Shooting Gallery

Rounding Up the Motley Lineup of Your Everyday Dice Chuckers

Throughout its history, America’s favorite pastime has unveiled countless generations of eclectic ball hurlers, each with his own signature windup and delivery.

For instance, Japanese sensation Hideo Nomo featured a bizarre, hip-bending “tornado” windup more fit for a yoga class than Dodger Stadium.

In the 1970s, Boston’s Luis Tiant was known for his 180-degree rotations toward center field before firing a heater to home plate.

In the 80’s, Kansas City’s Dan Quisenberry brought to the mound a sweeping sidearm serve resemblant of skipping stones at the local pond.

It’s in these unique little subtleties where we establish our identities in virtually everything we do.

“You can learn a lot, watching things eat,” Jack Nicholson quips over a bottle of chianti and risotto in The Departed.

Well, same goes with the dice chuckers hovering around the craps tables. When they scoop up those cubes into their palms, it’s painfully simple to decipher between the bold and the bashful.

Let’s take a deeper delve into today’s dice shooters and in the way they set those suckers airborne.

Nancy Newcomer

These are the ones who approach the table like it’s a pine coffin, mouths agape and eyes wide as saucers. They look down upon the felt layout as if it’s comprised of ancient hieroglyphics. It may as well be.

Five dice are slid in her direction, and Nancy Newcomer is instructed to select two. After a deer-meet-headlights moment, she reluctantly holds them in her fist and shakes them as if she’s playing Boggle with her cousins.

Oftentimes these newbies are so timid they don’t even connect with the back wall. The dice dribble a few tumbles and come to a weak stop midway down the table, often culminating in doom for those wagering the pass line.

Although there’s something to be said for “beginner’s luck,” Nancy is just a little too meek for our taste buds. You know how it usually turns out for the wide-eyed deer.

Jesse James

He approaches the wood as if he’s ordering a whiskey double at the bar.

He wants you to notice him, this brash gunslinger, and so he saddles up to the table, grabs a hold o’ them dice, and fires away like he’s in a gunfight.

The dice rattle around the perimeter of the table like a pinball, taking out everything in their path. Stacks of chips are blown to smithereens, all your wagers lost in the debris.

His next shot is no different, as it pierces through the action like a bullet. It ricochets off every corner of the table before revealing its fateful number.

There’s nothing subtle about Jesse James, the cockiest customer in the joint. He may even rattle off a few expletives before heading off in a blaze of glory.

Like a wild, wild westerner low on ammo, it’s just a matter of time before he’s fully disarmed by the Big Red (out-7).

The O.J. Simpson

"Two die outside"

Perhaps the most sinister (and annoying) of the bunch is the man who’s undeniably guilty of disrupting the flow of the game, bringing it all to a grinding halt.

He puts a little too much “juice” on his throw, applying the type of English that sends not one but both dice overboard.

So why do we refer to this fellah as the O.J. Simpson?

“Two die outside!” the dealer announces, sending the cavalry on an intense carpet probe not unlike detectives searching for evidence.

Once the dice are located among a sea of shod feet, the pit boss examines them at which point Simpson can resume with the very same dice or opt for fresh ones.

In the end, these frequent delays become criminal, even downright murderous, for players short of patience.

Tommy Timetaker

Once the dice are served to him, he wants everyone to know that this is his time. And so his time is exactly what he takes.

He fondles them. He inspects them. He blesses them. He performs rituals on them. He does everything but propose marriage to them.

This tinkering goes on for so long that you start humming the Jeopardy music in your head.

The delays between tosses become outright torturous. His table neighbors partake in a collective groan, as you find your patience vanishing faster than your bankroll.

If craps is a game of momentum, Tommy Timetaker is like a solid red light, disrupting the steady flow.

You quickly conclude that this game needs a baseball-style pitch timer to keep the game afoot and the dilly dallying kaput.

Paulie Professional

The entire table is seemingly enamored with the fellah cradling the dice.

And why not? Every time he flicks his wrist he’s building their bank.

There’s a certain vibe that comes when Paulie Professional plucks up the cubes. He holds them like he’s done this gig a thousand times.

There’s also an air of confidence about him, as if he knows he’ll own them for the forthcoming hour. Sometimes he does.

He takes a moment to methodically set them in such a way that minimizes the chances of the naughty number.

His stroke is a smooth one, subtle and measured, yet with enough mustard to find the rear wall. The dice lightly tap the wood and tumble to a halt.

After making the umpteenth point, you begin to see dollar signs, each bearing the same slogan:

In Paulie Professional We Trust.

-- TB