week a game takes place somewhere, filling club houses and car parks to capacity. Some of the players have been chasing jackpots for more than 40 years, many for at least 20. What makes them tick? Community recently visited the Southampton Rangers Sports Club to find out.

*** This is the Big One. There's $10,000 in the pot and before the last set of wheels rolls out of the parking lot tonight every cent of it will have been won by somebody.

The temperature in the club house is about 90 degrees, despite big ceiling fans whirring flat out. Every nook and cranny is filled with humanity. Even the pool table has has been commandeered with a makeshift plastic cover.

There's not a foot of space left in the sprawling car park, and most of the well-kept vehicles are filled to capacity. For a group of Filipinos, it's standing room only.

Below the clubhouse steps, the refreshment stand is gearing up to dispense everything from hot dogs and hamburgers to fries and pies. The young women who will take the orders and deliver the refreshments have already begun to hustle. For them it will be a long and busy night with sometimes limited rewards.

In a back room, a man sells cards and counts cash as fast as he can go. Behind him, two Members of Parliament, Mr. Reginald Burrows and Mr. Stanley Lowe, both officials of the club, are organising pay-out and other details.

Young men with walkie talkies keep in touch with headquarters while fanning out through the car park.

Everyone is rarin' to go.

Players have connected their banks of cards with big spring clips and deployed the "lucky'' tokens -- rubbery trolls with scruffy wisps of hair and teddy bears among them. Some have even "blessed'' their cards by rubbing "lucky'' spots, culled from supermarket tabloids, over them.

Cold drinks sweat in large plastic cups. Containers of food -- shrimps, peanuts, chicken legs, cookies among them -- are on stand-by.

In one corner, a pair of knitting needles clicks busily away. A white baby's jacket is beginning to form.

Though there is a strong sense of togetherness among the crowd, conversation is muted. As 9 p.m. approaches, tension mounts. Will this be the night that gives quick passage to financial heaven? Make no mistake, despite the social overlay, everyone is here to chase the elusive butterfly of easy bounty. Never mind that it's a fleeting chance for just a few. The dream goes on, week in and year out -- helped by a variety of "ticklers.'' Tonight, five people will win $40 just for being there -- if their entrance card numbers come up lucky. Still others will get free peel-back cards if any of the ones they purchased for $1 each come up right.

Finally, it's all eyes down as the caller mounts the stage. The fate of so many rests in his hands. Silent prayers drift heavenward. Later, curses will rain down.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,'' he intones. "We begin tonight with two minutes' silence for two players who departed this life this week.'' Everyone stands. Heads bow. With their last earthly card played, thoughts of what it must it be like in that hopefully not-full house in the sky flood the mind.

"B15, I23, N37 ...'' The numbers are called slowly but steadily. Hands sweep deftly over the banks of cards, drawing little red shutters over the numbered windows. One player looks as if she's operating the sound board in a recording studio.

Outside, an illuminated board duplicates the numbers called inside for the benefit of the auto-borne, who keep their doors wide open to activate the interior lights.

Not a word is spoken anywhere. As the night wears on small sums are won or just missed. Various game plans -- splits, blackouts, specific patterns -- shift attention but never the odds. Winners have their numbers called back by club officials and collect their cash or cheque. Losers curse their luck.

No-one quits. Maybe next time ...

Indeed, "maybe next time'' is the dynamo which propels droves of bingo fans from venue to venue, week after week. Some have been playing for 40 years, most for upwards of 20.

Ask them where games are played and when, and they've all got the answers down pat: "Monday Leopards, Tuesday Southampton Rangers, Wednesday PHC ...'' The crowd is a polyglot of humanity: men, women, young and not-so-young, black, white, Bermudian and non-Bermudian, resident and tourist.

They are butchers, sales people, handymen, chambermaids, entrepreneurs, caterers and more.

Among the cognoscenti, certain "characters'' stand out.

A senior, swathed this night in pastel polyester topped with a khaki hat and affectionately known as Granny, is described as "a trip''. Ruth is known for her high-decibel "Bingo'' yell when she wins.

"It can be quite frightening if you're not used to it,'' a fellow player confides.

So why do people flock to this moving mecca from as far away as Dockyard and St. David's in all winds and weathers and by whatever means possible? "It's a night out -- something to do,'' they tell you at first. Dig a little deeper, however, and this is what you get: "Everybody's got bills to pay. You can't afford not to come.'' The amount fans shell out depends on the number and size of cards purchased, and the time of year. Before major public holidays the price of games -- and the size of prizes -- goes up.

No-one seems to notice that, irrespective of the size of the card, the number of letters and digits remains the same. If it's bigger it must be better, they reason.

Make no mistake, bingo players are very serious about their recreation. They seem to operate on a mixture of superstition, hope and not too much charity.

Where superstition is concerned, apart from all the "lucky'' paraphernalia they carry everywhere with them, some players also believe in "lucky'' parking spots and even wear "lucky'' items of clothing.

Hope springs eternal in every breast. Some have won many times, others seldom, if at all.

And it seems they're not too charitable when it comes to tipping. "We have people who sit in their cars and ask for ice, or ice water all night long and tip us a dime or nothing at all,'' one waitress admitted. "You get some funny people sometimes, but that's okay. I like my job and I just tell them, `Good luck and have a nice evening' anyway.'' Among the preponderance of regulars there is a unique spirit of camaraderie.

Horns honk exuberantly to celebrate special events -- anniversaries, birthdays, births -- as well as to congratulate winners.

And speaking of winners, how do they react? Do they hoot 'n' holler? Dance in the aisles? Go a little fullish? Maybe, but not tonight. The first winner of $400 was positively sanguine.

"I'm used to it,'' she said cool-ly. "I've won before.'' Dorothy, who hit the $5000 jackpot, also professed to be unfazed, despite a face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"I've won $1800 at Devonshire Rec,'' she said, collecting her cheque with stunning swiftness.

And just what was she going to do with this big win? "Put it in the bank,'' was the swift reply.

With that, the heavens suddenly opened.

"See that?'' a long-time player nudged. "That's showers of blessings on the winner.'' CHECKING 'EM OUT -- Mr. Kenneth (Fish) Wright makes sure the bingo cards are in good shape before they're put into play. Some fans believe that certain cards are "lucky'' and seek them out every week.

HERE'S HOPIN' -- From the comfort of his car, bingo fan Mr. Wilfred (Curly) Dill plays his bank of bingo cards, hoping that at least one of them will make him a winner.