Japan's National Pastime
Gambling in Japan
Origami or flower-arranging? karate or karaoke? None of the above -
it's pachinko.
Listen to the real sounds of pachinko
Will Yong tries a whole new ball game
Mount Fuji's
peak may not peep out from behind the clouds and you may not glimpse a
geisha, but one thing you will not miss in Japan
is the sight of a garish pachinko parlor.
Not least because of the sheer visual
assault. Round the corner in just about any town in Japan larger than a rural hamlet
and you'll see one.
All restraint is thrown to the wind when it comes to pachinko parlor
design. No colour remains un-fluoresced, no opportunity to flash and twinkle
is passed up. Temples, shrines, palaces and castles were once Japan's most eye-catching
buildings. Now they are most definitely pachinko parlors.
It is estimated that one-quarter of Japan's over-18 population of approximately
100 million plays pachinko at least occasionally, and that up to 30 million
people play pachinko regularly.
In 1999 the pachinko industry was worth a staggering 30
trillion yen - more than the Japanese motor industry - and the current
recession doesn't seem to be affecting pachinko's prospects. Pachinko is unquestionably
Japan's number one leisure activity.

Rush hour at a Pachinko Parlor near you
Pachinko: Get your bearings
Here's how it works: ball bearings are bought for cash which are shot
up a nail-studded board - superficially like pinball but vertical. They
bounce around on the way down with about 1 in 10 hitting the winning slots.
These days, balls which fall into the winning holes set a computerized
slot machine spinning and three of a kind means a jackpot of - you guessed
it - more balls.
The point of this seemingly mindless activity is, of course, gambling.
However gambling is illegal in Japan. How then is this paradox solved?
In pachinko parlours you receive 'gifts', not money, in return for your
balls. Cheap tie pins, cigarette lighter flints and chocolate are all
par for the course. Not much for your money you might think - especially
when it's quite easy for 40 minutes of play to cost 10,000 yen (about
US$90). But it doesn't end there. If you're 'lucky' enough to get a piece
of gold coloured plastic embedded with a fake pearl, take your 'prize'
to a more or less conveniently located 'used goods store' - no more than
a booth with a hole in the wall - and they will 'buy' it from you for
cash. Though officially nothing at all to do with the pachinko parlor,
the used goods store then sells your 'used goods' back to the pachinko
parlour where you, quite legally, won them. Voila! A game of chance with
cash rewards that is categorically not gambling!
Bright lights, big money
Inhabiting such a legal gray area, the pachinko industry abounds with
shady dealings. The disreputable nature of the industry has left the running
of pachinko parlors largely to ethnic Koreans, and many believe that large
sums of pachinko money are funneled into Communist North Korea. Some even
say that pachinko profits fund North Korea's nuclear weapons program.
The police, ostensibly to crack down on this kind of corruption, took
the opportunity to cut themselves a piece of the pachinko pie. By instituting
regulations to ensure that the most popular machines can only be played
with pre-paid cards rather than cash, they have entered into a cosy relationship
with card-producers. As a matter of course, retired police officers get
highly paid jobs with the companies which profit from selling cards to
pachinko parlors.
And don't think that Japan's organized crime syndicates, the yakuza,
haven't got their share of the pachinko racket. Young hackers have been
happy to sell card-fiddling technology to gangsters who simply cashed
faked cards for balls and then balls for cash without any of the intervening
pachinko in between. While the battle to divvy up the spoils rages on,
the only losers seem to be the players themselves. The plight of pachinko
addicts is well publicized, and with the increasing number of women playing
the game the stories usually focus on mothers neglecting their children
in favor of pachinko, and others who turn to prostitution to fuel their
habits.
Certainly, the abiding image of pachinko is not glowing with wholesomeness.
What comes to mind is rows of wide-eyed automatons sitting motionless
in front of garish plastic consoles, surrounded by the din of pumping
techno music and clouds of cigarette smoke - not the kind of place you'd
want to be taken on a date. Or is it?
A whole new ball game
In
recent years, stories about grannies selling their souls to buy ball bearings
have been outnumbered by those telling of a new trend in the industry.
Pachinko innovators have been working hard to rid the game of its grubby
image - chiefly, by making the game more female friendly. One glitzy fashion
mall in Tokyo's trendy Shibuya district has converted six of its eight
floors to pachinko heaven with stylish attendants, prize counters resembling
exclusive boutiques and even 'love seats' for couples. An establishment
in the Ginza area not only has women-only days and women-only rooms, but
also aims for the largest sector of the female market - housewives over
the age of 40 - by giving away household items such as steam irons and
pans as prizes.
Already, pachinko winnings can be saved in electronic form and accessed
through terminals that not only serve as 'ball banks' but also spew out
bus and train timetables, bar and restaurant listings, discount shinkansen
(i.e. bullet train) tickets and sales catalogues - and there are no plans
to stop there.
Once you can book medical examinations, golfing weekends, plane tickets
- even weddings and funerals - through your pachinko membership card,
what's to stop pachinko becoming the focus of a new society? At least
one industry visionary envisages 'pinball savings' becoming a kind of
electronic currency and pachinko parlors becoming the centers of new urban
communities. But however viable this brave new world is, one thing seems
clear: the future of pachinko - just like the parlors themselves - is
dazzling.
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