AdamDarv 0 Posted September 9, 2009 Share Posted September 9, 2009 Warning: Long trip report by Bill Simmons of ESPN - Meant for all of us 40 year old types.My East Coast fantasy football league celebrated its 20th draft in Las Vegas last weekend, an event that doubled as a 40th birthday bash for our pal Grady. We have been buddies since high school. We shared a prom limo together. We were longtime shuffleboard partners at Sam's in Port Chester. We saw "Rocky V," "Fletch Lives" and "Another 48 Hrs" together (undoubtedly my three biggest movie disappointments). We were once nearly attacked Artest-style by Mel Hall at Yankee Stadium. We have shared every level of blood-alcohol from 0.1 to 2.7. And now we're turning 40 less than four weeks apart.Translation: I'm old.I'm really, really, staggeringly old. And so are my friends. Did that stop us for putting on a throwback 48-hour show of gambling, drinking, smoking, ball-busting, eating and (fill in every other verb that ends with "ing" except for the ones that would get us divorced)? Of course not. When aging married guys go to Vegas, it's like aging baseball sluggers doing a few HGH cycles: suddenly we're putting up Bondsian numbers for two days as everyone else wonders, "Wait, how are they doing this?" Adrenaline, comedy, nicotine, alcohol and plentiful casino oxygen can turn anyone into a superhero. Even washed-up family guys.Take me, for instance. I woke up at 6 a.m. on Friday morning in Los Angeles, about 75 minutes before I wanted to wake up, when my baby son strolled into our bedroom saying, "Wiggles? Wiggles? Wiggles?" (Translation: "Can you turn on those four effeminate Australian singers for me? The ones with the big red car who like fruit salad?") I passed out at 2 a.m. in Las Vegas to the refreshingly familiar sounds of Grady puking up six pounds of beer and pizza. Has the sound of vomiting ever made someone nostalgic? I swear to God, I was nostalgic. It was like flipping channels and seeing Bird on ESPN Classic, but better. And smellier.Grady's birthday trip came together in less than two weeks, and only because the preferred plan (a college football weekend in October) couldn't work because of scheduling issues. But the crappy last weekend of August before Labor Day when it's a kajillion degrees outside? Absolutely, that one worked!!! As amazing as this sounds, we hadn't done a draft with everyone in the same room since 2000. That's what happens when you get old. People move, people have kids, and it's not uncommon to go 18 months without seeing one of your best friends. If somebody told you this would happen when you were 25 or younger, you would punch them in the face. You would refuse to believe it. But it happens to everyone. It just does.The trick is to find dumb reasons to get together. You know, like a 20th anniversary fantasy football draft combined with a 40th birthday party. And so five of my East Coast friends kidnapped Grady early Friday morning with the blessing of his wife. We had a surprise plane ticket and gave him five minutes to pack a bag. It took him a few seconds to believe he was really going to Vegas -- after all, we're talking about a guy with four kids who hasn't been exposed to extended sunlight since 2005 -- and then, according to multiple witnesses, the room got a little dusty. Just a tiny bit. He hadn't embarked on a full-fledged Vegas weekend in eons, a shame because once upon a time there was no better 5 a.m. drinking/smoking/stuttering blackjack wingman than Grady.That same morning, I drove down from Los Angeles to meet everybody. Just for old times' sake (and I mean, OLD), here's a running diary of what transpired:11:30 a.m.: My fourth favorite thing about driving to Vegas in the morning? Trying to shatter my own personal record of 3:31 for the 270-mile trip (and always failing, but still). My third favorite thing? Making annoying cell phone calls to friends at work and keeping them on the phone as long as possible as they say things like "I really have to run in a second" and "Look, I HAVE to go." My second favorite thing? Making an iPod playlist for the trip that only features songs that make me want to drive 105 miles per hour. (I thought about putting this year's version on iTunes before deciding against it; I don't want someone's death on my hands because he tried to gun a 1987 Fiat to 130 mph while hearing MGMT for the first time.) And my favorite thing? The Barstow food stop.As far as I can tell, Barstow, Calif., (halfway between L.A. and Vegas) was created solely to serve hungry people who need to pee and refuel as fast as humanly possible. Every fast food chain and gas station is represented; it's almost like a Food and Gas Convention. This trip, I have a hankering for Arby's and end up re-enacting the "Wild Things" threesome with a medium roast beef cheddar sandwich and a big thing of curly fries. Mmmmmmm. In last week's mailbag, I talked about Press Box Hot and all the different variations (somehow forgetting Prison Guard Hot and Golf Club Drink Girl Hot). Well, there's a cousin to Press Box Hot: Highway Hungry. If you're on the highway for more than two hours, seeing food signs for long enough, any food suddenly becomes six times as good. This Arby's sandwich tastes like Wolfgang Puck and Adam Perry Lang made it. We're off to a good start.12:30 p.m.: Drive by a cop going more than 100 miles an hour while listening to my "Drive 105-115 mph" playlist. Heart sinks. Jam on brakes a little too late. Glance in rearview mirror while wincing. Cop never budges. No ticket. I am up $600 for this Vegas trip and haven't stepped in a casino yet.12:45: Spend the next 15 minutes wondering if my missed ticket was (a) a great sign for the weekend, or (B) a terrible sign and that God would decide I should give that $600 back to the casinos for driving too fast and endangering lives. These are the things you think about as you're driving to Vegas.1:30: When I used to fly to Sin City, it always gave me a rush when my plane descended and we could glimpse the casinos for the first time. (For one March Madness trip coming from Boston, we were landing at night and someone screamed out, "VEH-GAAAAAAAS!!!!" and started applauding. Half the plane started clapping with him. Name me another city that causes this reaction. You can't.) On the drive to Vegas, you get the same rush as you get from that "Swingers" moment when the casinos make a sudden appearance on I-15 to your right: first Mandalay, then Luxor, then everything else on the Strip. If there's someone else in the car, by Nevada law, you're required to scream out "VEH-GASSSSSSSSSSS!" like Double Down Trent. When you're alone? You just start fidgeting in your seat. Like right now. Vegas. Vegas. Vegas.2 p.m.: The majority of the group (Grady, Camp, Russ, Mahady, Wiker, Andy, Lev) beat me by 20 minutes, leading to man hugs galore at the Palms (our central location for the weekend). They recount the Grady/dusty morning story in full detail and show me digital photos. Another conversation piece: a fake "The Hangover" poster that Andy made up with my face superimposed on Bradley Cooper and Grady's face in Zach Galifianakis' baby Bjorn. Now that's funny. It took 13 years, but I think another comedy finally passed "Swingers" as the go-to pop culture reference for "being in Vegas" jokes. I keep waiting for Grady to call everyone onto the roof so he can read a letter he wrote to us on the plane in a monotone voice. "Hey guys. Wow. [Pause.] How 'bout that flight in ...?"3:00: We dump our bags, head to an outdoor Mexican restaurant, order Margaritas and try to make sense of the weird mating ritual that doubles as the Palms' Friday pool scene. Between the weather (a crisp 108 degrees) and clientele (put it this way -- there should be a game show called "Stripper, Hooker or Vegas Pool Customer"), you can actually see the STDs forming like mushroom crowds. Camp sums up everyone's feelings: "If my daughter ever calls me 12 years from now and says she's hanging out at the Palms' pool, I'm going to kill myself."(Important note: Twelve years ago, we would have checked out these girls and decided, Let's do some shots, then start going up to these girls and tell them that we own a startup Internet company until two of them believe it. Now? We think about our daughters and wonder if single guys wear three condoms during sex just to be safe. I keep telling you: We're old.)4:15: I'm ashamed to report how long it took to execute the seemingly simple question, "Why don't we use a casino game to determine our 2009 fantasy draft order?" We settle on roulette, then everyone throws in $10 and we have a mini-fantasy draft to pick three numbers apiece. Yup, the previous sentence took 25 solid minutes. Once the ball starts zooming around the roulette wheel, it's all worth it. The winner of the Adrian Peterson Sweepstakes? (Hold on, it's rolling around, and rolling, and rolling ... and ... ) Lev gets No. 1! That was fun. We decide on roulette for EVERY pick. Why not?4:30: I draw No. 6 and would describe my excitement as somewhere between "tepid" and "the crowd's electricity at a Ray LaMontagne concert." Also, we blow $10 apiece by stacking our bets. "We shoulda just picked names out of a hat," Wiker grumbles. Some people aren't quite meant for Vegas. We spend the next five minutes ridiculing him for his cheapness. He's "That Guy" who goes to a casino with $25, keeps claiming that he needs to hit an ATM and never does, never pays for a drink and somehow leaves with $350. Doesn't every extended crew have a guy like that?4:35: Time for another staple of any Vegas trip: Friday afternoon's "we just got here, we haven't gotten our gambling legs yet, we're not drunk or even buzzed ... let's grab this open craps table and throw dice together!" group decision. In the history of gambling, nobody has ever won money under these circumstances. One new wrinkle: Andy teaches me how to "buy" a number, something I had never fully understood. Basically, you put $25 down on 4, 5, 9 or 10. If it hits once, you double your money. If it hits twice, you triple it. Or something. The best part is when you look at the craps dealer and say, "I'd like to buy the four," which leads to stupid jokes like, "I'm also in negotiations to buy the seven" and "I own a house, two dogs and the 10." Yes, I'd like to buy the four.