The SAD Truth About My Online Casino Tilt

When I woke up and saw afterimages of the star icon that appears in Lucky Larry’s Lobstermania Slingo, I realized there may be a wee bit of a problem here.

I mean, come on: You need to spend a lot — like, a lot — of time staring at your Pixel 9 (#Android4Eva) to wake up, and as you rub the sleep out of your eyes, you see the five-pointed stars of the game burned into your vision like some kind of crustacean constellation.

Truth: This wasn’t the first time I kinda-sorta tilted out playing online casino, wasn’t the first time I kinda-sorta tilted out playing Lucky Larry’s Lobstermania Slingo. But this was the first time I was able to point at the reason, beyond being an idiot: I was — still am, probably always will be — suffering from seasonal affective gambling disorder.

And while this sounds like half a joke or a set-up to something even dumber, the more I sit with it, the more obvious it becomes: When the weather turns terrible and I find myself with both too much time and not enough things to do, the call of Larry the Lobsterman becomes one I have a hard time ignoring.

Winter blues

I like warm weather and I love hot weather. This is an issue, as I live in New Jersey and have to deal with half the year being neither warm nor hot. 

When it’s nice outside, I’m outside. I’m playing with the dogs. I’m mowing the lawn. I’m sitting in the sun. I’m reading a book. I’m going to the pool. I’m going to the beach. I’m going to the flea market. I’m going out for drinks. I’m going out to eat. I’m taking walks. I’m going to the park. I sleep as little as I can, waking up with the first hint of sunlight. (I also go to the dermatologist twice a year to be on the safe side.)

When it’s crappy outside, I’m inside. Miserable. Wishing half my life away, sometimes — very literally — counting how many days until Memorial Day. (I’ll save you the trouble, it’s 139.)

Been this way my whole life. I should probably move south, but I’m not.

What usually gets me through the winter is the routine. Alarm goes off at 6:15 a.m. Kids off to school. Sit behind the computer. Work. Kids come home from school. Dinner. Homework. Maybe an activity. Go to sleep. Rinse. Repeat.

It’s when the routine is interrupted that I can really go bonkers. Like Christmas break, which ran for nearly two weeks this time around and was punctuated by one of my kids getting the worst flu I’ve ever seen, along with some snow and very cold weather, along with the very un-routiney holidays, and, all told, I was off my game.

My game: Run through the gamut of online casinos every morning, looking for bonuses I can capitalize on. That’s 98% of my online casino play.

The other 2%? Sometimes I play for “fun,” punting EV to the netherworld, just putz around at 20 cents a spin, mostly with my pal Larry. And maybe 2% of that 2% will see me tilt out. Shit happens.

This time, however, it was different. I tilted out. Then tilted out again. And again. What started out as 20-cent spins was ending with $250-a-pop blackjack hands.

And the inability to stop, very literally, seeing stars.

SAD club

“I definitely have seasonal affective disorder,” Keith Whyte, founder and president of Safer Gambling Strategies, told me. “I was born in California and grew up mostly in the South. It’s taken me 20-plus years to get used to Virginia winters, which are still comparatively mild. My dad and sister both suffer during winter too.”

Welcome to the club.

And we all know what happens to people who suffer from SAD when it hits: If you’re prone to depression, SAD can worsen it. If you’re prone to abuse drugs or alcohol, SAD can worsen it. If you overeat, SAD can worsen it.

SAD sucks.

It would make sense that people who are prone to tilt might see some problems in the winter if they’re suffering from SAD, but the literature on it is basically non-existent. Can’t find a single study that ties them together.

“It certainly seems likely there could be an association between ‘winter blues/winter blahs’ and problem gambling,” Whyte said. “I don’t recall any studies of seasonality tied to risky gambling participation. But it’s a really interesting question. Obviously with sports betting, there’s strong seasonality, but that’s tied to the sports calendar, not the weather.”

But even though the studies haven’t been done, Whyte is pretty sure there would be a strong connection.

“I’m sure there are studies on alcohol consumption spiking during winter and holidays,” Whyte said. “And we know there’s a strong association between drinking and gambling. And depression and gambling. So there’s a pretty strong intuitive case that during winter, more booze plus more depression equals more gambling. And as with all things, age and gender are probably very strong factors.”

Perhaps worth noting: Revenue in the three biggest iCasino states — which are New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Michigan, and all happen to have balmy summers and brutal winters — don’t really shed much light on the thesis. This past October, all three states set revenue records. And October isn’t the dead of winter.

Solution?

So what is this, exactly? A gambling problem? A winter problem? A routine problem? A me-being-an-idiot problem?

Probably yes.

The gambling part is the easiest thing to focus on, because it’s the most concrete. I can look at a number and say, “That was dumb.” And it was. But if this were just about money, this column could’ve ended years ago with “set limits” and “gamble responsibly” and other phrases that look great on billboards and do absolutely nothing when it’s dark at 4:30 in the afternoon and you’ve already been staring at a screen all day.

What actually seems to matter is control. Or the slow loss of it. Winter takes away a lot of the stuff that usually keeps me from spiraling. The routine cracks, the days blur together, and suddenly punting EV doesn’t feel like a decision so much as it feels like gravity.

Online casino is always there for that. It doesn’t care why you’re logging in. It doesn’t care if it’s January, or if the kids are home, or if you haven’t seen the sun in three days. It just keeps dealing, and spinning, and flashing stars at you like that’s a normal thing for a grown adult to be seeing before breakfast.

I don’t know if “seasonal affective gambling disorder” is a real thing and apparently, the academic literature doesn’t either. But I do know that when winter hits, my margin for error shrinks. The stuff I can normally keep in check gets harder to keep in check. And pretending that mood, weather, boredom, and routine have nothing to do with gambling behavior feels … optimistic at best.

Hence, seasonal affective gambling disorder.

I don’t have a solution here. I’m not making a vow. I’m not uninstalling anything. I’m just clocking the pattern, because waking up seeing stars feels like the kind of warning sign you’re supposed to notice. 

Oh, and for those keeping score at home, my week of tilt ended with me winning $181. Zero lessons learned.