For the most part, I have gone against the What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas cliché, only to advance my personal What Happens To Me in Vegas Should be Boasted to All Those Who Do Not Go to Vegas.
Sadly, there is very little to boast about from my most recent 4 day / 3 night romp in Las Vegas. The following are the true tales of grinding through a vacation that never met its potential told in nine acts:
ACT I: Landing with a Loss
On paper it looked perfect – the first flight out to Las Vegas will not only have a smaller chance of getting delayed, but also will get us out there quicker. However, we failed to deduce that we would have to wake up at 5 am and get a ride from my Father through the cold dark morning. However, my Dad loves these trips to O'Hare, and the only thing more upbeat than the Smooth Jazz on the radio was his demeanor.
The flight was smooth and painless (not an omen). However, getting there as early as we did prevented us from checking into our room. That didn't faze us – we were looking ahead to the Marquette versus a better-ranked Wisconsin College Basketball game about to tip off in about one hour. I knew it would be a very tough game for my alma mater. Regardless that it was at home, Wisconsin has had our number the past few years. All this reasonable data did not stop me from my heart fueled loyalty and pride.
Since our bags were being held for hostage (a.k.a. ransom) at Caesar's we decided to bet and watch the game there. Although the game was shown on the big screen, the seats and angle weren't the best – which led us to watch the game at Shadows (it's one of the many bars at Caesars). Watching your favorite team get soundly out played in each aspect to the game is not easier to watch when pounded with Fergie singles and Janet / Kanye collaborations.
Not in Vegas 3 hours and I'm down (there's the omen), but refuse to be out.
No question, the best part – and thus most memorable – aspect of this vacation was the room we stayed in up on the 31st floor of the new Augustus Tower at Caesar's Palace. The main room – featuring a nicer couch than at my condo – was also larger than my Des Plaines residence. The bathroom – larger than my bedroom back in D.P. – was all marble with a whirlpool and a flat screen TV. Oh, did I mention the larger flat screen in the main room? Best of all was when I walked over to the window, wanting to know what the view would be and did a theatrical double arm swinging of the curtains.
A bright sunny day with the Paris Hotel at my 10 o'clock, The Belllagio at 2 o'clock and the famous water fountains straight ahead. I instantly forgot about the MU loss… I only wished we had watched the game there instead of Shadows.
ACT III: Scene at Spago
Personally, I am not in a position or relation to tell this act. All I am comfortable reporting was that my friend's family took us out to dinner at Spago, and my Meatloaf was wonderful. It was a risky play, but hey I was in Vegas to gamble. Why is meatloaf a risky play? Because my Father swears that you only have meatloaf at home or if somebody trustworthy recommended it you.
ACT IV: Cowboy Carnival
I should not have been surprised. I have been getting emails from Treasure Island touting itself as the official home for the National Rodeo Finals. I never put two and two together that I was going to be in Las Vegas that same weekend.
Later than night we went to the Hard Rock Casino. It was a casino I have not been to previously, and thinking it's off strip location would give us a better chance of a Saturday Night $5 blackjack or craps table. We were wrong.
Hard Rock was filled with cowboys. Wearing cowboy hats. I heard frequent discussion about the rodeo. I could not care less. All I cared about is that my face card and nine was going to lose no matter what to that exposed King.
ACT V: Football Fever, Football Frenzy, Football Fatigue
I secure our seats at the Bellagio Sports Book well before 9 am local time. It was really the only thing I did right. It was pretty cool with all the televisions gearing up for football. Everyone was buzzing about what lines were better than others. I confidently made all my picks as parlays .. not wanting to make straight bets for less than even money.
Quickly, I realized that I was in over my head. With more than 6 games going on at once, and money basically on every one of them, I did not know what to watch. I could only pick a team and wait until a large crowd reaction (of which there were many) forced me to change perspectives. And every time you had a TD score that hurt your bet .. you were forced to watch it replayed for every single game. I must have watched Maurice Jones-Drew score 12 touchdowns last Sunday.
I had to leave before the morning games finished. I couldn't handle the overload and constant reminders of my poor football analysis.
I went directly to the poker "room" at Paris. I played exactly one hand. I then ate exactly one chicken quesadilla from the Chipotle about 9 blocks away. I do not think I have to tell you how the hand went. I just wanted a free refill.
All the cowboys in town pushed the Dallas Cowboys to a 7.5 point favorite. Even though it was too many points for that team, even at home, I wanted to root for the Saints without a monetary investment on the line. I wanted to enjoy football for being football..
We watched it from the flat screen on the 31st floor. I have no regrets about that sad fact.
ACT VI: Stranger Scorn
Determined to find $5 tables after the Sunday Night Football game, we went to a vast array of Casinos for the first time. Barbary Coast, O'Shea's, Flamingo, Imperial Palace and Harrah's are places I will not be eager to visit again. Besides the absolute lack of sanity with everything involved with Imperial Palace, and the man who I watched win 7 straight hands of Casino War at Harrah's, the story of this act is what happened at the $5 blackjack table at O'Shea's.