(Note: I love every single thing about craps -- seriously, everything, and especially throwing -- except for the little-known rule that white people can't consistently win unless they're over 50 years old and standing next to a trophy girlfriend 25-plus years younger. Then, and only then, can a white person consistently win at craps. And I guess what I'm trying to tell you is this: Ten more years to go and I'm there, baby!)5:20: Repeatedly buying the four turned out about as well as investing in luxury condos in Greenwich. Already down $110 for the trip. (Thanks, Andy.) One highlight: With our craps circle falling apart faster than the 2009 White Sox season, I led a charge to bet on the "Don't Come" line against our unlucky dice-throwing friend, Wyman; three of us won when he crapped out. The unlucky friend's reaction is always funny afterward -- a game smile that barely masks complete betrayal and humiliation. It's just like how Timberwolves GM David Kahn looks every time someone asks him about Ricky Rubio.5:30: Time for blackjack. I almost hesitate to tell you this, but here's why I love the Palms: it's the best place in Vegas for blackjack. Why? First, it only has old-school six-deck shoes (no evil automatic machines). Second, it's off the Strip and everyone goes there for clubbing, so blackjack is almost an afterthought. (Hence, cheaper tables that are always open -- great if you're with a group and want to have a blackjack marathon, or if you want to hop tables until you find the right dealer.) Third, right around 2:30 or 3 a.m., drunks pour out of the clubs to play blackjack and the unintentional comedy quintuples. If you ever want to watch a cocktail-dress wearing, "X"-taking bimbette double down on a 9 against a 9, try to play cards as she's getting groped by someone who looks like Sasha Vujacic, adjust her thong right before splitting 6s or nearly set the table on fire with a Marlboro Light, well, the Palms is the place for you.5:35: My drink of choice tonight: Patron on the rocks with a lime. Can't be hung over for tomorrow's 10:30 a.m. draft and this won't leave me hung over. Unless I drink 20 of them. Which is possible. "I remember the days when you drank beer," Camp says wistfully as he nurses a Bud. Yeah, I know. (Thinking.) Wait, did I just get insulted? I fire back by asking Camp why he's wearing Matthew McConaughey's hair from "Ghosts of Girlfriends Past."Which brings me to an important point. As friends hit their late-30s, their hair goes one of four ways: Bye-bye, exactly the same, gray (I'm headed there), or in rare cases, it assumes an entirely new identity and becomes a full-fledged mane, something that looks like it's been professionally done and was possibly purchased from a fading celebrity on eBay. There is one of these guys in every group. And every time, that person's hair becomes one of the running jokes of any get-together. Our group's guy? Camp. We spent the weekend breaking down his hair in detail like it was the upcoming 2009 NFL season. I even took digital pictures of it from various angles. I wish I was making this up.6:25: To mix up a spiritually sagging table, I split 10s against a 6. My feeling here: If I am supposed to split aces against any card, why shouldn't I split 10s against a 5 or 6? Who decided this was a terrible idea to double my amount of money on the table against an unfavorable dealer hand? Drives me crazy that splitting 10s always causes a riot if you try it unless (a) you have the right crew, and (B) you have permission first. By the way, I won both hands. So there.7:05: Ten minutes later and our table is debating 10-splitting the same way "The Sports Reporters" would argue about whether Barry Bonds should be in the Hall of Fame. (I am the most passionate about it, which makes me the Mike Lupica of this argument. Could somebody get me a 6-inch seat cushion and some eyeglasses?) We decide that, yes, 10-splitters shouldn't be regarded like child molesters entering a penitentiary. As long as they ask the table for permission first.7:20: Time for my first cigarette of 2009. Grady bought some and I couldn't resist. I feel like the crowd should applaud like when a no-hitter ends. Bronchitis on Wednesday, here I come!7:45: We will refer to it in 2039 as "The Sneeze."Here's what happened: I stood up at the end of a shoe right as Grady's cigarette smoke nailed me in the nose and mouth, causing me to abruptly sneeze. Unfortunately, my mouth had water in it, which ended up ejaculating (and really, that's the right verb) all over our unfriendly female dealer's hands and arms. In the history of my life, I don't think I have ever bummed anyone out more. It's a new record. I could have attacked her with a bat Juan Marichal-style and she would have been happier. She took an exaggerated step back, frowned, grabbed a napkin and wiped the sneeze juice off her hands with a record amount of disdain ... and then, to make it more awkward, refused to accept my sincere/mortified apology, which made my friends laugh even harder, which made her hate us even more, which in turn made us dislike her again because she'd been killing us for an hour, which suddenly made me feel happy that I accidentally sneezed all over her."We will be talking about that sneeze 30 years from now," Russ says, wiping the tears from his eyes.The dealer glares at him. She's in Eff You Mode. If you know anything about blackjack, you know this ain't ending well.8:00: We just got whupped for the last 15 minutes like Ali whipped Ernie Terrell. The only thing missing was the dealer screaming, "What's my name??? What's my name???" As she leaves for a break, we decide that (a) my sneeze was worth it, and (B) the only way it would have been better is if I told her afterward, "Did I mention I just got back from Mexico?"(Screw it, I'll say that when she gets back from her break. No city brings out your evil side quite like Vegas. Why do you think they based "CSI" there?)8:15: Mahady and I realize we need a food base or we're going to be the wrong kind of drunk later. Time for two slices of heavy pizza. That's veteran Vegas savvy -- you definitely want to be buzzed/drunk at the end of the night because it loosens you up and that's when you go on card runs, but you never want to be lightheaded drunk or sloppy drunk. Some possible signs of this happening without you realizing it:1. You say the words, "I guess cigarettes and liquor will be my dinner tonight."2. You spill a drink all over the table.3. You fall off your chair, or even worse, tip your chair over backward.4. You accidentally light the table, yourself or the guy next to you on fire with a cig.5. You start overtipping the cocktail waitress or dealer to the point that they are overthanking you like you just donated them a kidney.6. You spent 10 minutes trying to get more money out of the ATM machine before realizing that you had been repeatedly putting in your Costco card.7. When the lady that you've been flirting with in the seat next to you leaves to go to the bathroom, everyone else at the table says, "Hey, you know she's a hooker, right?" ... And you react with more shock than you did when you found out Jerry Ferrara was dating Jamie-Lynn Sigler.Here's the point: Nobody wins when they're sloppy drunk. Nobody. The Gambling Gods hate you for disgracing the tables and act accordingly. That's why you need food.8:20: Mmmmmm ... pizza. (Somehow I am Highway Hungry for the second time today.) Mahady and I talk excitedly about possible shirts that our friend Stoner (arriving shortly) might be wearing. He wouldn't wear the same blue velour shirt that he's been wearing every time he goes out for the past 10 years, right?"I think he will," Mahady says. "It's like his calling card.""Like when Carrot Top brings out a suitcase of props," I say, then nod.Now we're a little too excited to see Stoner's shirt selection. Wish we could bet on this. Can I have $500 on 3 to 1 odds on the blue velour shirt please?8:45: And the winner is ... blue velour!!!!!!! Stoner preempts our barbs by saying, "Everyone else already made fun of me." It's scary how well you can still know your old friends even if you only see them once or twice a year.9:25: More losing. Even Grady can't get his patented "Bammo!" going. In the old days, when he had an ace showing, he would scream "BAMMO!" right as he was getting his second card ... which always ended up being a 10, of course. The Power of the Bammo was almost mystical. During the last few years, when Grady was sorely missed in Vegas, there was one trip where someone else tried to get "Bammo!" going; everyone else quickly decided it couldn't work. Like when Kobe tried to steal MJ's game-winning fist pump/clench. Just ... no. There's only one "Bammo!"And now, he can't get it going. We just had an ugly premature "BAMMM-ohhhhh" that ended with Grady getting a 6."I don't know," I tell him. "Maybe this was too long of a layoff. Maybe this was like MJ coming back with the Wizards.""I am not drunk enough yet," Grady reassures us confidently.These are the things you say in Vegas.9:30: More losing but I'm still having fun. I am fine with steady, minor bleeding as long as jokes are flying and I'm not hemorrhaging like Clint Malarchuck. We've become fascinated with the line for the Playboy Club, which stretches past our table and features people carrying various STDs that, frankly, I'm not even sure have been diagnosed yet. "Can I get a cold sore just by looking at these people?" I wonder. Nobody knows. (By the way, note to the female readers: Not everyone is meant to wear a tight cocktail dress. It's OK. You don't have to force it. Actually, this should be the new "Just Say No" PSA to replace the old drug ones -- just a montage of overweight women crammed in cocktail dresses four times too small as innocent bystanders repeatedly look into the camera either wincing or saying "No." We need to get the word out. This