Lotto Fever Hits Hard
by Emil Guillermo

As if by grand design, certainly not mere coincidence, in the week I write about problem gambling among Asian Americans, California’s Super Lotto reached a near record level of $87 million.

Yes, forces must be at work. The jackpot was the largest of the year, but only the third largest overall. Never mind; it was large enough to prove the point. This is how the gambling bug works. When the prize money goes out of this world, even the most rational start to dream. Everyone gets lotto fever -- especially Asian Americans.

You played. Didn’t you? Of course.

There’s a quiet shame that one must overcome in order to do what one must do. You must hide the greed. It’s what drives the dream. But it’s a different kind of greed. This is the “something-for-nothing” greed. The kind that makes you feel privileged just because you stood in line quietly to say the magic words: “100 quick picks, please.”

In my quiet suburban community, where everyone feels flushed and entitled, people were standing in long lines to buy tickets -- proving once again you can never have enough. They were social Darwinians turned dreamers, every last one of them. Sleepwalkers, perhaps.

And no one said a thing. Everyone seemed to have their eyes down, ready to give a shameless excuse, just in case someone asked why they were partaking in the unique public pathology of the lotto, playing an impossible game, as if winning it all were really possible.

It’s for the schools, right? Or is it for my mom? Now, if only I had used some magic ouija technique to divine the numbers from my mom’s spirit. I’m talking about 8, 25, 26, 31, 32,43.

It’s mine. I won. Okay. I didn’t, really. But this is the lottery. A dollar for a dream, right? Let me keep dreaming. It’s part of my super lotto experience -- the post-drawing delusion.

But remember, winning is not what the lottery is about. It’s about dreaming. And losing. And dreaming again. It’s the lotto cycle -- the only predictable thing about the lotto. You lose. You dream. You lose again. Unless you wake up.

But someone wins big. The state, most definitely. And one other person -- the owner of the place that sold the winning lotto number. And as fate would have it, the winner is an Asian American -- Jennifer Lam of Westminster.

One-and-a-half years ago, her parents bought Kelly’s Mini Mart and thought they’d found the road to the American Dream -- selling everything under the sun, from candy bars to condoms. Now they’ve made the biggest sale of their lives, and it comes with a $435,000 bonus.

Lam told a reporter she did not know who the buyer was. But if it turns out to be a regular customer, I say, “Hallelujah!”

Did I mention? You discover religion when you win.

Lam emigrated to the United States. from Saigon 25 years ago. And just to show us all how grateful she is, she told the media she might use the money to help those in her native Vietnam.

“If someone needs some money, even in my country, then I’m going to give away something,” Lam said.

The lottery windfall turned her into a Ford-like philanthropist. Just for being a ticket-seller. Imagine the odds on that. She took no risk, and she won!

It’s all out of proportion. But not like it is for the big winner.

While that isn’t me, the strange thing is, it really could have been.

It’s been said that people are certifiably nuts as they try to predict lotto numbers. It’s not like betting on horses, where one number is actually faster than the other. There’s logic to the horses. The lotto has no logic. Unless you really believe one ping pong ball is faster than another.

Fate is random. Still, to only say “quick pick” would be a grave mistake. You see, you may have no chance beating logic. But you definitely have a chance beating the illogical. Did you see the numbers?

My daughter Molly was born on Aug. 26. You always honor at least one heir. (That gives me 8 and 26.)

The lottery was played on Wednesday -- the first day that Barry Bonds had been in the Giants line-up. So naturally, 25.

I too was a local jock, a running back in Pop Warner football -- the Mission Dolores Vikings! My number? 31. And as a running back, I always fit in the iconographic number sacred to all running backs -- Jim Brown’s number, 32.

And then there’s 43. I’m not mature enough to admit to it. But I am stupid enough to justify it as a lotto number.

There you have it: 8,26,25, 31,31, 43. $40.6 million.

Give it to me while I’m still dreaming. I have defied logic. I’m a winner -- after the fact. Super Lotto fever. Avoid it. It’s how all the problems begin.