Order in the court!
About six months ago, I wrote about a woman who was suing the New Frontier in Las Vegas. She claimed that a $98,000 jackpot, hit by another player while she was taking a break from the machine, was hers.

"It's all nonsense," I noted. "The appearance of a slot jackpot is governed by a random number generator that runs continuously...The woman would have had to stop the RNG at precisely the same time that the winner did, which would amount to a coincidence of epic proportion. This plaintiff has no legitimate claim on the jackpot."

The courts saw it precisely as I did—the plaintiff's claim was denied.

Damn straight! Don't get me wrong. I'm all for players' rights, beating casinos, and all that. But fair is fair.

Bolstered by my accurate (if obvious) legal call, I'm ready to tackle a few more of the slot-associated legal cases in the news. All rise. The Court of Curtis is now in session.

Rancor in Reno
Back in 1996, Cengiz Sengel of California was playing Quartermania at Reno's Silver Legacy. The reels lined up, and Cengiz celebrated a $1.8 million jackpot.

Not so fast, argued both the casino and the game's manufacturer, IGT. They charged that a malfunction had caused the machine to shut down prior to the symbols aligning—the implication being that it was the malfunction that caused them to line up in the first place. According to a published account, only one of the Quartermania symbols was perfectly aligned with the payline. The other two symbols, while they touched the payline, were not perfectly aligned.

This is a tough call. If the symbols aligned fairly and the machine just happened to malfunction simultaneously, Mr. Sengel is the victim of one of the all-time horrible bad beats. However, I just can't bring myself to believe that these two occurrences were independent. Furthermore, that's not the point that should decide the case. It's not disputed that a malfunction occurred, and written clearly on the machine is the disclaimer: "Malfunctions void all pays." Where's the argument?

How can I endorse granting casinos the right to wriggle out of paying giant jackpots on technicalities, you might be wondering? Truth is, they don't wriggle as a rule, because they have no incentive to do so. In cases like this, the casino has already made its profit, taking its percentage as the progressive builds. The casinos actually want to pay winners, since the publicity attracts more players. In a similar case in Reno involving a disputed $112,500 jackpot on a Betty Boop machine, a Bally Gaming official commented: "We prefer to pay jackpots. But a final ruling that 'close counts' in slot machines would affect the way slot machines have been designed and operated for decades."

I agree. Players are aware of the rule, and they accept the terms going in. Plaintiff's claims in both cases are denied. (By the way, this is why it's proper to hold all five cards when you're dealt a natural four of a kind in video poker; it reduces the possibility of malfunction voiding your win.)

Player's Share?
Mary Iacono and Carolyn Lyons of Houston were best friends. That is, until Carolyn hit a $1.9 million jackpot during a 1997 trip to Las Vegas. When Carolyn didn't split the windfall with Mary, Mary sued for fraud.

The particulars of this tale are convoluted, to say the least. But according to testimony, Carolyn invited Mary on the trip "because she was lucky," and offered to pay expenses and split any winnings. The key legal point is that there was no written agreement, so the (real) courts will rule for Carolyn. Gambling court, however, sees it differently.

There's no way of knowing what the agreement really was, but for at least some period of time, Mary was loading the machine with coins while Carolyn was pulling the handle. Sounds like a collaborative effort to me, and in gambling, there's an ironclad code when it comes to partnerships, oral or otherwise: Agreements are honored.

Is Mary entitled to half of Carolyn's win? Get real; her contribution was next to nothing. Fact is, they're both being greedy. The court rules that Mary is entitled to a player's share. Make it 10% and log a $190,000 judgment for the plaintiff. (The lesson here should be obvious: Put your agreements down on paper. Not only will you have a record for protection, but you'll pay more attention to what it is you're agreeing to.)

Get a Clue

For some reason, a group of crazed Kansas City riverboat slot players decided to chase a $130,000 jackpot on a bank of $5 Double Wild Cherry machines. During the course of what's described as an intense three-week marathon, the players were all gutted. The players are mad, charging that the machines were fixed, malfunctioning, or otherwise not giving a fair shake.

During this time, the casino gave the players the high-roller treatment—another bone of contention. Lawsuit, anyone? Don't bother; you have no case.

The machines are engineered to beat you. And the casino's job is to keep you there. Blowing all your dough on a progressive pipe-dream is criminal all right, but the casino's not the culprit. Let's all keep our heads.

The Court of Curtis is in recess.