has to end.)10:30: Three amazing things from the last hour. First, we're still losing but having fun. That's how much we missed each other. Second, Stoner is gambling despite being cheaper than Donald Sterling and -- gasp -- enjoying himself. (This renews my faith that gambling can corrupt anyone on the right night. Even the Jonas Brothers.) Third, the fact we were grandfather clause'd into a $10 table that's now $25 has prompted an engaging "where does the grandfather clause rank among society's most underrated rules?" argument. We need more grandfather clauses. That leads to this moment ...Me (joking): "There should be a law that every pre-marriage hookup can be grandfather clause'd into your marriage so it's not adultery if it happens again."Dealer I Sneezed On (still seething): "Do you want a hit or not?"11:15: The first wave of guys trickle to bed. We're three down, four if you count Camp's hair. The good news: Grady is stuttering a little bit. Back in college, Commissioner Camp named Grady's fantasy football team "The Stuttering J's" because of his penchant for drunk stuttering. Now it's back. Like seeing MJ's patented fallaway again. I point this out."Stop it," Grady says. "I-I-I'm not stuttering."11:35: A pivotal moment. We're fading (especially the East Coast guys). I just plowed through nearly $600 without breaking a sweat. Same for Grady, who's starting to get an "I wouldn't mind going to bed soon glow to him." Somehow I find a second wind and give a speech more inspiring than Pacino in "Any Given Sunday." Come on! It's Vegas! WE GOTTA SUCK IT UP! WE GOTTA FIGHT FOR THAT INCH! VEGAS!!!! I get $300 more in chips and bet $100 on the next hand, hoping this will inspire Grady to hit the ATM. A second passes. You can feel the tension. And ... "I-I-I-I'm going to the ATM, I-I-I-I'll be right back."(VEGAS!!!!!!!!)12:15 a.m.: Big run. Big, big, big run. Big run. The turning point? We finally realize that the Palms had Playboy chips featuring bunnies, Playmates and, especially, Hef. We start stacking the chips for our bets accordingly. Grady puts the same Playmate chip on top of every bet. I go with a system where Hef's chip is always upside down on top of a chip with one or two playmates, leading to jokes like, "Hef Chip feels like having a threesome" and "Hef Chip, you haven't had your way with this blonde yet, go to it, my friend." It's working. All of it.12:20: Here's where you know the stars have aligned: Lots of money on the table, multiple double-downs and splits (I have four hands worth of money going alone), dealer showing the 6, flips over the 5 (NOOOOOOOOO!), flips over the 4 (COME ONNNNNNN!) ... flips over the 7 (NOOOOOOO! WAIT, THAT'S 22!!!! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!) ... followed by complete and utter table chaos. Any good or bad night comes down to that ONE hand and that ONE hand alone. You know either way. Now? We know.(But can we stay awake and coherent?)12:40: Just had the old drunken blackjack epiphany in which you have only green and black chips; the green stack looks like the Leaning Tower of Pisa; fifteen solid minutes passed before you realized that you had this many chips; and you end up thinking, "Wait ... all right!" and debate whether you want to point out the giant stack of chips to your buddy next to you (and whether this would jinx everything that's happening). Also, I am talking to Hef Chip the same way Chuck Noland talked to Wilson the Volleyball. We're having actual conversations. I am only using him for certain hands and Hef Chip can't lose.12:45: Crap. Just lost Hef Chip. Watching him get snatched away was like watching Wilson floating away in the ocean. "HEF CHIP! HEF CHIP! I'm sorry ... (sobbing) ... HEFFFFFF CHIP!!!!!!"1:00: Still winning. Also, I can't see out of my right eye; I'm betting $125 a hand; I'm 99.9 percent sure we just saw Barry Bonds; and I just screamed "CIGARETTE LADY!" and caught her attention even though she was 550 yards away. This is where blind luck kicks in. I should go. Right now. Nope.1:20: We have the obligatory "we should have packed it in after the last shoe" hand where everyone (me, Grady, Mahady, Wyman) gets crushed. Had to happen. My chip cash-out yields two black chips ($100 apiece) and one yellow chip ($1,000). Does it get any better than a Yellow Chip Night? Instead of cashing our chips out for money, we pocket them and opt for the 10-minute walk from Palms Casino to Palms Place (where we're staying) just in case Grady ... well ... just in case he pukes. You never know.1:25: This has turned into the most exciting moment of the night. We're wobbling back to our rooms as Grady openly looks for plants to puke in. Some people (Grady being one) just throw up when they're drunk and feel much better the next day. I would kill to be one of these people. Instead, I'm the guy whose body shuts down almost like the MacGruber countdown. Like, if I don't get into a bed within 25 seconds, things will blow up and I will just sleep wherever I am. Then I feel horrible the next day. I wish I could buy the abilities on eBay to (a) sleep on airplanes, and (B) puke when I drink too much. Alas.Anyway, Mahady and I know Grady is a puking threat, only we're not saying anything because we don't want to reinforce any vomiting inclinations that might be lurking. He somehow stumbles into the elevator. Our 10-second elevator ride becomes the most exciting 10 seconds of the night. Can we make it? All we need is Verne Lundquist narrating this moment like it's one of Tiger's long putts in Augusta ..."Can he get there ... yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"And we do. We somehow make it to our room. Grady collapses on his sofa bed like he's been assassinated. I scrape my contacts off my eyeballs, cough up my left lung, brush my teeth, climb into my bed and start to pass out ... only I can hear the faint, familiar sounds of Grady puking his guts out. Like the sounds of the waves in Malibu, only more relaxing. And you think I'm kidding.Saturday9 a.m.: There's nothing quite like the feeling of waking up in Vegas and having absolutely no idea what time it is. Is it 1:00 in the afternoon? Is it 5:30 in the morning? Is it Tuesday? Did I just sleep through the winter? Between heavy curtains, oxygen, alcohol fumes and the comedown of adrenaline, it's really like hibernating. I wake up, fumble for my glasses, check my cell phone and … yes! Nine o'clock. That means seven hours of uninterrupted sleep. I'm already chalking up this day in the "W" column even though my lungs feel as if they were just dragged through the Lincoln Tunnel at rush hour.My roommate, Grady? He's less excited. He's the color of cookie dough right now. Somehow, we successfully pull off back-to-back showers, dress ourselves and make it downstairs for a Coffee Bean run by 9:45, leading to this exchange:Me: "I can't wait for coffee. I might climb over the counter and just drink from the giant Starbucks pot. I've always wanted to do that. Remind me to do that."Bill Simmons It's Saturday morning -- let's go drink, gamble and head to Vegas nightclubs that make us feel old!Grady: "Too early for coffee for me. I'm getting a Coke."Me: "A Coke? Why not coffee?"Grady: "I have a hangover system. I need the sugar and the fix from the Coke first. Coffee comes later. That's Part 2."Me: "Wait, isn't puking the night before Part 1, Coke Part 2, then coffee Part 3?"Grady: "Yeah, you're right."(These are the conversations you have in Vegas.)10:00: After Coffee Bean, Grady orders a Sausage McMuffin from McDonald's and … I mean … can anyone NOT have a Sausage McMuffin if someone else is planning on eating one? Let's play two!10:05: So happy. So delicious. I almost feel human. Hey, did you ever wonder why McDonald's doesn't just start lying about how many customers they've had? Currently, it's "billions and billions served." Couldn't they go with "trillions?" Or even "kajillions?" What's the highest they could say where you'd believe what they claimed? For me it's "kajillion." I would absolutely believe "kajillion." I throw this at Grady. A beat passes."Don't ask me to think right now," he finally mumbles.(Did I mention that we're having a fantasy draft within the hour? I wish I could short the odds of his winning our league this season.)10:10: We meet everyone else in the lobby. Mahady and I tell the "walking with Grady and wondering if he might puke" story (see Part 1) and capture 85 percent of the drama. "I could see it coming during our last shoe," Mahady tells me. "Suddenly, you and Jim looked like Apollo and Rocky in Round 15. [sounding like an announcer.] There's SIMMONS with another cigarette. And there's GRADY ordering another drink! I don't know what was keeping you two up.""The greats can take it to another gear," I explain. "Sometimes it's not about talent, it's about human will.""And there IS gonna be a rematch," Grady adds. (Note: I might die tonight. There's like a 42.7 percent chance.)10:15: We're headed to Caesars to meet the CEO of Las Vegas Fantasy Superdraft, a fledgling enterprise that's aiming to become the World Series of Poker for fantasy draft weekends: a once-a-year destination/excuse for buddies to get together, gamble, carouse and pick a fake football team. Apparently the CEO's goal in life is to get everyone in America divorced. Through a connection, he hooked us up with a Caesars suite for our draft. Instead of our cramming into three cabs, Mahady negotiates a stretch limo for $50. Add this to the "great things about Vegas" list -- where else can you take a limo with 11 friends for 10 minutes?10:22: Underrated part of any limo ride: Making jokes like, "Put the cocaine away until we get there!" and "It's too bumpy, I can't light this crack pipe" as the driver keeps nervously glancing into his rearview mirror. I love Vegas.30 FOR 30Starting Oct. 6, ESPN begins celebrating 30 years of sports with 30 documentaries from 30 filmmakers. Bill Simmons explains how the idea was hatched.