5 Signs You’re Addicted to Church Bingo

Last Updated on November 28, 2025 by Michael

Okay. Sit down.

This is an intervention and you’re not going to like it.

Six months ago you walked into that church basement thinking “this’ll be cute, little Wednesday night activity, win some grocery money, chat with the ladies, home by nine.” Just a quirky wholesome thing to do. A personality garnish.

Now you own eleven daubers. You’ve developed a pre-game ritual that would get you referred to a specialist. Last week you got into a VERBAL ALTERCATION with Ethel — Ethel! The 78-year-old woman who brings you butterscotch candies! — because she “stole” your B-7.

She didn’t steal anything. She just… won. That’s how bingo works. Numbers get called, someone wins, that’s the whole game.

You know this.

You know this.

And yet.

Sign #1: The Ritual

Everyone has little superstitions. Knock on wood, don’t walk under ladders, whatever. Normal human stuff.

But arriving 47 minutes early to physically claim a specific seat? The one in row three, second from left, directly under the flickering fluorescent light that you’ve decided has Lucky Energy? That’s not superstition anymore. That’s a lifestyle choice. That’s an identity. You have made someone move for this seat. In a church. Where Jesus can see you being like this.

Quick audit. How many apply:

• Daubers arranged in an order you couldn’t explain without sounding clinically concerning
• Specific number of table taps (not flexible, the NUMBER matters)
• A “centering moment” that looks like prayer but is actually just aggressive manifestation of winning
• Mental list of people whose proximity brings bad luck

You made Brenda from the choir relocate once. Out loud. In front of God and everybody. Said her energy was “off.”

Brenda switched to the 11am service. Her husband still doesn’t understand what happened that night. Nobody does. That’s the point.

(You won $75 though, so.)

Sign #2: The Vocabulary Infection

Your coworkers started a group chat about this. You’re not in the group chat.

Your pastor noticed too. Especially after the “FREE SPACE” incident during silent prayer. You claimed it was involuntary. Like a sneeze.

Father Mitchell’s face suggested he was not spiritually moved by this explanation.

Sign #3: The Enemies

Oh, this is the big one. This is where it gets dark.

Church bingo is SUPPOSED to be about fellowship. Community. Coming together in Christian love for some lighthearted fun.

In theory.

In reality you have developed a detailed internal burn book of people who have wronged you at a recreational activity held in a church basement, and honestly? It’s extensive. Let’s review.

Dorothy. Won three weeks in a row in February. THREE. The statistical probability of this is suspicious at best and you’re not ruling out witchcraft. (Is that allowed? At church bingo? Should there be rules about this? You’ve been meaning to look into it.)

The New Couple. They giggle. They hold hands between rounds. They’re clearly here to “spend quality time together” and have zero understanding that this is a BATTLEFIELD. There should be a vetting process. An orientation. Something.

Carl. Sits behind you. Breathes like a malfunctioning CPAP machine. Somehow his daubing technique is… wet? You can hear it. The sound follows you home and echoes during quiet moments.

Margaret. Brings homemade snickerdoodles every week and you’ve been TRYING to hate her since she stole the September coverall but the cookies are unreasonably delicious and your feelings have become complicated.

Here’s the truly unhinged part: you smile at all of these people. Every week. “Good luck tonight Dorothy!” you say, while mentally calculating whether her win streak falls within normal statistical bounds. “Oh Margaret, snickerdoodles, you spoil us!” you chirp, while September replays in your mind like a war flashback.

This is fine.

This is completely normal behavior.

Everyone has a secret church bingo enemies list.

…Right?

Sign #4: The Finances

Time to talk about money. The conversation you’ve been avoiding.

Total annual investment: $2,160

And the winnings?

Forty-seven dollars. And one ham.

You don’t even like ham. Gave it to the neighbor. She said “oh… thanks” in that specific tone that meant she ALSO doesn’t like ham but now it’s her problem. That interaction still bothers you and you can’t fully explain why.

But here’s the thing. You’re not playing for money anymore. Haven’t been since week two. You’re playing because stopping feels impossible. Because what would Wednesday even BE without this?

Just… sitting at home? Watching television? Like some kind of person without purpose??

No. Absolutely not. Unthinkable.

Sign #5: The Calendar Has Been Conquered

This is the final diagnostic. The one that separates “enthusiast” from “has reorganized entire life around church basement activity.”

Have you ever:

• Said “Wednesday doesn’t work” without elaboration, because elaborating would raise questions
• Felt actual anger at a doctor’s office for offering Wednesday afternoon appointments
• Called non-players “civilians” out loud
• Judged someone for vacationing during bingo season (all seasons are bingo season)
• Experienced genuine panic when the church announced fellowship hall renovations, then visible physical relief when they confirmed bingo would continue in the gymnasium

If you got through that list with zero yeses, congratulations. You’re fine. This post wasn’t about you.

If you’re staring at multiple checkmarks right now, just sitting there, confronting something about yourself…

Well.

You know what you are now.

So What Now

Look. Loving bingo isn’t a crime. The community is (mostly) great. The adrenaline of waiting for that last number genuinely slaps. Legal. Social. Worse hobbies exist.

But maybe skip ONE Wednesday? Just once? Just to prove the bingo doesn’t control you?

Or don’t. Ethel’s been insufferable lately and somebody needs to humble her.

See you Wednesday.

This called you out didn’t it. Send it to your bingo group chat. You know the one. “Daub Squad.” “B-I-N-G-Ohhh.” “Fellowship of the Bing.” Don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what this is referring to.