Let me ask you this. Who wouldn’t want to see Ocean’s 14: The Beantown Brouhaha? It would feature, of course, the addition of Mark “Marky Mark” Wahlberg to the eclectic cast, in some role sure to net him an Oscar nod. Hell, even Ben Affleck could make an appearance onscreen — both as a buddy to Linus and as the janitor with a heart of gold, who, when all else fails, lets them into the casino.

Of course, this film could only happen if we actually had a casino in Boston. So I hail the recent Massachusetts casino proposal as a terrific idea — not because I have a gambling problem, but because we need to give the local Affleck boy a chance to shine. And because I have a gambling problem.

But my personal problems are unimportant. The fact remains that there are plans on the table to erect a casino that, unlike Foxwoods and Mohegan Sun, is going to be accessible within moments when the itch strikes. And, as my fellow Wednesday night support group associates can attest, the itch strikes hard. To have a casino here would be heaven.

As a big fan of Vegas, my thoughts naturally turned to the question of what theme a casino in Boston would follow. I guess it’s only fitting that the first casino in Massachusetts pay homage to this confusing little burg in which we live.

So what would a casino with a “Boston” theme look like?

Neon is a staple of many casinos. However, it may be a bad idea here, especially if any light-up fixtures are shaped like cartoon characters. So, no neon.

The entrance to the casino doesn’t have to be grand, but the architects should just make sure it looks nothing like Government Center or our own School of Law, because scaring people away tends in the long run to be bad for business.

I imagine a Boston casino would have the most nervous, strung-out gamers ever. It’s just the way people are here. Even someone who is up hundreds of dollars would still, in that dark, damned place of his conscious being, know he’s going to lose that whole advantage in a heartbreaking, yet utterly predictable, fashion. There is, of course, that one miraculous time when he walked out of the casino a winner, and, fortunes be blessed, actually beat the unbeatable system. But no matter how much Boston gamblers are actually ahead, they will just know it’ll be gone before the end of the night. It’ll be sad, fascinating and dumbfounding to watch.

Because, let’s face it, Boston folk are superstitious folk. The normally boisterous casino atmosphere might come to Boston to die. While people in Vegas act like Robert Downey Jr. in Colombia and people in Reno party with the recklessness that comes only from knowing that it can’t get any worse, what the hell, Bostonians would make nary a peep. Maybe it’s the overpowering superstition; maybe it’s the Puritan guilt. The fact remains that nobody can say anything encouraging here.

You know that guy — that friend everyone has who never gambles, but who goes to the casino anyway, and stands behind you while you’re at the blackjack table, and keeps patting you on the shoulder every time you get a face card, and spouts out helpful comments like, “Oooh, 17! You look like you’re in good shape there!” or “Man, the dealer gets more aces than Lisa Simpson,” and just becomes that guy who everyone wishes would just leave? You know that guy? Well, that guy wouldn’t really last long here.

And you don’t want to get backroomed here, because they’d never find you. Why do you think Vegas is in the middle of the desert? This brings me to the physical layout of the casino. Casinos, as a general rule, are designed to be as structurally confusing and as difficult to leave as possible. It’s the Legends of the Hidden Temple doctrine of leaving a place: Every exit lies beyond mazes, pits and the occasional savage. It’s very easy to get lost in a casino. So imagine what a Boston casino would be like.

The high-roller rooms would, of course, resemble a tackier Hyannisport, and would feature statues of the Kennedys. There’d be a spectacular seafood buffet. Neil Diamond, that sequined genius, would headline, highlighting every show with a sing-along of “Sweet Caroline,” and everyone would take a shot on the third “da Da DA! “”

True, there’d always be something under construction or being repaired at this casino, to the great inconvenience of most gamblers, but such is the nature of the beast. But doesn’t this sound like a classy joint? Isn’t this somewhere you can see yourself spending your evenings, weekends and Monday mornings?

I can picture it now. The Massachusetts Monte Carlo. The happiest place on Earth.

Carlos Maycotte, a first-year student in the School of Law, is a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. He can be reached at [email protected].