• 30 For 30 10:35: CEO Eric meets us in the lobby, cracks one of those, "Wow, you guys look HORRIBLE" smiles and brings us to our suite. There's a big table with 10 chairs, along with a wireless signal, notebooks, danishes, muffins, coffee and even a bathroom that has a TV in the mirror. Well, thank you! After CEO Eric leaves, we sit down for our first "Everyone's here!" draft in nine years and hash out our crappy rules. A little history: Our league started in 1990, back in the pre-Internet era, when Commissioner Camp used Monday's USA Today to calculate scores by hand, then mailed updates every Tuesday (always my most exciting piece of mail every week, and by the way, writing that sentence made me feel 60 years old). Although we made somewhat of an effort to modernize things (adding a successful playoff system that rolls into the actual NFL playoffs), we remain the only league on the planet that still starts TWO quarterbacks. That's right, two. It's indefensible.This wrinkle skews the value of QBs too high, I argue. Others chime in. The two traditionalists (Russ and Stoner) make their arguments. This is turning into Roe v. Wade. At one point, I belittle Russ' "Look, it's the way we've always done it" line by hissing, "Yeah, that's what newspapers said." It's getting heated. We need to have a vote before someone throws a chair. The vote for one QB: 7 yes, 2 no … and one abstention. That's right, an abstention. Mahady wouldn't vote. We can't get over this. How do you abstain in a fantasy football draft vote? "I have my reasons," he says cryptically. What? What the hell is happening right now?11:35: Bad start. People are hung over and hungry. Stoner and Russ are sulking. Mahady won't explain his inexplicable abstention. Bitterness galore. Our first five picks: Peterson, Brady (more valuable because of our playoff wrinkle), Forte, Jones-Drew, D. Williams. I go with Tomlinson (playoff wrinkle again) and somehow steal Calvin Johnson and Frank Gore in the next two rounds. But it's still pretty grim in the room. A struggling Grady takes Ryan Grant 30th (oof) and Joe Addai 31st (yikes), then goes to the bathroom. Next two picks: Portis and Barber. Grady returns, leading to this exchange …--Grady: "Hold on, who got picked while I was gone?"--Me: "The two guys you should have taken."--Wyman & Russ: "Bammo!"(That got the comedy blood flowing in the room again. Of all the things women don't understand about men, where does "legitimate tension in the room after a debate about the rules in which you pick a fake team of random football players and compete against one another in a fake league for money" rank? I'd say top five.)12:12 p.m.: I wanted to emerge from this draft with one of these QBs: Brady, Brees, Manning, Romo, Rodgers, Rivers and (gulp) Kurt Warner. After 35 picks, six of seven are gone. And I'm on the clock. Which means I have to say the words … (gulp) … "Kurt Warner."12:12: Flinching.12:12: Yup, they're lobbing jokes about Warner's age at me like grenades. I have no comeback other than "He dyed his hair this year." Dammit. Time to lash out at someone. Given that Camp took Tony Romo too early (second round), and he's on the clock again, I slap this one together: "Camp, you should take Romo again since this is the round you should have taken him." Mild chuckles followed by this exchange:--Wyman (appreciative): "I don't think you've ever used that one before!" --Mahady: "Bill wrote new material for the draft." (Wait, am I getting insulted again?)12:20: The doorbell rings. It's CEO Eric! He's accompanied by two scantily clad Pizza Girls, five pizzas and a case of Bud Light. I'm not kidding -- this almost caused a riot. One girl is dressed like a cheerleader; the other is wearing Tom Brady's jersey and underwear (only if both had been shrunk to one-fourth the size). Later, CEO Eric described our reaction as "2-year-olds at a birthday party as Barney walks in." By the way, we're old.12:40: Pizza, beer and awkward conversation with the girls is highlighted by a hungover Grady (wearing Tevas) struggling to keep things moving by asking the girl in the Brady jersey, "So, where are you based out of?" My favorite moment of the weekend so far. Slayed me. I want to see this scene re-enacted online with Zach Galifianakis playing Grady. In Tevas.12:45: All the visitors leave, and we get back to the draft as the pizza wreaks havoc on everyone's picks. Somehow, I land Dwayne Bowe, Eddie Royal and Detroit's Kevin Smith in Rounds 5-7. If Kurt Warner comes through, I am winning the league. Period.(Key part of that prediction: "If Kurt Warner comes through …" That's like saying, "If Obama can figure out this health plan, his first four-year term will be a success." Crap. Dammit. I'm screwed. You know, UNLESS Kurt Warner comes through …)12:54: In a brilliant move to rattle the other married guys, Stoner starts playing online porn on his laptop. High comedy. He just took out half the room. We have guys breaking down the first scene Mark Schlereth style and wondering whether the loud actress involved has a safe word. Camp decides it's "apple sauce" and starts screaming "APPLE SAUCE! APPLE SAUCE!" This brings down the house. Porn jokes, beer, fantasy football, pizza … have we hit every cliché of a fantasy draft with married guys yet? Are we close?12:58: Just stole Darren McFadden in the eighth round as everyone was discussing why, on most porn sites, you will see categories like "BLACK" "ASIAN" and LATINO" but not "JEWISH." Russ (who's Jewish) laments that the Jews have been overlooked yet again, adding, "It would be fun to see a clip like 'Melissa Schwartzstein has a threesome.'" Round of laughs. Yep, it took online porn to shed the rules bitterness from earlier. Who knew porn had healing powers?1:04: Just had a three-minute group debate about whether there's any way to write on ESPN.com about what just happened during my Chris Cooley pick. Here's what we settle on: "Right as I made the pick, let's just say it was met by immediate approval by the actress on Stoner's laptop." There you go.Bill Simmons It's official: There is now one person betting on the Jets to win more than seven games.1:30: I land the Pats D, Cotchery, Ward (TB), Crosby and Steve Smith (NYG) with my last five picks. No backup QB. I'm not spending a draft pick on the likes of Joe Flacco. Sorry. Either Warner is taking me to the promised land or we're going down in flames. So be it. The highlight of the last five rounds: Camp unable to make his 13th-round pick as we started ripping him for taking too long; Camp panicking and taking Kevin Boss; Camp hearing us laugh about Boss; then Camp screaming at the top of his lungs, "Apple sauce! Apple sauce!" Fun draft.2:30: Sharing another $50 limo, we notice a giant billboard outside the Palms for DJ AM's weekly Friday show. He had just overdosed early that same morning. A deadly "too soon for a joke" silence settles over the limo. Always respect the dead in Vegas. Meanwhile, I just tweeted my monster team and am now reading the responses to taunt everyone -- stuff like, "Eric6789 says, 'Well done, did you pick with a bunch of 10th graders?'" -- as Stoner gets madder and madder and finally goes on an anti-Twitter rant that ends with him saying, "Who are these losers who would send a stranger messages in the middle of the day?" It's pointed out to Stoner that he's the loser sitting in a limo full of losers who just argued for 30 minutes about the rules in a league where we pick fake football players."Yeah, but at least I'm sitting in a limo! Woo-hoo! YEAHHHHHHHH!"(You gotta love Vegas.)2:35: Upon reaching the Palms, two more high school buddies are waiting for us: Bish and Hopper, staples of every Vegas column I have ever written. They're drinking John Dalys (Arnold Palmers with a shot of Absolut Citron, as described in last week's mailbag). "These are going down like water," Bish says. Uh-oh. Again, it's 2:30.3:00: Treading water at a $10 blackjack table and ordering John Dalys two at a time. (You know he's more excited about having a drink named after him than owning a Claret Jug. I'd bet anything.) Camp and Russ come over with some stunning news: They're headed over to the Palms movie theater to see "Inglourious Basterds." We react like some sort of crime is being committed. A Saturday afternoon movie? In Sin City? Is this legal?3:30: You know, every Vegas weekend has one song that every casino beats into the ground to the point that people groan when it comes on. The song is always peppy, but in a nonthreatening way. It's designed to appeal to people of all ages. It has some sort of signature hook. And by the 10th time you hear it in 20 hours, you are ready to break a beer bottle against the blackjack table and start stabbing people with it. This year's song? "Use Somebody" by Kings of Leon. Heading into this weekend, I wasn't for or against these guys. I had no opinion. Within 25 hours in Vegas? I hate them with every fiber in my body. We get it, Kings of Leon: You could use sum-BAH-dayyyyyy. Heard you loud and clear. And I understand you're hoping it's someone like you, someone like you, someone like you … believe me, I hope you find this person. Because if you don't, I'm going to kill everyone in a 25-foot vicinity. Now go away.3:45: I present my "why it should be OK to split 10s against a 6" theory to Hopper (detailed in Part 1), sending Hopper (an aggressively good blackjack player who hates when anyone at the table does anything out of the ordinary) into somewhat of a frenzy. "Just talking about this is making Agro Hopper come out," he says threateningly before dragging on a Marlboro Light. "You don't want bad-energy Agro Hopper. We need to stop talking about this. I'm not kidding."