Monica Yant Kinney: Once again, sin is the only hope

Sometime very soon, long after you've turned off Mad Men and gone to bed, the Pennsylvania legislature will pass a bill legalizing table games.

Please don't be offended that such an irrevocable socioeconomic decision will be made in haste after dark with virtually no public debate. That's how governing is done in this state.

Rarely was a budget crisis so convenient. When Gov. Rendell signs the newest gaming law, he'll swear he had no choice and is doing it for old folks, kids, and tax relief. It's a win-win for everyone funded on someone else's loss.

Surely you're not surprised that a once-in-a-lifetime economic catastrophe will be cured by craps. And roulette, poker, and blackjack.

The state is busted, and politicians were loath to raise taxes or cut spending, lest they anger voters and find themselves out of work in a recession. So the legislators and governor dragged the budget battle out for months - more days, more per diems - then claimed that the crisis had forced their hand on gaming.

Really, what are politicians to do? Might as well snuggle up to the one sugar daddy promising fast, free cash with few strings attached.

They've done it before. Sure, it felt dirty. But you get used to that.

Now that Pennsylvanians can lose their shirts at slot parlors, it's hard to remember a time when they couldn't. But a trip down memory lane reveals that full-fledged casinos were always in the cards.

When he was mayor-elect of Philadelphia, Ed Rendell fell in love with the ultimate sin tax in 1991, hoping to bail out a sinking city with riverboat gambling.

"It's not a panacea," he said then of his Delaware River dreams. But slot machines do offer "middle-class, low-stakes" family fun.

By 1997, Rendell had fellow dreamers in legislators contemplating slot machines at the state's four racetracks. One lobbyist predicted easy approval because they were talking only about slots at racetracks. "The tradition here in Pennsylvania," he said, "is not getting into anything too deeply."

Two years later, House Majority Leader John Perzel said he'd allow votes on a wide range of wagering proposals. But the Senate killed the entire effort, infuriating rabid gaming supporters like Rendell.

"There is nothing on the horizon that will provide our kids with adequate funding for schools," he fumed, sounding a bit childish by insisting that if Delaware, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, and West Virginia allowed gaming, Pennsylvania should, too.

"We're like ostriches," Rendell sulked. "We stick our heads in the sand."

By 2003, Rendell, now governor, fantasized about siphoning gaming dollars into Pennsylvania coffers. What an ideal marriage, given a $2 billion budget hole and data showing that residents spend exactly that much playing slots elsewhere.

(Eventually, other research showed that the typical slots player had to lose $750 a year to provide $330 in tax relief.)

But why take a baby step with slots parlors, Perzel asked, when you could leap into megacasinos?

"If this is about making money," he said, "we ought to just go out and make money."

Slots became a legalized vice in this state in 2004 while you were sleeping. The law's architect, then-State Sen. Vincent J. Fumo, barely finished celebrating before declaring that it was "not unreasonable" to think table games would be next. Rendell anticipated as much in 2006, saying poker was inevitable but "probably not on my watch."

And now? We're still on Ed's watch, we finally have a budget deal, and table games will be a reality in a matter of weeks. These bills are moving at lightning speed, the better to imply a sense of urgency.

Don't be surprised when politicians insist that the only way they could help the old folks and kids and provide tax relief was to expand gambling. Listen closely. Those are your chosen leaders claiming they simply had no other choice.