LAS VEGAS — The all-orange Nikes were pure Dave Sharapan. From a block away, they announced his arrival to our first meeting. He wore a mega-grin, eyes splashing with life.
The former oddsman-turned-media maven didn’t make friends; he forged instant bonds that felt as though they would last a lifetime.
The lunch went on for hours. He listened, locked eyes. Undivided attention.
Several times, I was fortunate to spend hours with him in a sportsbook. He would point out who soon was going to prison, who held bricks of cash, ‘‘running’’ for others. People popped by every five minutes to greet him.
Once, he focused in on my San Diego State cap, at the ‘‘19’’ stitched on a side. A custom Tony Gwynn special, the greatest Aztecs baseball player and a Baseball Hall of Famer.
Sadly, in June 2014, Gwynn died from cancer attributed to chewing tobacco. That became the tragic connection, as years of chaw had led to the tongue cancer and complications that ultimately claimed Dave on Sept. 20.
Early the next morning, within minutes of discovering the news on social media, via a lifelong pal of Dave’s, another writer rang to confirm his passing.
Sobs and tears certainly served as confirmation.
Intolerable
In June, 15 days before surgery at UCLA, Dave wanted to meet. We sat inside the Circa Sports satellite book at the Silverton Casino.
His eyes appeared grave. He had lost weight. He said the pain, when the mass on the right side of his tongue tapped nearby teeth, had become unbearable.
Doctors, he told me, were positive. Tests showed that they had caught it early and that it had not spread. Experts would operate. Recuperation would take months, but he hoped to return to work by 2026.
Those eyes told a different story. The pain was excruciating, despite the ability of his wife, Jessica, who is in the cancer-pharmaceutical industry, to gauge and alter medication.
Around the clock, it could not be alleviated. He told me how Jess had found him crying early one morning as he neither could sleep nor deal with the pain.
Those eyes and his manner conveyed that he didn’t want to deal with this for even one more day. A month later, he would spend his 55th birthday in utter anguish.
He must have known the Silverton would be our final meeting.
A miracle
Along with Matt Perrault, Dave was half of ‘‘The Bostonian vs. The Book’’ podcast, which spawned the loyal BvB Brigade. Fitted BvB caps, in favored-team colors, were presented to patrons of their football-contest proxy service.
He once offered to drive a regular listener, a near-total stranger, round-trip to Stanford for brain-cancer tests.
That’s Dave Sharapan.
A Pittsburgh native and Penn State graduate, Dave underwent a trial by fire during 18 offshore months in Curacao in the mid-1990s. He worked in many Vegas books, writing tickets or concocting odds.
His vast knowledge and the personable way he relayed info made him popular everywhere, including MLB Network. When the Super Bowl was in Las Vegas in 2024, Dave guested on three dozen radio and TV spots.
All of that followed 2020, when he suffered a stroke. Four days later, Dave strolled out of Centennial Hospital.
‘‘What I saw usually takes people out,’’ Dr. Garet Zaugg, his neurosurgeon, told Dave. ‘‘You are a walking, talking miracle. Where the blood clot was . . . it was bad.’’
A one-off
At BetBash IV at Circa in August 2024, I introduced Sharapan to Peter Ray and Ryan Jeffery, Joliet residents and creators of the online betting company Good JuJu.
‘‘I was blown away that he had heard of our brand,’’ Ray told me Sunday, ‘‘and he was unbelievably gracious in his praise for what we were trying to do. It’s really sad to lose someone so supportive of others.’’
A black-tie Sports Gambling Hall of Fame induction dinner caps that annual affair, followed by a cocktail party in the exclusive penthouse Legacy Club.
Wearing a white Dodgers cap (upside-down LA logo), and blue Dodgers pullover and shorts, Sharapan eked his way into festivities filled with tuxedos, gold, diamonds and elegant gowns.
On Monday, BetBash founder Gadoon ‘‘Spanky’’ Kyrollos told me: ‘‘He was one of a kind.’’
Sports-betting pillar Michael ‘‘Roxy’’ Roxborough called Sharapan a throwback.
‘‘To the days when sportsbooks were everyday hangouts, before phone, app and internet betting,’’ Roxy wrote on X. ‘‘Those characters are gone, and the books lack the soul of yesteryear.’’
Adieu, consig
Dave wanted to pen his memoirs, which would have been sensational. Review his X account (‘‘SportsbkConsig,’’ short for Sportsbook Consigliere) to peruse his entertaining Storytime pieces.
He relished soul, the Motown sound. He would send me ‘‘Earth, Wind and Fire’’ videos. ‘‘September’’ was a favorite. I’d return ‘‘Baby Love’’ by the Supremes. Game on.
The computer on which I type these words blew its speakers long ago because everything he sent was stellar, requiring volume. We would chat after midnight. I’d hear Jessica in the background, ‘‘Is that Miech?’’
He would rave about his four queens: Jess and daughters Kylie, Kelsey and Kendyl.
Befitting her husband’s sartorial tastes, Jessica requests attendees to his funeral Monday wear their favorite sports jerseys and caps.
I’ll wear a Brewers uniform bearing Robin Yount’s surname and No. 19, the same one with which I gifted him several years ago.
For Dave, I’ll don a dark-blue Penn State cap and maybe even a pair of all-orange Nikes.