(Question: Do anyone else's friends refer to themselves with third-person situational nicknames? Or is it just mine?)4:15: Our first friendly/gregarious dealer of the weekend (Morris) shows up. We know this because Hopper saw his name tag and sang, "Oh e oh e OH" as I quickly added, "Where's Jerome and his mirror?" … and Morris laughed. A good sign. We immediately go on a gigantic run as Morris tells us "Here are the best celebs I've ever had at my table" stories. This gives me an idea: Why doesn't Vegas allow a group of friends to pick a blackjack dealer for the night? I see it operating like the Bunny Ranch. You walk into a lobby, and there are a bunch of dealers sitting there next to each other. You settle on one, then you walk off with him as though he's a Bunny Ranch hooker … only in this case, he or she leads you to a blackjack table and stays with you for $100 an hour for as long as you want. Split between five guys, that's $20 an hour for a good karma dealer. That's not worth the money? I tell my idea to everyone.Bill Simmons Guess who is tied for first place in the EPL? That's right ... Tottenham Hotspur!Bish: "Wait, you've been to the Bunny Ranch?"Me: "No!!!! I just remember from the HBO show …"Everyone at table (laughing): "Sure …"4:45: Morris leaves. The shellacking begins. We should get up. We should get up.5:00: No, really, we should get up.5:15: "Throw the damned towel! THROW THE DAMNED TOWEL!"5:30: Our three-hour session ends. Abruptly. Everyone lost. Whatever. The Bish-Hopper-Simmons-Grady group hasn't played blackjack together in years. We're all winners. The bad news: I am officially constipated. Food I've eaten since Friday morning: Arby's roast beef and curly fries, pizza, Sausage McMuffin, blueberry muffin, more pizza. Call it the Vegas Diet. I think my body would reject fruits and vegetables like a bad kidney match at this point.6:25: Back to the room for second showers, shaves and a dress change, highlighted by Grady's phone call to his wife in which he adopts the Vegas Husband Voice. This is one of my favorites. So, whenever guys talk to their wives or girlfriends, their voices naturally soften and go up a little. It's a reflexive thing, and I don't know why this is. We all do it. Because this is Grady's comeback Vegas trip, he's out of practice, and what I'm trying to tell you is this: He might have just broken the record for "highest octave change." He is Michael Jackson "She's Out of My Life"-level high right now. I'm cracking up. This should be an Olympic event: Biggest Unintentional Octave Change While Talking to a Significant Other.7:15: We meet at the Palms Place bar for a pre-dinner drink, then head over to Lavo (at the Palazzo) for a group dinner. I am a big fan of the group dinner under the following conditions. First, you have to split everything X ways and that's it (no haggling). Second, you can't do Friday night because the combo of jet lag and heavy food will make you more sluggish than Charlie Manuel. Third, no wine under any circumstances. (Much like women weaken legs, wine weakens late-night gamblers.) Fourth, you can't overeat or you'll hate yourself for the rest of the night. Fifth, you have to plow through dinner in two hours or less. (You're in Vegas, for god sakes.) Sixth, you can't forget that most restaurants will stick an 18 percent gratuity on the check, only some scumbag waiters are too greedy to tell you (hoping for a double tip). If you remember too late, you'll get mad that you double-tipped and it's bad for group karma. Seventh, don't play Credit Card Roulette for the check. There's already enough stuff to gamble on, and it's not worth the possible karma shift if the loser takes it personally. Just don't do it. Promise me. Stick by my seven group dinner rules and you'll be fine.(The bigger question: Why aren't there any Credit Card Roulette videos on YouTube? You're telling me I can watch dozens of videos of guys opening baseball card boxes, but I can't watch one game of Credit Card Roulette for a $1,900 dinner?)10:30: Highlights from the past three hours: A phenomenal male bonding dinner (even better, Lavo didn't pull the double-tip trick) … seeing Treasure Island (the place where I lost my Vegas cherry in 1996) through the window the entire time … a 100-degree walk to Caesars that allowed me to make the Siegfried and Roy memorial joke to Bish (see any other Vegas column I've ever written for details) … Hopper and I wagering on Tottenham Hotspur at 40-1 to win the Premier League (you're damned right I made a soccer bet) … and everyone searching in vain for an open blackjack table (and failing). Wait, that's not a highlight. That sucks. Out of nowhere, Mahady comes up with one of the three greatest Vegas ideas I have ever witnessed: Everyone throws in $100, we head to the slots and play as many Wheel of Fortune machines as possible at the same time. (Hmmmmmm … why not?) According to Mahady, if you luck out and hit "SPIN," you get to spin the wheel and it's (allegedly) exciting. We trust him because he's Italian and Italians have good gambling instincts (like me -- I'm half). Still, can you calculate the comedy of a group of washed-up married guys playing slots on a Saturday night? No. You can't.10:50: Slow start. Sloooooooooow start. I will confess: Up to this point in my life, I found slots to be perplexing. So, you sit in a chair and sadly press a button over and over and over again? And this is fun … why? "Great idea, Mahades," I heckle. "I can't think of anything more fun than watching somebody else hit a button a whole bunch of times." "Just wait," he says. "Just wait."This was a lot more fun than it looks.10:55: I can't even describe how fast I just flipped on slots. Working six of the eight machines, we just hit $400 (Hopper) and, astonishingly, the big $1,000 (Bish). Each time it happened? Chaos. We went crazy. Now every time someone gets to spin, five other guys race over to cheer them on. Even if you rarely end up hitting a big number on the wheel, every "Come on, come on, WHOAAAAAAAA-ohhhhhhhhhhhhh" moments is worth it. This is … gasp … fun?11:10: All hell has broken loose. We have all eight machines, we're up two grand as a group, and we're making so much noise that a crowd of people is now cheering us on. I'm not kidding -- our group might have been the Jackie Robinson of Fun Slots Experiences. I don't think anyone ever considered the concept before. Wait, you can have fun playing slots as a group? Really? Now Bish is hitting every "SPIN" with his elbow. Hopper is hitting every "SPIN" with his forehead. Even the formerly cheap Stoner has turned into the Mark Madsen of gambling. Who knew? Slots! Slots? Slots!11:30: In less than an hour, we just turned $1,100 into $2,850. We're all stunned. That was way too much fun. We can't believe it. Quite possibly the best gambling experience I've had in years. Hopper summed up why in a classic e-mail Monday:"The WOF slots were fantastic. Bish and I were talking on the flight out how we were kind of tired of Vegas, we'd done everything we could do, etc. Now I think we just need a new Vegas theory which I'm gonna call it the 'Vegas Shocker' theory. Just like a relationship, you have to work at Vegas. Go to the same casino and play the same game, eventually, you're gonna get bored even if you win. So, just like with your wife or longtime girlfriend, you gotta spice it up once in a while and keep Vegas on its toes. It might cause a scene, but it will be fun and unpredictable. Plus, she'll eye you nervously for months afterwards which, as we all know, is a good thing for women. We have to pull a 'Vegas Shocker' every couple of years: play group slots, pool your cash on bizarre bets, stay downtown, shake up the usual group, etc. We want Vegas to be eyeing us nervously afterwards."(And if that e-mail didn't make any sense to you … well, you've never been to Vegas.) 11:45: Thanks to a connection, I drag everyone to Pure (the famous nightclub in Caesars) for 30 minutes just so they can enter the alternate universe that doubles as a Vegas nightclub. People are waiting two hours to get in. (This shatters my One-Hour Rule, which goes like this: If you're waiting in line for an hour or more for ANYTHING, there'd better be free sex or free money at the end of that line.) Our connection leads us to the upstairs/outdoor patio, where we have a little booth and quickly realize that, hey, we're too old and have nothing in common with anyone here. Like we didn't know that already. "Would anyone like to see some baby pictures?" Stoner shouts out to the rest of the patio. That about summed it up.Here's why I know I am now old: The current nightclub scene eludes me. As far as I can tell, our goal (if we were single) would be to somehow get a booth, then order $500 bottles with mixers, then see whether we can lure girls over to the booth to talk to us, drink from our $500 bottles and possibly give/get an STD. For the females (if single), their goal is to find a booth of unsuspecting marks, flirt with the guys, drink from their $500 bottles, make it seem as though something might happen and then either flee the premises or give/get an STD. And everyone is fine with this arrangement. It's apparently fun. My three issues: First, the current system prices out nearly everyone who relies on casual sex (guys between 22 and 32). Second, I'm surprised Pure hasn't printed enough money by now to buy the Grizzlies. What a racket. And third, whatever happened to just going to a crowded bar and buying people shots and beers? Am I that old? Is this how parents in the late '60s felt when pot and Woodstock and acid and mushrooms started taking off? I don't get your tattoos! I don't get your $500 bottle nightclubs! I'm old. I'm old. Did I mention I'm old?[+] EnlargeBill Simmons The boys, looking a bit older than their first trip to Vegas, 13 years ago.Midnight: My cell phone dies. Another weird new wrinkle for Vegas -- back in the day, there was no possible way to keep in touch with your friends. Everything had to be carefully planned. We will see you HERE at THIS TIME. Now it's a genuine crisis to lose your cell phone. On the other hand, "My cell phone ran out" is the greatest why-I-didn't-call-my-significant-other excuse maybe ever. I'd say it's a wash. Forget I brought it up.12:30 a.m.: We flee Pure on grounds of "We're too freaking old to be here." It's that simple. Hopper secures a $100 price for a limo from a Caesars bellhop, leading to the classic (and so typical) moment when we get in and Hopper says, "$100, right?" followed by the driver saying, "No, $120" and Agro Hopper quickly and angrily showing him a $100 bill and hissing, "Take it or leave it." Don't pull the Limo Price Bump move on old Vegas veterans like us, Driver With 17 Letters In Your First Name.1:00: Everyone splits up to gamble or sleep. Mahady takes our excess Wheel of Fortune winnings ($650, after everyone took $200 back) to play high-stakes blackjack. Grady volunteers to be his wingman. Bish, Hopper and I settle at a $15 table. Time for another veteran Vegas move: My contact lenses are dry and killing me, so I order a spicy Bloody Mary with extra horseradish. Why? Because it will make my eyes water and refresh the contacts naturally. (Note: I should really teach a "What To Do In Vegas" class in college. UCLA, call me.)1:25: You know that I could use sum-BAH-dayyyyyyyyyyyyyy! It only took 33 hours in Vegas for me to work up a hatred for Kings of Leon that rivals only the way I feel about cancer. 