ON THE AVENUES: Blackjack it ain't.

ON THE AVENUES: Blackjack it ain't.

A weekly web column by Roger A. Baylor.

I have a confession to make.

On Tuesday evening, while visiting Horseshoe Southern Indiana for an NABC beer tasting in Legends, there was an unprecedented occurrence, one utterly outside any existing box, far off in left field, and without previous charted experience.

For the first time ever, I boarded the casino boat itself.

Once there, seated at a convenient wet bar and reaching across the tabletop slots to grasp an approaching Sam Adams, I was reminded of something I’ve known for a very long time: I’m no gambler.

The last time I bought a lottery ticket was in Slovakia, and it was intended as a souvenir. In spite of my father’s earnest efforts, I don’t know how to play poker. The closest I’ve ever been to Las Vegas is my living room, watching George Clooney’s three Ocean’s flicks.

In the absence of a gambler’s genetic code, the Horseshoe casino proved a mysterious and voyeuristic place. It’s simply unfathomable to me. I’d come closer to spending fifty dollars for a Cuban cigar than consider sticking a buck into one of those flashy machines, but to each his or her own.

I suspect that if compelled by circumstance to be on board the casino vessel in a professional sense, say, as a bartender or physical plant worker, there would be no risk of any of these games of chance ever penetrating a prophylactic veneer of personal indifference. At the same time, looking just past the spinning roulette wheel, there’s probably a case to be made for me as an inveterate gambler of a slightly different sort.

After all, I’m a small business owner.

---

The small business owner’s risk may be calculated, and all factors heavily weighed, but how much of a gamble was it to ignore the safest route, which in NABC’s case was a pre-existing (and profitable) pizzeria with a reputation for its great guest beer program, and turn instead to the considerable start-up expense, daily challenges and overall uncertainty of developing new beer brands and selling them to people who would judge them without reference to any previous accomplishments?

Maybe I’m no gambler when it comes to cards, but it can be both daunting and thrilling to wake up each morning with hundreds of thousands of dollars hanging over my head, money pledged against the future progress of a community, the ongoing state of which I have only the very slightest input and influence.

Will Yakima be the NABC beer that strikes the jackpot in the marketplace, or is the better strategy to continue making small gains over time in hope of always doing just a bit better against the house, even when you know that in the end, the house always wins?

Many recreational gamblers, perhaps most, enter the game without a plan. My guess is those aspiring to the ranks of semi-professional have pre-considered tactics and at least a semblance of an overall strategy. Obviously, small business owners should seek to emulate the latter, although a surprising number settle for muddling through on a wing, some prayer and blind luck.

For better or worse, NABC has inhabited both camps at various times, and yet throughout the past two decades, all I’ve ever really wanted, first and foremost, is to have some measure of control over my message to the wider world. It may be the writer in me (think twice before you edit my words, ass hat!), or a primeval stubbornness inherited from opinionated forbearers, but when it comes to explaining who, what, where, when, how and why, it’s my job to do it – not yours.

At he same time, as a small business owner, I’ve no objection whatever to assistance in doing my job – in this instance, in disseminating my message. I believe the more people who know what my business has to offer, the more they’ll see what all the other small businesses in my community have to offer, and if one of us succeeds, we all succeed. There’ll be critical mass, and better recognition of life outside the big box chain.

In fact, I appreciate assistance very much. However, before you commit me to assistance that potentially compromises my fundamental message, I’d appreciate being asked what type of assistance I can use.

In fact, being asked is not too much to ask, is it?

---

There’s no obvious moral to my thoughts today. I actually do listen, and what I typically hear at times like this is:

Can you go through a single day without ruffling feathers?

What you’re saying might even make sense, but can’t you say it more nicely?

Couldn’t you just let us figure it out, be a good soldier, take orders from the leading elements, and help to combat the scourge of “democracy of the mob,” like that pleasant Mr. Preston said on Tuesday morning?

Alas, the answer to each of these questions is “no.” The daily ruffling of feathers furthers dialogue. “Nicely” is in the eye of the beer-holder, and passion is seldom negotiable, with or without subtlety. And, just because democracy might seem to be failing, it doesn’t mean we need our own local Mussolini Committee to make the trains run on time, or to preserve outmoded ways of thinking. We need more democracy, not less.

If you wish to commend small business for its smashing success, frameworks of definition are needed, because “success” is almost as nebulous a concept as “divinity.”

If you wish to make smashingly successful small business the engine of your branding effort, wouldn’t it be a good idea to ask small business to share the secrets of smashing success? Isn’t it presumptuous to assume you know them without asking? Why does trickle-down always feel like tinkle-on to me?

I’ll let someone else answer those questions, but as a non-gambler (and a grassroots mobster), I cannot establish the betting line on when, or if, they will.