A friend of ours, Ruthie, has a collection of different roses, and I was astounded to discover that there were over 10,000 different species, most of which seemed to be in Ruthie’s backyard! What surprised me even more was that each different rose seemed to call for some special treatment reserved only for itself. Ruthie didn’t treat all of her “pets” identically because some always did well and others always did poorly. For example, her hybrid tea roses required an almost daily diet of insecticide, fertilizer and water, while her Gallica seemed to do well no matter what happened.

A few weeks later, my wife Andrea and I were in Las Vegas the same week as Ruthie and her husband Bob. Since I knew Bob was a big craps player, we all agreed to meet at the tables after dinner. After a few rounds, I found that Bob played the pass line and two come bets, every time. We were both doing OK until a youngish looking man decided to shoot. I had noticed that he always made minimum bets and was doing so again on his own come out roll. He was with his girlfriend, and throughout the entire time, was telling her mostly false information on the various bets. I decided to wait this one out, but Bob popped his pass line bet down again.

I folded my arms. “Um, Bob, you think this shooter will do good?” “Who knows? You’re not betting?”

“No I don’t think so. The way I look at it, some shooters are Hybrid Teas and some are Gallicas.”

At this, Ruthie’s eyes widened. Andrea looked at me quizzically, but Bob just said “Huh?”

Ruthie now got animated. “Oh Bob you know those roses in the North Garden I use as a hedge and they always bloom no matter what I do, those are the Gallicas, and those tea hybrids are terrible they always seem to have bugs or disease or rot. Don’t you remember?”

Bob looked even more confused. “Huh?”

My wife Andrea, who was certainly used to me by now came to the rescue. “Bob, he’s saying that maybe all shooters are different. Some will shoot numbers every time, but some can barely find the backboard. Like roses, you can’t treat them all the same. Some will do well and some won’t.” And as if on cue, the dealer said, “Seven Out Line away!”

Bob grimaced. “Well how do you tell the difference?”

Ruthie smiled. “The smell for one thing. Gallicas keep their fragrances for a long time, even after they’re cut. And the tea...”

Bob laughed. “I meant the Crapshooters, honey.”

“Oh,” Ruthie said, the shortest sentence I ever heard her utter.

I picked up a green chip. “See that shooter? He looks confident, and has lots of chips in his rack. He bought in with a marker so he knows how to play. And he only bet red chips on the other shooters, but look, he’s betting a green one on himself. These are good signs!”

“He’s a Gallica,” Ruthie said.

I nodded. “The last shooter was young, inexperienced, and had few chips in his rack. He was talking to his girlfriend the whole time he was playing. And he didn’t know the basic odds. These are bad signs.”

“He’s a Hybrid Tea.”

I nodded again. “The shooter really does make a difference. Craps is the only casino game where you can change the outcome when you are shooting, so a lot of people have practice tables at home. You always have to be on the lookout for good Crapshooters, and bet along with them! You can spot them most of the time - they are usually full of confidence, enthusiasm, and excitement!”

Ruthie perked up. “If they’re like tea roses, they’re full of fertilizer!”

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