1:45: Spent the past 45 minutes getting our butts kicked. Not even the reappearance of Hef Chip can save me. Everything changes when an X'ed up lady wearing a skimpy cocktail dress sits down. She looks like a much happier Regina King and immediately starts referring to our pit boss as "My future baby daddy!!!!!" This is all good. There is no way this isn't good. Even when she splits 6s against a 9 (wins all three hands) and hits a soft 18 against a 7 -- telling us simply, "I'm getting a 3" and does -- we know it's all good. She has singlehandedly swung our table, won $200 to boot and even pulled off a dead-on impression of me screaming "BIG ONE!" when I want the dealer to bust on his next card. An amazing performance. When she cashes in 25 minutes later, we beg her to stay. "I can't, sweetie," she says. "I need to find me a baby daddy tonight!"(Three follow-up thoughts. First, it's a shame Travis Henry wasn't there. Second, watching someone like Baby Mama win at blackjack by doing crazy things makes you wonder, "Why did we collectively decide that there's an effective way to play blackjack?" Because apparently there isn't. And third, my team name in 2009 will be The Baby Daddies. So there you go.)2:15: During a shuffle, I wander over to Mahady's table. He has a stack of black and green chips, and there's a whiff of "Bammo!" in the air. Wow. Grady sees me and says simply, "G-G-go away." And I do. These are the rules of Vegas.(Note: Imagine if Joe Buck had been me in that spot. "And look at what we have here -- through one hour, a LEGENDARY gambling performance by Mahady. Look at all those chips. From here, that looks like about $3,500 in chips. Again, Mahady is WAY UP right now.")2:45: Remember in Part 1, when I talked about those "big swing hands" that make or break a night? We have another one. I'm riding a potential run and playing three $125 hands after a successful split of 8s (20, 20, 19). Hopper has a double (18) riding for $400. Bish has a double (20) riding on his biggest bet of the night. Dealer has a 5. We're feeling good. She flips over the 6. (Nooooooooo!) Flips over the 3. (Yessssssssssssssssss!) Flips over the 7. (Nooooooooooo! Noooooooooooooo! Noooooooooooo!) 21. Translation: it's not our night. And we know it. You know what that means …3:45: Wheel… 3:45: Of … 3:45: Fortune!!!!! Did it turn out as well as the last time? No. But we played for nearly two hours and threw down so many John Dalys that his ears must have been ringing. We were up $1,500 as a group at one point before giving it all back. (I'd give you more details, but quite frankly, they're a little blurry.) No regrets. I lost another $120, putting me down a little over $450 for the weekend. Including my soccer bet, that's exactly the amount of money I would have paid on Friday's speeding ticket that I never got. See, it always evens out in Vegas. Regardless, we will remember it as the Wheel of Fortune Weekend. Sometimes, you have to keep Vegas on its toes. You just do.Sunday10 a.m.: One of the mysteries of Vegas -- waking up that second morning and feeling fine. Like, your body has opened some sort of reserve gas tank that you didn't even know existed. Then you look in the mirror and … wow. My God. Holy Schmoly. "There should be a Web site that has before/after Vegas pictures," I say to Grady. "One when you arrive, then one in the same spot on Sunday morning. That would be riveting.""I need food," Grady says simply. Well, then.10:30: You know that I could use sum-BAH-dayyyyyyyyyyyyyy! I don't even have the energy to get mad anymore. Whatever. I hope you find sum-BAH-dayyyyyyyy, Kings of Leon.10:40: We stop at the sports book to make a Super Bowl bet on Green Bay at 25-1 (my favorite of the long shots). Just for fun, Grady places a $20 on his Jets and their over (seven wins). For some reason, this causes the guy at the register to call his boss over. Apparently, Grady was the first person to make this bet. Ladies and gentlemen, your 2009 New York Jets!!! 11:00: The obligatory hungover Vegas breakfast with Bish, Hopper and Grady. We made it. It's been 13 years since our first monster Vegas trip together. Nothing has changed. We are the same guys. The truth is, you have your oldest friends in life, and then you have everyone else. Nothing will trump your oldest friends. Any amount of time can pass without your feeling as if you've grown apart because, really, you can't. It's like a plant. You just have to water it every so often and you're good. Now we're eating omelets and talking about our big night of slots. Is this what happens when you get old? Almost on cue, Barry Bonds and his family emerge from a back room. He strides defiantly right by us; it's impossible not to be captivated by his gravity-defying head. That thing is like Sputnik. Of course, we grasp the significance of the moment immediately: We're just four washed-up Vegas sluggers watching a washed-up baseball slugger walk with his family. The only thing missing was one of Barry's kids saying, "Wiggles? Wiggles? Wiggles?" "Come on," I say to Grady, "where else does stuff like that happen? We can get one trip a year from you again, right?" Grady doesn't confirm or deny. He doesn't have to. Vegas, baby. Vegas. Link to post Share on other sites
GetSprung 0 Posted September 9, 2009 Share Posted September 9, 2009 A link would've been fine. Always a great read from the Sports Guy. Link to post Share on other sites
BigDMcGee 3,353 Posted September 9, 2009 Share Posted September 9, 2009 1) what does this have to do with poker2) who doesn't read the sports guy already?3) L2LINK. Jesus christ. Link to post Share on other sites
DonkSlayer 1 Posted September 9, 2009 Share Posted September 9, 2009 I would just like to comment that, despite how I looked in the mirror, I have never woken up on the 2nd day of a vacation to a casino town feeling "good". Link to post Share on other sites
lurbz 2 Posted September 9, 2009 Share Posted September 9, 2009 TL;DR Link to post Share on other sites
dna4ever 2 Posted September 9, 2009 Share Posted September 9, 2009 TL;DRdefinitely your lossheeeeeeeeeelarious read Link to post Share on other sites
Mercury69 3 Posted September 9, 2009 Share Posted September 9, 2009 Excellent! Link to post Share on other sites
lurbz 2 Posted September 9, 2009 Share Posted September 9, 2009 definitely your lossheeeeeeeeeelarious read http://www.fullcontactpoker.com/poker-foru...=117731&hl= Link to post Share on other sites
AdamDarv 0 Posted September 9, 2009 Author Share Posted September 9, 2009 1) what does this have to do with pokerNothing, just like many of the other posts in this forum. Although it is about Vegas, Drinking, Fantasy Football, Women and Gambling all of which is pretty close to having some real poker content.2) who doesn't read the sports guy already?I hope everybody reads the sports guy, but sometimes people miss an article or 2. For those who have not read Bill Simmons, hopefully now they will be reading his stuff.3) L2LINK. Jesus christ.I could have just posted the 2 links to the articles, but decided to cut and paste the entire thing in here. Not sure what the difference is, putting a link or pasting the article - either way the article is just as long.That being said, I thought the article was great. Between my trips to Vegas, this article and the movie the Hangover, I found alot of similarities as I am sure others on this forum will as well. Link to post Share on other sites
BigDMcGee 3,353 Posted September 9, 2009 Share Posted September 9, 2009 QUOTE (BigDMcGee @ Wednesday, September 9th, 2009, 12:26 PM) *1) what does this have to do with pokerNothing, just like many of the other posts in this forum. Although it is about Vegas, Drinking, Fantasy Football, Women and Gambling all of which is pretty close to having some real poker content.And that's why there's an offtopic forum2) who doesn't read the sports guy already?I hope everybody reads the sports guy, but sometimes people miss an article or 2. For those who have not read Bill Simmons, hopefully now they will be reading his stuff.No, no I doubt they will. 3) L2LINK. Jesus christ.I could have just posted the 2 links to the articles, but decided to cut and paste the entire thing in here. Not sure what the difference is, putting a link or pasting the article - either way the article is just as long.The difference is, no one comes to forums to read walls of text. If you have such a hard on for pimping Simmons ( who's already the most read columnist in the country) try posting a couple paragraphs you liked from it, and linking the articles. Link to post Share on other sites
