Tim "Shoe" Sullivan. (Contributed)

Shoe Column: Dice baseball

By Tim “Shoe” Sullivan

The year was 1963. I was in eighth grade. In a couple of years, the Milwaukee Braves Major League Baseball team would move to Atlanta, Georgia.

The Braves’ move broke many hearts in Wisconsin.

The Milwaukee Braves were my heroes.

And in or around 1963, my dad, Robert, showed me the neatest thing I had ever seen.

He showed me a baseball game you played with dice, and it was beyond awesome.

A kid did not need much to play the game we called “dice baseball.” What was needed were two dice (one big and one small), a notebook, a pen or pencil, and a sheet of paper with the scoring rules.

The first thing my father had me do was make out two batting lineups, one for each team that would “play” the game.

Then the game started. The first batter came to bat.

You rolled the dice.

Then you looked at the rules to see what the batter did.

I played many games. As far as I knew, my father invented this. Apparently, there was—or is—a game called Strat-O-Matic, and that might be similar.

But neither my dad nor I had ever heard of it.

The system went something like this: First, you rolled both dice. If the dice landed on 1-2, that meant the batter was out. It didn’t matter how.

If the dice came up 1-3, same thing. The batter was out.

And so on.

“Doubles” were always good for the batter. If you rolled a 2-2, the batter got a double, and you went to the scorebook and put him on second base. A 3-3 got the batter a triple.

Boxcars (6-6) meant a home run.

And if the player made it all around the bases, you colored in the “diamond” and moved the runner to first, second, third, and home.

Hits and outs. Some hits, and lots of outs.

The fun part came when I was making out the lineups. My first team was always the Milwaukee Braves. They would play against the Chicago Cubs, Reds, or Pirates.

It didn’t matter who the opponent was because my Braves always won in the dice game. Always.

That’s because I cheated a lot.

For instance, let’s suppose the Cubs scored a run in the first inning. Now that wouldn’t do. Something wasn’t right.

So for their last batter, I would be the “official umpire,” and I’d rule “cocked dice!”

I would have a “do-over” and keep rolling the bones until I got the desired outs.

My Braves’ opponents were shut out almost every game.

My batting order for the Milwaukee Braves in 1963 was something like Lee Maye, Frank Bolling, Hank Aaron, Eddie Mathews, Joe Torre, Del Crandall, a couple of other guys, and either Warren Spahn, Lew Burdette, or Tony Cloninger.

My favorite Braves, like Joe Adcock, Johnny Logan, and Bob Buhl, were no longer on the squad.

The Cubs could send up Lou Brock, Ken Hubbs, Billy Williams, Ernie Banks, Ron Santo, George Altman, Dick Bertell, and Dick Ellsworth.

It didn’t matter if they only had eight guys in the lineup since I wouldn’t give any of them hits—almost ever.

I would get on the living room floor and play our dice baseball for hours and hours, and all day long if it was raining outside.

After a few weeks, I made an added rule: From then on, no player from either team could come up to bat unless I had their baseball card right there on the floor.

This caused me some problems with the Cubs’ lineup because I couldn’t find a baseball card for their third baseman.

But no problem. I found one of Don Zimmer, who might’ve been on the Mets, and immediately traded him to the Cubs.

After playing many games, I started playing them “straight,” which meant no cheating if the Braves were winning.

And then I noticed something very odd.

It involved my Milwaukee catchers.

Del Crandall was my regular catcher. However, one day I couldn’t find his baseball card, so he had to sit out.

That left two catchers to pick from.

I chose Joe Torre.

And he did fine.

Until I lost Torre’s card too.

The only catcher left was Bob Uecker.

I had several Uecker baseball cards.

But I had to laugh every time I had to play him. Who was this guy? Ooker? Ewkkor?

Who the hell was Bob Uecker?

And here’s the most amazing part: Almost every other time my Uecker would come to bat, I’d somehow roll legitimate boxcars—6-6. Home runs!

My totals for a game would be something like doubles: Aaron (1); triples: Mathews (1); home runs: Uecker (3).

The beauty of all this was that my favorite team always won. There was absolutely zero cost to play the game, you could play it every day, and you never got rained out.

Note: I started being an official scorekeeper/announcer of organized softball in 1967 and have worked over 1,000 games.

Dice baseball got me my start.

If I ever had a kid, my kid would learn how to play dice baseball.

And the kid would have a blast.