I pride myself at being nice to strangers. It is one of the biggest sources of my random stories and I knew I would need to have a conversation with one to have a good story to tell post trip. However, I didn't feel it would happen the way it did at O'Shea's.
One man, we will call him CUBS HAT because that is what he was wearing asked me where I was from. I told him Chicago and continued betting. Someone else said "Go Bears" and I replied "Yeah." That's the end of the story as far as I am concerned. I just was not in the mood to enter into a conversation with them. I have probably been in better moods that day (that pre-Chipotle No Limit Poker hand still on my mind and all).
About an hour later my friend asked me if I realized how cold I was to CUBS HAT and company? I had zero clue. Supposedly my friend has never seen me act as cold and standoffish in as long as he's known me, "without outright insulting anybody." It made me laugh and almost want to go back and try to prove my stranger friendliness. But mainly, I was shocked. I guess I gave CUBS HAT a look when saying "Chicago" that meant to say – if you ask me one follow up question I will gut you with a switchblade. Seemingly worse, my lack of Chicago Bear enthusiasm was a final straw to the table at large. Heaven forbid that I didn't want to talk about Ditka and sing Bear Down for them.
I asked my friend why he did not say anything while my rudeness was playing out. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "What was I supposed to say? Sorry, my friend doesn't usually act like a prick."
After walking through The Mirage to conjure up some Minor Setback! Memories, we headed back to Caesars… Only to hear behind us a young girl saying, "We weren't doing that well but it was really fun at the table – everybody wanted to know where we were from and everything!"
ACT VII: Tournament TQ
At this point, I was done with blackjack. Done with craps, and probably done with sports betting. I should even stay away from cash game poker! This entire trip was earned through excellent poker tournament play – and that's what I should do. I walked over to Treasure Island and came in 7th out of 25. WAY out of the money. I was pissed, but encouraged that I might be on the right track. I was eager for my next tournament but wanted to get my ass over to the Wynn Property to meet my friend (who had spent the day golfing) for some Chicago Bear Football.
It was during the Chicago game when we met the best character of the trip, but let me finish this thread with the last tournament report:
Getting back to the room at about 12:30 AM, I called the poker room from the room phone and found out that the midnight tournament was already under way, but I could still buy-in. I hustled my ass down there and got seated at Table #24. I knew this had to be a good sign. The first three hands I played ended up as full houses either doubling me up or knocking somebody out. I made it to the final two tables (field of 70+) but couldn't help but getting blinded out after doubling the same North Dakota bartender twice. I played for over 3 hours in that tournament and loved every minute of it.
ACT VIII:Local Lush
I don't think it is fair to mention the name of the man we met in the Sports Book of the Wynn Property… But let's just say that many people in the mid-80s, who loved oil-fortune based Television drama, wondered a whole summer about who shot him.
So this guy was probably my age. Maybe a year or so older but not a day over 30 was dressed very well. It wasn't the lack of jeans, but the cuff links that gave it away. This guy was also drinking some serious light brown liquor.
Wanting to re-establish my ability to talk to strangers I made sure to let him know what happened during the Bear game while he was getting a refill. The following is what I learned about my new acquaintance:
-Previously worked underwriting the dome stadium holding the Monday Night game
-Currently working for a larger financial group
-Born and raised in Las Vegas
-Spent a night in jail.
What?
Yes, I was telling him how I was getting killed at the Caesar's Poker Room (this is before the tournament mentioned prior) in cash games. He told me he got black listed from that poker room and long story short – spent the night in jail.
"Have you ever been in jail?" he asked me. "It's not good." he told me.
He got the charges expunged from his record. Thankfully he didn't have to call his clients and tell them that, "Hey, I've been charged with federal larceny."
My friend asked him for a stock tip. He instantly talked about how great the Wynn was doing – which by the way has concreted it standing as the best property in all of Las Vegas – but then told us about a small chemical company. "If you've got ten thousand dollars laying around – throw it there."
I couldn't help but burst out laughing, losing any illusion my well-dressed self may have presented to him, saying, "look buddy, I don't have ten thousand dollars to throw anywhere!"
He later took a phone call on his cell phone – and I pleaded to him (for his safety) to get the hell out of the book before they start mocking him over the speaker. He returned a few minutes later and took off shaking both our hands.
Good luck my stranger, hope you stay out of federal prison.
ACT IX: Leaving Lost
All I knew is that I was going to get my ass to In-N-Out Burger, period. I have wanted a burger there ever since I first saw The Big Lebowski. Not seeing myself in Southern California any time soon, Las Vegas remains my best option. I was denied my last time out to Las Vegas.
We all thought that it was near the Rio Hotel and Casino. We waited a half hour to take a shuttle bus there. We finally got to Rio and were told that the burger joint was MILES away. We still went into the Rio, but couldn't find a table cheap enough. We were wrong in every aspect of our venture.
After an extremely long cab ride, punctuating our failure, I enjoyed my Double-Double and bought a T-Shirt because I thought I deserved it. We walked 8 blocks back to the strip and played one last game of (losing) craps at the Monte Carlo.
Tipping the bell person for what seemed like the fourth time and riding in the last cab to the airport were uneventful.