Balloon guy 158 Posted September 9, 2009 Share Posted September 9, 2009 QUOTE (BigDMcGee @ Wednesday, September 9th, 2009, 12:26 PM) *1) what does this have to do with pokerNothing, just like many of the other posts in this forum. Although it is about Vegas, Drinking, Fantasy Football, Women and Gambling all of which is pretty close to having some real poker content.And that's why there's an offtopic forumBut this one fit nicely in general2) who doesn't read the sports guy already?I hope everybody reads the sports guy, but sometimes people miss an article or 2. For those who have not read Bill Simmons, hopefully now they will be reading his stuff.No, no I doubt they will. I haven't before because I have a life but I enjoyed the article and read it all the way through3) L2LINK. Jesus christ.I could have just posted the 2 links to the articles, but decided to cut and paste the entire thing in here. Not sure what the difference is, putting a link or pasting the article - either way the article is just as long.The difference is, no one comes to forums to read walls of text. If you have such a hard on for pimping Simmons ( who's already the most read columnist in the country) try posting a couple paragraphs you liked from it, and linking the articles.Of course there is also the argument that clicking links is not always the smartest thing to do on a poker forum so by him printing the article he saved us the worry of getting a virus and or missing out on a good read Link to post Share on other sites
MaxStPolish 4 Posted September 9, 2009 Share Posted September 9, 2009 Warning: Long trip report by Bill Simmons of ESPN - Meant for all of us 40 year old types.My East Coast fantasy football league celebrated its 20th draft in Las Vegas last weekend, an event that doubled as a 40th birthday bash for our pal Grady. We have been buddies since high school. We shared a prom limo together. We were longtime shuffleboard partners at Sam's in Port Chester. We saw "Rocky V," "Fletch Lives" and "Another 48 Hrs" together (undoubtedly my three biggest movie disappointments). We were once nearly attacked Artest-style by Mel Hall at Yankee Stadium. We have shared every level of blood-alcohol from 0.1 to 2.7. And now we're turning 40 less than four weeks apart.Translation: I'm old.I'm really, really, staggeringly old. And so are my friends. Did that stop us for putting on a throwback 48-hour show of gambling, drinking, smoking, ball-busting, eating and (fill in every other verb that ends with "ing" except for the ones that would get us divorced)? Of course not. When aging married guys go to Vegas, it's like aging baseball sluggers doing a few HGH cycles: suddenly we're putting up Bondsian numbers for two days as everyone else wonders, "Wait, how are they doing this?" Adrenaline, comedy, nicotine, alcohol and plentiful casino oxygen can turn anyone into a superhero. Even washed-up family guys.Take me, for instance. I woke up at 6 a.m. on Friday morning in Los Angeles, about 75 minutes before I wanted to wake up, when my baby son strolled into our bedroom saying, "Wiggles? Wiggles? Wiggles?" (Translation: "Can you turn on those four effeminate Australian singers for me? The ones with the big red car who like fruit salad?") I passed out at 2 a.m. in Las Vegas to the refreshingly familiar sounds of Grady puking up six pounds of beer and pizza. Has the sound of vomiting ever made someone nostalgic? I swear to God, I was nostalgic. It was like flipping channels and seeing Bird on ESPN Classic, but better. And smellier.Grady's birthday trip came together in less than two weeks, and only because the preferred plan (a college football weekend in October) couldn't work because of scheduling issues. But the crappy last weekend of August before Labor Day when it's a kajillion degrees outside? Absolutely, that one worked!!! As amazing as this sounds, we hadn't done a draft with everyone in the same room since 2000. That's what happens when you get old. People move, people have kids, and it's not uncommon to go 18 months without seeing one of your best friends. If somebody told you this would happen when you were 25 or younger, you would punch them in the face. You would refuse to believe it. But it happens to everyone. It just does.The trick is to find dumb reasons to get together. You know, like a 20th anniversary fantasy football draft combined with a 40th birthday party. And so five of my East Coast friends kidnapped Grady early Friday morning with the blessing of his wife. We had a surprise plane ticket and gave him five minutes to pack a bag. It took him a few seconds to believe he was really going to Vegas -- after all, we're talking about a guy with four kids who hasn't been exposed to extended sunlight since 2005 -- and then, according to multiple witnesses, the room got a little dusty. Just a tiny bit. He hadn't embarked on a full-fledged Vegas weekend in eons, a shame because once upon a time there was no better 5 a.m. drinking/smoking/stuttering blackjack wingman than Grady.That same morning, I drove down from Los Angeles to meet everybody. Just for old times' sake (and I mean, OLD), here's a running diary of what transpired:11:30 a.m.: My fourth favorite thing about driving to Vegas in the morning? Trying to shatter my own personal record of 3:31 for the 270-mile trip (and always failing, but still). My third favorite thing? Making annoying cell phone calls to friends at work and keeping them on the phone as long as possible as they say things like "I really have to run in a second" and "Look, I HAVE to go." My second favorite thing? Making an iPod playlist for the trip that only features songs that make me want to drive 105 miles per hour. (I thought about putting this year's version on iTunes before deciding against it; I don't want someone's death on my hands because he tried to gun a 1987 Fiat to 130 mph while hearing MGMT for the first time.) And my favorite thing? The Barstow food stop.As far as I can tell, Barstow, Calif., (halfway between L.A. and Vegas) was created solely to serve hungry people who need to pee and refuel as fast as humanly possible. Every fast food chain and gas station is represented; it's almost like a Food and Gas Convention. This trip, I have a hankering for Arby's and end up re-enacting the "Wild Things" threesome with a medium roast beef cheddar sandwich and a big thing of curly fries. Mmmmmmm. In last week's mailbag, I talked about Press Box Hot and all the different variations (somehow forgetting Prison Guard Hot and Golf Club Drink Girl Hot). Well, there's a cousin to Press Box Hot: Highway Hungry. If you're on the highway for more than two hours, seeing food signs for long enough, any food suddenly becomes six times as good. This Arby's sandwich tastes like Wolfgang Puck and Adam Perry Lang made it. We're off to a good start.12:30 p.m.: Drive by a cop going more than 100 miles an hour while listening to my "Drive 105-115 mph" playlist. Heart sinks. Jam on brakes a little too late. Glance in rearview mirror while wincing. Cop never budges. No ticket. I am up $600 for this Vegas trip and haven't stepped in a casino yet.12:45: Spend the next 15 minutes wondering if my missed ticket was (a) a great sign for the weekend, or (B) a terrible sign and that God would decide I should give that $600 back to the casinos for driving too fast and endangering lives. These are the things you think about as you're driving to Vegas.1:30: When I used to fly to Sin City, it always gave me a rush when my plane descended and we could glimpse the casinos for the first time. (For one March Madness trip coming from Boston, we were landing at night and someone screamed out, "VEH-GAAAAAAAS!!!!" and started applauding. Half the plane started clapping with him. Name me another city that causes this reaction. You can't.) On the drive to Vegas, you get the same rush as you get from that "Swingers" moment when the casinos make a sudden appearance on I-15 to your right: first Mandalay, then Luxor, then everything else on the Strip. If there's someone else in the car, by Nevada law, you're required to scream out "VEH-GASSSSSSSSSSS!" like Double Down Trent. When you're alone? You just start fidgeting in your seat. Like right now. Vegas. Vegas. Vegas.2 p.m.: The majority of the group (Grady, Camp, Russ, Mahady, Wiker, Andy, Lev) beat me by 20 minutes, leading to man hugs galore at the Palms (our central location for the weekend). They recount the Grady/dusty morning story in full detail and show me digital photos. Another conversation piece: a fake "The Hangover" poster that Andy made up with my face superimposed on Bradley Cooper and Grady's face in Zach Galifianakis' baby Bjorn. Now that's funny. It took 13 years, but I think another comedy finally passed "Swingers" as the go-to pop culture reference for "being in Vegas" jokes. I keep waiting for Grady to call everyone onto the roof so he can read a letter he wrote to us on the plane in a monotone voice. "Hey guys. Wow. [Pause.] How 'bout that flight in ...?"3:00: We dump our bags, head to an outdoor Mexican restaurant, order Margaritas and try to make sense of the weird mating ritual that doubles as the Palms' Friday pool scene. Between the weather (a crisp 108 degrees) and clientele (put it this way -- there should be a game show called "Stripper, Hooker or Vegas Pool Customer"), you can actually see the STDs forming like mushroom crowds. Camp sums up everyone's feelings: "If my daughter ever calls me 12 years from now and says she's hanging out at the Palms' pool, I'm going to kill myself."(Important note: Twelve years ago, we would have checked out these girls and decided, Let's do some shots, then start going up to these girls and tell them that we own a startup Internet company until two of them believe it. Now? We think about our daughters and wonder if single guys wear three condoms during sex just to be safe. I keep telling you: We're old.)4:15: I'm ashamed to report how long it took to execute the seemingly simple question, "Why don't we use a casino game to determine our 2009 fantasy draft order?" We settle on roulette, then everyone throws in $10 and we have a mini-fantasy draft to pick three numbers apiece. Yup, the previous sentence took 25 solid minutes. Once the ball starts zooming around the roulette wheel, it's all worth it. The winner of the Adrian Peterson Sweepstakes? (Hold on, it's rolling around, and rolling, and rolling ... and ... ) Lev gets No. 1! That was fun. We decide on roulette for EVERY pick. Why not?4:30: I draw No. 6 and would describe my excitement as somewhere between "tepid" and "the crowd's electricity at a Ray LaMontagne concert." Also, we blow $10 apiece by stacking our bets. "We shoulda just picked names out of a hat," Wiker grumbles. Some people aren't quite meant for Vegas. We spend the next five minutes ridiculing him for his cheapness. He's "That Guy" who goes to a casino with $25, keeps claiming that he needs to hit an ATM and never does, never pays for a drink and somehow leaves with $350. Doesn't every extended crew have a guy like that?4:35: Time for another staple of any Vegas trip: Friday afternoon's "we just got here, we haven't gotten our gambling legs yet, we're not drunk or even buzzed ... let's grab this open craps table and throw dice together!" group decision. In the history of gambling, nobody has ever won money under these circumstances. One new wrinkle: Andy teaches me how to "buy" a number, something I had never fully understood. Basically, you put $25 down on 4, 5, 9 or 10. If it hits once, you double your money. If it hits twice, you triple it. Or something. The best part is when you look at the craps dealer and say, "I'd like to buy the four," which leads to stupid jokes like, "I'm also in negotiations to buy the seven" and "I own a house, two dogs and the 10." Yes, I'd like to buy the four.