Posted on April 7, 2025

Michigan City Woman Loses It After Lottery Win

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Michigan City, IN — Nancy Grace, 57, a proud local icon with a legendary track record of table dancing at bars across northern Indiana, is back in the spotlight — and not because of another impromptu performance at last call. This time, Nancy’s wild energy has been turbocharged by something even stronger than Fireball: a winning Hoosier Lottery ticket.

Known affectionately by regulars as “Tabletop Nancy” and rumored to have once danced through a power outage using only the glow of a jukebox for guidance, she’s no stranger to making headlines — or at least group texts. Now, with six figures in hand and zero plans to tone it down, Nancy is proving that when luck strikes in Michigan City, it usually involves alcohol, denim, and at least one piece of furniture being climbed on.

Witnesses say Nancy strutted into Knuckleheads Sports Bar & Grill just minutes after discovering her lottery win, radiating the kind of chaotic confidence usually reserved for reality show finalists and people who just got their tax refunds. She ordered a whiskey sour “with extra celebration,” pointed dramatically at the jukebox, and climbed onto a table with the grace of someone who’s absolutely done this before. As Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” blasted through the speakers, Nancy began dancing like it was 1998 — the year she allegedly outlasted three bachelorettes and a bouncer during an impromptu limbo contest at the now-defunct Swiggin’ Pig Saloon in La Porte.

“I was halfway through my mozzarella sticks when she shouted, ‘I’M RICH, B*TCH!’ and started line dancing on Table 4,” said longtime patron Debra Wells, who’s seen her fair share of questionable bar behavior but called this moment “top-tier.” “She nailed every step like it was choreographed, and the kicker? She didn’t even spill her drink. One hand in the air, the other clutching that whiskey sour like it was her retirement plan.”

Wells added that the crowd quickly joined in, cheering as Nancy threw in a few spins, pointed at the bartender like she was issuing a royal decree, and yelled, “Drinks on me if I don’t pull a hamstring!”

The room erupted. Someone banged a beer bottle on the table like a gavel, a man in a trucker hat started line dancing in the cornhole area — narrowly avoiding a beanbag to the shin — and the jukebox glitched just long enough to replay the chorus of Pour Some Sugar on Me like it knew this moment needed extra volume.

“She had everyone in the palm of her hand,” Wells said. “Even old Larry from the corner booth stood up and waved his oxygen tube like a lasso. At one point, she kicked her heel up so high, we thought we were gonna need a stretcher — but she stuck the landing and kept going like a damn legend.”

Nancy says table dancing is how she celebrates life’s milestones — a tradition she claims dates back to her 21st birthday, when she reportedly did the Macarena on a pool table and got a standing ovation from the DJ.

“Birthdays, tax returns, parole hearings — if it’s good news, I’m on a table,” she declared proudly, adjusting her leopard-print belt and motioning toward a scuff mark she insists was caused by her cowboy boot during a particularly enthusiastic karaoke night. “Some people light candles or pop champagne. I climb furniture and deliver joy with rhythm.”

When asked about plans for the money, Nancy shrugged with the carefree confidence of someone who once entered a mechanical bull competition on a dare — and won.

“I might install a margarita fountain in my yard, adopt a raccoon, and sponsor a wet T-shirt contest at the county fair,” she said, casually sipping her drink like she was reading off a grocery list. “But tonight? I’m buying jalapeño poppers for the whole bar, tipping the band to play ‘Boot Scootin’ Boogie’ on loop, and seeing how long I can two-step before my sciatica kicks in or someone calls the fire marshal.”

She paused, then added with a wink, “Either way, I’m going out with glitter, grease, and possibly an ice pack.”

As the jukebox kept spinning and the crowd at Knuckleheads raised their drinks in chaotic approval, one thing became clear — money didn’t change Nancy Grace. It just gave her more tables to dance on.

“Let the rich folks have yachts,” she shouted mid-spin, “I’ve got barstools, boots, and enough Fireball points for a toaster.”

And with that, Nancy kicked off her boots, climbed back up on Table 4, and reminded Michigan City that true wealth isn’t measured in dollars — it’s measured in how many strangers cheer when your song comes on.