1PlusGame Casino

  1plusgame’s Sic Bo table was a little oasis of calm amid the casino’s melee, and the game itself, with its heritage of thousands of years and its basal mechanics, carried a certain magic. The dice, to whom it had been my lot to deliver, writhed away on the gentle bed of dim lights inside the acrylic dome that had caged them, their quintessential points – the very embodiment of the 0s and 1s that existed in the veins and arteries, and in the brain itself, of every computer on Earth – glinting and flaring at me.

 I’d been invited, but only with a sense of passive curiosity – as if traversing, eternally calm, an alternate realm in which the laws of time change – so I do not remember clearly who placed my chips and invited me, but it was done, by the methods I have described, grinning me to the sum of 1,500 pesos, which at that time was roughly C$400. Then we were escorted past the roulette and blackjack rooms to the baccarat and poker tables. Clad individually by a genially mysterious Austrian in a pea jacket and temporary name tag, my friend and I entered the poker room. An older dealer, whose years had emptied his visage of emotion, directed me to a seat at a table where I would play four hands. I nodded to the dealer in return, affirming my grasp on my course through the sit-com of memory.

 The others were eyeing the dice with the same kind of dreamlike, hopeless and wistful thoughtfulness. Round the circle there was an anticipatory stillness that felt transcendental, like a hum of biology. I was placing another set of bets. I needed to think about it. It was a decision. There were ramifications. My bones felt like compass needles, and the weight of matter spread off from me in ruddy branched veins. 

 The 1plusgame dealer flicked the button on the casing and the dice rolled and rattled around under the dome, meaningless flips followed by a twinkling silence as they stopped. We waited, the time not lost but drawn out, pregnant with possibility. And then we saw the numbers. The final position of the dice seemed not so much arbitrary as inevitable: they had had to come to rest that way.

 Play proceeded in a rhythmic cadence of bets and rolls, each session a fresh instalment in an unfolding story, and the whole strangely hypnotic. I fell into the cadence, into the pantomime of luck and its unknowing partner, chance. The dice, the oldest of all gaming instruments, become characters in a fiction of fortune, a mythology of the possible, the choice and its consequences. 

 The world beyond or, if you’ll permit, the bigger, offline world, didn’t seem to hold much quality time for you, and when you pressed your whole being up against the roulette wheel, it was like you were swimming in quite possibly some purest and most deluded mysticism this side of a sweat lodge – some complex web of implicit probability that dwarfed the game yet was still shaped by it.

 With time, I began to hear the murmurs of Sic Bo’s inner cadence, the miniature music of the dealer’s hands, the players’ facial movements in unison with the autumn of the dice. The game whispered poetry, turning probabilities into narrative and making chaos esthetically satisfying.

 When I finally decided to get up from that table, I found that I felt eerie and still. In a way, Sic Bo at 1plusgame Casino had become not just a game, but a pilgrimage into the temple of pure chance, a quiet Zen meditation on the mathematics of probability and existential flows of temporal experience. It had been the discovery of an oasis, in that innocent backwater of the casino, of a place where life could be reduced to pure die. 

 I left with the sound of the dice still in my ears, as that gesture had taught me was necessary: that amid the bustle, the world can always make room for quiet contemplation. In its embrace, the roller had given me a portal through which to glimpse a universe where every gesture carried a narrative, one in which luck is never a coincidence.

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