Las Vegas, Nevada – Many thanks to Cookie for filling in for me last week while I was at a bachelor party in Las Vegas. Here’s a brief look at how things went down in the desert.
I got off the plane around midday Thursday to the sounds of the slot machines that meet you at the gate. The cacophony of noise coming from the bright eyed and naïve getting off of the plane hits the wall of silence from the crushed souls waiting impatiently to get the hell out like a freight train. No time to worry about that now. We hit the hotel and it’s off to lunch.
We finish our burritos just in time to hear the first bad news of the weekend: Mo twisted his knee shagging fly balls during BP and was stretchered off the field. So far we’re off to a terrible start. But its nothing that a few too many drinks and some gambling cant make me forget. An hour later I’m in the bag and in the hole at the craps table. Time to take a break from gambling. I keep drinking though. Thursday evening we find out Rivera tore his ACL and is out for the season, possibly ending his career. Now I have to talk the bachelor down off of a ledge. This trip is a disaster already. Vodka. Vodka. Vodka. Zantac. Vodka.
Friday morning at the breakfast table and still drunk from Thursday night, we get the news that MCA has succumbed to his illness and passed away. It seems like every time we sit down to eat, we get bad news. Time to stop eating and focus on drinking. Keeping to our new game plan, the rest of Friday passes in a drunken haze of day clubs, night clubs, strip clubs, turkey clubs and gambling. No more bad news Friday.
Saturday morning we come to the conclusion that if we don’t eat, we will die. The early east coast start time means that it’s breakfast with the Rangers in Vegas. Another meal and more bad news as the Rangers lose game 4. We’ll make up for it by getting rich off of the Kentucky Derby. We lay our bets and head to the pool for some sun and drinks.
The pool bar was a decent venue for the race. The mint julep in a plastic cup was tasty. The race started, the horses ran and someone yelled I’ll Have Another which was the understatement of the century. The superfecta we bet as a group missed by one horse (thanks a lot Dullahan). As the numbers came down, we learned that the winning Super paid $96,000 on a dollar bet. We had four dollars on our super. Ugh, Where’s my Zantac.
More drinks. We completely ignore the fact that there is a boxing match until the fight is over and it is impossible to get a cab anywhere in Las Vegas. Oh well. More Vodka, more Zantac, more clubs, more gambling, more losing, less liver.
Sunday in Vegas is our cool down lap. Buffet (no bad news this time) and gambling. I Get on somewhat of a roll at the craps table and lighten some of my losses on the trip. Later on we hit the Double Down Saloon for a quiet pint or 6. Their signature drink is called Ass Juice and it tastes exactly like it sounds. A light evening by Vegas standards is met by an early Monday flight and agita for three days when I get home. That’s it.
Bet on The Public Professor tomorrow. It’s a sure thing.
