The Spokesman

by Max Shapiro | Published: May 25, 2001

Card casinos do not always reflect reality in their advertising. For some reason, they like to use glamour photos that look as if they were posed in Monte Carlo (the Monte Carlo in France, not Vegas). The men are handsome and debonair, wear tuxedos, and look like they belong in GQ magazine. The women are immaculately groomed, gowned, and coifed, and look like models in Vogue magazine. They're all smiling (with no missing teeth, of course) and have piles of chips in front of them – just a bunch of rich society types out for a lark and having a simply smashing time at their favorite casino.

Contrast this with the standard scene at 3 a.m. in your normal casino where hollow-eyed, seedy, unkempt cardroom habitues are stuck, on tilt, and desperately trying to get even. I'm not referring, of course, to all of you sophisticated readers of Card Player. I'm talking about – you know – the others.

Now, to reach this core clientele, I believe that card casino advertising should drop down to their level and produce ads they can relate to, with models who look like they came from police lineups instead of fashion mags – or do television spots with outrageous spokesmen who can grab their attention, like the television ads you typically see in Los Angeles.

For example, take Cal Worthington, the used car dealer, whose trademark shtick is cavorting with tigers and other ferocious animals. He's the guy in the cowboy outfit who has only one arm left. He sells a lot of cars … maybe because he has only one arm left and people feel sorry for him.

Then there's "Crazy Gideon," who owns a discount electronics store and shouts unintelligible gibberish. You can't understand a word he's saying, but he screams so loud that you figure he must be offering great deals.

By contrast, the most inappropriate casino television advertising I've ever seen came from – naturally – Big Denny's Barstow Card Casino. They had been running a campaign for a year with no discernible results, and Denny asked me to come down and do a critique. It was appalling. They had some guy dolled up in black tie, talking in a clipped British accent, extolling the virtues of that barn like it was a palace:

"A simply mahvelous experience awaits you at Mr. Big Denny's Card Casino. Plush decor, exquisite furnishings, a polished, highly trained staff, and fabulous gaming in the company of scintillating ladies and gentlemen."

Yeah, right. It might have been more convincing if the "Brit" hadn't had his overall buckles showing under his tuxedo jacket, and if he didn't sound more like Gomer Pyle than Sir Laurence Olivier. And it didn't help that the ads were running at 2 a.m., about five hours after the last rube in Barstow had gone to bed. A much better choice would have been the 5 a.m. farm report.

"Denny," I said, as kindly as I could, "I think you need more believable advertising and a more realistic spokesperson that people can relate to."

"Ya mean like Prince Charles?"

"No, no, Denny. I don't think you could afford him. I'm talking about someone more, well, more colorful, someone a little more associated with poker."

Big Denny scratched his head. "How's about Kathie Lee Gifford? I unnerstan' she's lookin' fer work now."

"Uh, I don't think she'd be quite right, either. But that gives me an idea. Why don't you run an ad in Card Player asking for applicants? Then you could run auditions like they did on Regis' show when they were trying to find a replacement."

The ad ran and drew a number of responses. First to try out was John Bonetti. The cameras rolled and he began his spiel:

"Big Denny's da place where ya oughta go if ya lookin' for action, if ya know what I mean. Da games are great 'cause dey got a buncha dumb farmers here who don't know their ace from a hole in da ground. I mean, who else but dummies would play da rake Big Denny sticks ya wit'? It's just too bad dat da dealers are da stupidest, most incompetent morons I ever seen, an' for me dat's sayin' a lot, 'cause …"

"That's fine, John, just fine," I cut him off. "We'll be in touch."

The next tryout was Ralph the Rattler. "The games at the Barstow Card Casino aren't bad," he hissed, "but if you're looking for real action, you should check out my home games. They're loads of fun and we don't care how young you are so long as your mommies and daddies give you money to play with. My phone number is …"

"Nice try, Rattler. Next."

Next was Frank Henderson. He was very smooth, very folksy, and very persuasive. The only problem was that he was pitching the sale of tournament pieces of himself more than he was pitching the casino. He got the hook.

One by one the potential spokespeople took their turns, but they all fell short in one department or other, at least by my exacting standards. While some, like Henderson, were a little too slick for my taste, others, like Eskimo Clark, were not quite as articulate as, say, Peter Jennings. Vince Burgio did make an excellent presentation, but he too fell short … by about a foot and a half.

Finally, we were down to Dirty Wally. He was decked out, as usual, like Buffalo Bill, and in full cry: "All you cowpokes and cowgirls mosey on down to Big Denny's, the rootinest, tootinest casino this side of the Pecos," he began in his best imitation Western accent. He raved on like that for 30 minutes and finished by throwing his cowboy hat in the air with a whoop and doing an Indian war dance.

Denny was dubious, but I assured him that Wally was the best of the lot, so he reluctantly hired him for a series of commercials. It didn't work out too well. After two months of Wally's spiel, business was off 50 percent. But it wasn't a total loss. Cal Worthington got half his other arm bitten off and offered Wally a job replacing him in the tiger cage.