My Wife Confesses by Frank Scoblete

My wife, the beautiful AP, is an accomplished woman in every way. I say this not just because she is my wife but also because the truth is the truth. She is an avid reader and she loves to write articles on the contemporary scene, and on the religious and philosophical issues of today and of "all our yesterdays," as Shakespeare had Macbeth so aptly put it.

The beautiful AP is sharp in her critiques and has a probing mind. She’s also one of the few women I’ve met who hates Seinfeld and isn’t afraid to say so. Such courage! She also hates network television. Her big show is the BBC news on PBS each night.

Of course, her writing about culture, religion and philosophy is lightweight stuff, let’s be honest here. People have been writing about those issues for centuries and what’s come of it? Nothing. Ever since someone put pen to paper, or rather, chisel to rock, we’ve been fascinated by the nature of life and the spectre of death. But we still have no idea about the meaning of life and we certainly aren’t any closer to solving the puzzle of death. Perhaps because these mysteries can’t be solved, merely speculated at.

That’s why, when the beautiful AP gets really serious, she likes to delve into heavyweight matters -- like casino gambling. She writes columns for several magazines and newspapers on casino games and, in one, she made a startling confession about something we gaming writers should never admit to -- not being able to actually "do" what we write about.

I expected the wire services to pick up on this as it was a landmark moment in gambling-writing history. But not a peep was heard. The papers were too busy covering frivolities like global warming and terrorism. This shouldn’t be surprising, I guess, since the mainstream press, by and large, ignores the intricacies and delights of casino gambling or, worse, looks upon it as just several inches short of a damnable sin.

So her confession has only been seen by relatively few eyes. I think you should see it too. It might give hope to those of you struggling with the same horrible problem she is struggling with. It might also let you know that you are not alone. If the beautiful AP isn’t perfect, the rest of us don’t have to even pretend to be! Which is a real relief to me.

Here’s her confession, it’s every bit as compelling as St. Augustine’s and one one-hundredth the length!

I have a confession to make. It is a simple one, really, and not something I should really be all that ashamed of but -- I am a lousy crapshooter. Literally. When I roll the dice, if roll is the right word....Actually, let me change that sentence’s wording to this wording: When the dice leave my hand, I really have no idea where they will wind up. I have hit more stickmen, boxmen and dealers in their eyes, ears, heads and shoulders than any dice player in history -- or, as my husband says: "AP, I have never seen anyone as dangerous at a craps table as you are." I once landed a die in a person’s mouth at Showboat in Atlantic City! She was busy talking and the die just went sailing right in. Thankfully, she didn’t choke.

Now, you might find this confession somewhat puzzling as I have written about dice control and my husband, Frank Scoblete, has based his whole craps philosophy on the premise that some shooters, by their careful sets and deliveries, are physically changing the nature of the game. He has advocated the Captain’s 5-Count as a means of eliminating bad shooters and only risking money on the potentially good shooters. He has explored the idea of rhythmic rolling. He has counseled me. Yet, here I am, having played craps for many years, having attempted to control the dice; here I am, completely out of control. I once had one die go over the boxman’s head and the other die go off the table over the stickman’s shoulder. People can’t do that if they try -- and I wasn’t trying! I only wanted to land the dice against the back wall.

So I confess. Although I, too, am a firm believer in "rhythmic rolling," I also am a firm believer that I can’t and never will be able to do it. I am like a dentist that is missing some teeth, or a doctor who doesn’t exercise or eat right.

Yes, with this confession, the rest of us gambling writers are off the hook. Even if we can’t do something, that doesn’t mean we can’t write about it.