On the Important Matter of the Casino Trip…

First tip off to a problem? No Jennifer Tilly in sight…

This saga began when Mrs. Gint “won” a silent auction… Now, if you are in a business where you auction things for a living—or if you happen to be a big Game Theory Economics geek– then you know about something called “The Winner’s Curse.” The skinny of it is if you have won a competitive auction, it’s pretty likely you’ve paid too much.

For this tale, we shall file that last under “Fugging A Right You Did!”

Our primary problem was Mrs. Gint had bid with insufficient information – a frequent error that often leads to the Winner’s Curse, as illustrated in cases of willy-nilly Chinese burrito stock purchasing and alcohol-inspired shotgun marriages.

You see, my wife had her heart set on checking out the new French Lick, Indiana casino resort that one of her friends had raved to her about. Mrs. Gint is all about the “spa experience” – from hot stone Rolfing to deep-mud Brasilian manicuring — and this French Lick resort not only had the original historic West Baden Springs Spa element (famed from the 19th century on for its healing mineral waters and baths), but also promised biking, hiking and horse-back riding—activities dear to the heart of my Kentucky belle. The real cherry, however, and what had elicited all the buzz down in Lotus-ville Hen circles, was that the entire facility had very recently been given a massively expensive facelift. Mr. William Cook, the now-deceased medical device tycoon of Cook Medical, put almost half a billion of his own dough into reviving this historic area, and apparently, his overinvestment had been well employed.

Those of you who live in the area have probably already guessed the nature of my troubles. For those who are not familiar, however, let me point out that the state of Indiana has distributed a number of casino permits over the last 20 or so years… only the most recent has been to my belle’s targeted destination in Larry Bird’s home town.
What’s more, the state started into the casino business with the very low “toe-in” class euphemistically referred to as “river boat gaming.” Not actually functioning boats, these barnacles still dot our Ohio river coast at various godforsaken embarkation points, thanks to Indiana politicians’ belief that calling a crappy casino a “boat” will somehow limit said institution’s size and influence on the gambling crazed public. Need I even mention that as soon as those same pols saw the cash coming off these oversized sardine cans, they said “Would it be cool if we just called them boats, cemented them to the river docks and let them gradually grow into mini-Vegases on the river?”

Part of the problem of the above noted “expansion” was that many of these unsightly river-wights added hotels and “spa facilities,” the description of which might confuse the unfamiliar prospect as to their true nature: riverside robbery dens for the discount cigarette set.

So I ask… can you blame Mrs. Gint for not knowing her way around the casino resort heirarchy? Or for perhaps having one too many bourbon and cokes the night of that fateful charity event? Or for not being able to parse one fake-Ancient Greek casino name from another? I know I can’t…

Though I certainly came close this past weekend…
(to be continued…)

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