In the increasingly eclectic landscape of gaming in Pennsylvania, a debate simmers, capturing the attention of bistros and bars, market aisles and gas station corners alike. Amidst this backdrop, one company, a creator of experiences woven into the fabric of daily life, stands firmly with the belief that their Pennsylvania Skill games, those slot-like beacons of challenge and chance, do not vie for the same spotlight as the glittering casino slot machines.
Once ordinary spaces are now transformed into impromptu gaming floors, where the chime and clatter of Pennsylvania Skill machines offer a distinct symphony, separate from the crescendo found within the hallowed halls of the state’s 17 brick-and-mortar casinos. Yet, it was a month to remember for these casinos which, along with online gaming and sports betting ventures, tallied a record-shattering gross gaming revenue (GGR) of nearly $521 million.
A southern twang enters the story with Pace-O-Matic (POM), the Georgia-based virtuosos of software, whose coding genius breathes life into the contentious skill games. The company released a statement, tipping its hat to the casinos for their historic May earnings, simultaneously unfurling a banner in defense of its digital progeny.
Mike Barley, the voice of the company, carries the message with clarity, “These numbers show that there is room in the state for both casinos and small businesses that operate skill games to be successful. There is no competition between the two.”
This serenity is soon to be scrutinized by the discerning eyes of the state’s Supreme Court as the legal narrative of skill games turns another page. Attorney General Michelle Henry has cast an appeal into the legal labyrinth, summoning the courts to re-evaluate whether the skill-based nature of these games shields them from the label of illegal gambling devices under the Keystone State’s Gaming Act.
The casino industry, however, hums a different tune. Parx, Pennsylvania’s economic powerhouse of luck and leisure, halts plans for a lavish $100 million hotel, wary of the legal dance around the skill game phenomenon. The behemoth isn’t shying entirely away from hospitality, though, opting instead for the acquisition of a humbler abode for patron comfort.
Barley’s retort to the move carries a tinge of disappointment, underscoring a narrative where David’s sling is exchanged for skill games, “Sadly, $521 million a month is not enough to satisfy the greedy casino industry. Instead, they want to kill small businesses, American Legions, volunteer fire companies, Moose Lodges, and other places that count on income from skill games.”
Amidst this maelstrom of high stakes and higher emotions, a call for regulation echoes. POM, alongside other champions of skill-based gaming, has urged lawmakers to establish a regulatory framework for these machines, which currently remain unregulated and untaxed. While legislative proposals languish in the Harrisburg capital, Governor Josh Shapiro adds his own flair to the debate, suggesting a tax rate that could reshape the landscape once more.
Barley frames this as a battle for the soul of commerce, where Goliath’s demands threaten to extinguish the flickering flames of local livelihoods, “These locations could never afford to pay the same tax rate that wealthy casinos pay. Casinos know that but they simply don’t care.”
In the waning days of November, the legal tightrope walk saw the Commonwealth Court uphold a previous ruling, casting the shadow of skill over chance in the ongoing saga of what defines gambling. “Simply because a machine involves a large element of chance…is insufficient to find the machine to be a gambling device,” penned the presiding Dauphin County Judge Andrew Dowling.
Yet, as the wheel of fate spins, so do perspectives, with Henry advocating for the state Supreme Court to approach the bench once more. The curtain has yet to fall on this drama, where every play and counterplay tugs at the intricate tapestry that is Pennsylvania’s gaming narrative.
