Pachinko: Japan's lifesaver or time waster?

Perhaps it was by mistake, out of curiosity, or just to sneak in and use the restroom, but if you’ve lived in or visited Japan, it’s possible you’ve  walked into a pachinko parlor at least once.

And if so, it was surely an experience you’ve not forgotten.  

Entering one of these ubiquitous gambling establishments for the first time is like stumbling upon another dimension. A non-stop barrage of loud, futuristic zaps and pings greets you through a fluorescent haze, fogged with clouds of cigarette smoke.

Narrow isles are lined with row after row of near-identical game machines that players sit facing, side-by-side and back-to-back for hours on end, hoping to cash in on a jackpot based on a final sum of miniature silver steel pinballs.

Getting lucky

The balls are first purchased with cash, dumped in bulk into the machine and jetted about at various levels of velocity as adjusted by the player via a hand dial.

They tumble downward and, if lucky, enter payout gates along the way before eventually disappearing into a hole at the bottom.

In truth, pachinko is far closer to being Japan's national pastime than anything more "traditional."

Thousands of pachinko parlors countrywide all share this distinct atmosphere -- one that will immediately test any newcomer’s senses to the limits.

For an industry with a turnover, at least in 2005, of ¥29 trillion ($380 billion) a year, pachinko also sails surprisingly close to the wind.

While it's technically illegal to gamble on most things in Japan, pachinko skirts the law by paying out in balls, which are exchanged on site for small golden tokens.

It's only after visiting an off-site kiosk, called a TUC Shop in Japanese, that winners can swap the tokens for hard cash.

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This somewhat challenging setting, along with other negative connotations (such as purported ties to the Japanese mafia, or yakuza, and the tendency to become destructively addictive for some), have made some Japanese non-enthusiasts look upon pachinko in a very dim light indeed.

Following the call to conserve electricity after March 11, one particular non-enthusiast, Tokyo Governor Shintaro Ishihara, announced that pachinko parlors should limit their business hours to the middle of the night.

He suggested that it was “ridiculous” that the sum of electrical power for pachinko parlors and vending machines in the metropolis alone can reach up to 10 million kilowatts at certain peak times.

But could such a drastic solution be viable? Is pachinko an industry that can simply have its operating hours slashed without consequence? And might the game provide something more for Japanese people than it gets credit for?

Pressure release

Yuko Masaki lives on Awaji Island in midwestern Japan, where she’s been the primary caregiver for her 61-year-old husband since he suffered a stroke in 2007.

His limited motor skills have made him nearly entirely bedridden and his mental health is on an unstoppable gradual decline.

Despite her positive outlook on the situation and stubborn resolution not to send him to outside care, her own doctor has now suggested that various physical ailments -- including a persistent stomach ache -- she’s started to experience over the past year may be rooted in the physical and emotional toll her husband’s illness and deterioration has taken on her.