborhood?" he asks.

The casino dialectic seems eternal, like the figure eight. There is simply no end to this game of gaming.

Sam Allis can be reached at allis@globe.com.