Monica Yant Kinney: Pa. competing with Mob bookies

When Pennsylvania officials launched a state lottery in 1972, optimistic bureaucrats predicted the end of the illegal numbers racket.

Five years later, the state debuted a 7 p.m. "Daily Number" game eerily similar to the tavern and barbershop action preferred by those not wishing to involve the government in their gambling. Twenty years after that, in 1997, lottery officials trumpeted an exciting new promotion: a second Daily Number drawing . . . in the afternoon.

"The state was trying to compete with bookies!" snorts a South Philly gambler who lost huge sums on the street. "The lottery came out with that day number to fight the Mob."

Today, good guys and goodfellas continue to torment each other over the almighty gambling dollar as suckers continue to lose their shirts trying to get rich quick.

Anyone diving into the latest criminal case against the Philadelphia Mob expecting made-for-TV gore will be sorely disappointed. As my colleague, veteran Mob watcher George Anastasia, warns, "It's an economic indictment."

Joseph "Uncle Joe" Ligambi and 12 other alleged members of what's left of the Philadelphia Mafia are not charged with shooting, dismembering, or blowing up anybody. The feds couldn't catch them busting a single kneecap.

Instead, this indictment - superseding, if only mildly seedy - chronicles the Mob's workmanlike obsession with accounts payable and receivable. Sort of like The Office, but with no cold calls.

Consider the dilemma of Anthony "Ant" Staino Jr., caught on a wiretap fuming at a loan-sharking customer who inexplicably lent Staino's money to another deadbeat.

"Talk to this kid," Staino barked. "He made his money. Everybody's making money, and I can't get mine."

Wheel of fortune

In 1986, Thomas "Tommy Del" DelGiorno became the highest-ranking Philly mobster ever to cooperate with authorities. Much of what he revealed concerned La Cosa Nostra's economic evolution.

"Gambling," DelGiorno explained, "is the wheel that makes everything go round."

Bookmaking begot extortion, since the only thing worse than not getting a guy's bet is hearing that someone else did.

Bookmaking also begot loan-sharking, since degenerate gamblers are so sure they're going to hit big on their next bet, they'll happily pay 150 percent interest for a wad of cash to stay in the game.

Old-timers prefer the ponies, but the modern Mafia went all-in on electronic wagering long before Act 71 legalized slots in this state.