Are you rolling your dice wrong?

Every tabletop wargamer knows the feeling: you line up the perfect attack, pick up a fistful of dice… and roll absolute disaster. Again. It’s easy to joke that our dice are cursed, disloyal, or harbouring a personal grudge against our beautifully painted troops. But what if the problem isn’t bad luck at all? What if we’ve been rolling dice “wrong” for years?

In this video, we take a cheerful deep dive into one of tabletop gaming’s most enduring bits of club folklore: the idea that how you roll dice might actually influence the outcome. It’s a topic that sits right at the intersection of probability, superstition, and the wonderfully odd culture of historical and miniature wargaming.

We explore a whole gallery of familiar techniques. There’s the dramatic flick, launching dice across the battlefield like plastic artillery. The long tumble, beloved of casino players and guaranteed to send dice rolling through terrain pieces. The chaotic high drop, which sounds like a bag of gravel hitting a tin roof. We also look at pre-roll shaking rituals, lucky (or banned) hands, and the ever-popular dice cup or tower for players who’d rather let gravity make the decisions.

Along the way, we gently untangle the myth from the maths. Dice are, after all, simple randomising tools governed by physics, not feelings. As long as they’re rolling freely and fairly, the results are effectively random. But that doesn’t mean rolling style is meaningless. Far from it. The way we roll dice affects the pace of the game, the clarity of results, and the shared drama around the table. It’s part performance, part ritual, and part social contract between players.

For historical wargamers and miniature hobbyists, these little habits are part of the wider joy of the hobby. We already spend hours painting figures, building terrain, and recreating battles from the past. A few dice-rolling superstitions fit right in with that blend of history, storytelling, and playful imagination.

This video is ultimately a celebration of those quirks. Whether you’re a careful cup-user, an enthusiastic flicker, or someone who shakes dice like you’re trying to wake them up, you’re not alone. Dice may be random, but the stories and laughs they create at the table are anything but.

The SHOCKING TRUTH of our Cursed Dice: A Wargamer’s Tale of Betrayal

Every wargamer has lived it. That fateful roll of the dice where probability takes a holiday and betrayal becomes inevitable. Whether you’re storming the beaches, charging with cavalry, or just trying to pass the simplest morale check in the world, those plastic cubes have a way of laughing at us when it matters most.

In my latest video, I tackle the age-old truth: our dice hate us. This isn’t just superstition. It’s a lived experience, backed by decades of disasters. I’ll share some of the classic coping strategies gamers have used to deal with cursed dice — from fiery executions and hammer-smash justice, to melting them in ovens (toxic fumes optional) and my personal favourite: the ritual sacrifice. Because nothing says “behave” like destroying a bad die in full view of its brethren.

But the real meat of the video is in the stories. My own dice disasters are legendary in our group, the Posties Rejects. I relive the infamous Battle of Hal, a catastrophe so bad it still makes my fellow gamers wince. I recall the time I accidentally ended my wife’s RPG career with one bad roll in Call of Cthulhu. And I share how my children discovered — the hard way — that the dice curse is hereditary.

For miniature painters, tabletop generals, and anyone who loves the hobby, this video is part confessional, part comedy, and part therapy session. Because in the end, wargaming isn’t just about winning or losing. It’s about the stories we tell afterwards. And let’s be honest: the best stories are always the ones where the dice utterly betrayed us.

So grab your dice bag, take a deep breath, and join me as we laugh (and cry) at the cruel, hilarious fate that unites every wargamer: rolling ones when it matters most.