(Note: I love every single thing about craps -- seriously, everything, and especially throwing -- except for the little-known rule that white people can't consistently win unless they're over 50 years old and standing next to a trophy girlfriend 25-plus years younger. Then, and only then, can a white person consistently win at craps. And I guess what I'm trying to tell you is this: Ten more years to go and I'm there, baby!)5:20: Repeatedly buying the four turned out about as well as investing in luxury condos in Greenwich. Already down $110 for the trip. (Thanks, Andy.) One highlight: With our craps circle falling apart faster than the 2009 White Sox season, I led a charge to bet on the "Don't Come" line against our unlucky dice-throwing friend, Wyman; three of us won when he crapped out. The unlucky friend's reaction is always funny afterward -- a game smile that barely masks complete betrayal and humiliation. It's just like how Timberwolves GM David Kahn looks every time someone asks him about Ricky Rubio.5:30: Time for blackjack. I almost hesitate to tell you this, but here's why I love the Palms: it's the best place in Vegas for blackjack. Why? First, it only has old-school six-deck shoes (no evil automatic machines). Second, it's off the Strip and everyone goes there for clubbing, so blackjack is almost an afterthought. (Hence, cheaper tables that are always open -- great if you're with a group and want to have a blackjack marathon, or if you want to hop tables until you find the right dealer.) Third, right around 2:30 or 3 a.m., drunks pour out of the clubs to play blackjack and the unintentional comedy quintuples. If you ever want to watch a cocktail-dress wearing, "X"-taking bimbette double down on a 9 against a 9, try to play cards as she's getting groped by someone who looks like Sasha Vujacic, adjust her thong right before splitting 6s or nearly set the table on fire with a Marlboro Light, well, the Palms is the place for you.5:35: My drink of choice tonight: Patron on the rocks with a lime. Can't be hung over for tomorrow's 10:30 a.m. draft and this won't leave me hung over. Unless I drink 20 of them. Which is possible. "I remember the days when you drank beer," Camp says wistfully as he nurses a Bud. Yeah, I know. (Thinking.) Wait, did I just get insulted? I fire back by asking Camp why he's wearing Matthew McConaughey's hair from "Ghosts of Girlfriends Past."Which brings me to an important point. As friends hit their late-30s, their hair goes one of four ways: Bye-bye, exactly the same, gray (I'm headed there), or in rare cases, it assumes an entirely new identity and becomes a full-fledged mane, something that looks like it's been professionally done and was possibly purchased from a fading celebrity on eBay. There is one of these guys in every group. And every time, that person's hair becomes one of the running jokes of any get-together. Our group's guy? Camp. We spent the weekend breaking down his hair in detail like it was the upcoming 2009 NFL season. I even took digital pictures of it from various angles. I wish I was making this up.6:25: To mix up a spiritually sagging table, I split 10s against a 6. My feeling here: If I am supposed to split aces against any card, why shouldn't I split 10s against a 5 or 6? Who decided this was a terrible idea to double my amount of money on the table against an unfavorable dealer hand? Drives me crazy that splitting 10s always causes a riot if you try it unless (a) you have the right crew, and (B) you have permission first. By the way, I won both hands. So there.7:05: Ten minutes later and our table is debating 10-splitting the same way "The Sports Reporters" would argue about whether Barry Bonds should be in the Hall of Fame. (I am the most passionate about it, which makes me the Mike Lupica of this argument. Could somebody get me a 6-inch seat cushion and some eyeglasses?) We decide that, yes, 10-splitters shouldn't be regarded like child molesters entering a penitentiary. As long as they ask the table for permission first.7:20: Time for my first cigarette of 2009. Grady bought some and I couldn't resist. I feel like the crowd should applaud like when a no-hitter ends. Bronchitis on Wednesday, here I come!7:45: We will refer to it in 2039 as "The Sneeze."Here's what happened: I stood up at the end of a shoe right as Grady's cigarette smoke nailed me in the nose and mouth, causing me to abruptly sneeze. Unfortunately, my mouth had water in it, which ended up ejaculating (and really, that's the right verb) all over our unfriendly female dealer's hands and arms. In the history of my life, I don't think I have ever bummed anyone out more. It's a new record. I could have attacked her with a bat Juan Marichal-style and she would have been happier. She took an exaggerated step back, frowned, grabbed a napkin and wiped the sneeze juice off her hands with a record amount of disdain ... and then, to make it more awkward, refused to accept my sincere/mortified apology, which made my friends laugh even harder, which made her hate us even more, which in turn made us dislike her again because she'd been killing us for an hour, which suddenly made me feel happy that I accidentally sneezed all over her."We will be talking about that sneeze 30 years from now," Russ says, wiping the tears from his eyes.The dealer glares at him. She's in Eff You Mode. If you know anything about blackjack, you know this ain't ending well.8:00: We just got whupped for the last 15 minutes like Ali whipped Ernie Terrell. The only thing missing was the dealer screaming, "What's my name??? What's my name???" As she leaves for a break, we decide that (a) my sneeze was worth it, and (B) the only way it would have been better is if I told her afterward, "Did I mention I just got back from Mexico?"(Screw it, I'll say that when she gets back from her break. No city brings out your evil side quite like Vegas. Why do you think they based "CSI" there?)8:15: Mahady and I realize we need a food base or we're going to be the wrong kind of drunk later. Time for two slices of heavy pizza. That's veteran Vegas savvy -- you definitely want to be buzzed/drunk at the end of the night because it loosens you up and that's when you go on card runs, but you never want to be lightheaded drunk or sloppy drunk. Some possible signs of this happening without you realizing it:1. You say the words, "I guess cigarettes and liquor will be my dinner tonight."2. You spill a drink all over the table.3. You fall off your chair, or even worse, tip your chair over backward.4. You accidentally light the table, yourself or the guy next to you on fire with a cig.5. You start overtipping the cocktail waitress or dealer to the point that they are overthanking you like you just donated them a kidney.6. You spent 10 minutes trying to get more money out of the ATM machine before realizing that you had been repeatedly putting in your Costco card.7. When the lady that you've been flirting with in the seat next to you leaves to go to the bathroom, everyone else at the table says, "Hey, you know she's a hooker, right?" ... And you react with more shock than you did when you found out Jerry Ferrara was dating Jamie-Lynn Sigler.Here's the point: Nobody wins when they're sloppy drunk. Nobody. The Gambling Gods hate you for disgracing the tables and act accordingly. That's why you need food.8:20: Mmmmmm ... pizza. (Somehow I am Highway Hungry for the second time today.) Mahady and I talk excitedly about possible shirts that our friend Stoner (arriving shortly) might be wearing. He wouldn't wear the same blue velour shirt that he's been wearing every time he goes out for the past 10 years, right?"I think he will," Mahady says. "It's like his calling card.""Like when Carrot Top brings out a suitcase of props," I say, then nod.Now we're a little too excited to see Stoner's shirt selection. Wish we could bet on this. Can I have $500 on 3 to 1 odds on the blue velour shirt please?8:45: And the winner is ... blue velour!!!!!!! Stoner preempts our barbs by saying, "Everyone else already made fun of me." It's scary how well you can still know your old friends even if you only see them once or twice a year.9:25: More losing. Even Grady can't get his patented "Bammo!" going. In the old days, when he had an ace showing, he would scream "BAMMO!" right as he was getting his second card ... which always ended up being a 10, of course. The Power of the Bammo was almost mystical. During the last few years, when Grady was sorely missed in Vegas, there was one trip where someone else tried to get "Bammo!" going; everyone else quickly decided it couldn't work. Like when Kobe tried to steal MJ's game-winning fist pump/clench. Just ... no. There's only one "Bammo!"And now, he can't get it going. We just had an ugly premature "BAMMM-ohhhhh" that ended with Grady getting a 6."I don't know," I tell him. "Maybe this was too long of a layoff. Maybe this was like MJ coming back with the Wizards.""I am not drunk enough yet," Grady reassures us confidently.These are the things you say in Vegas.9:30: More losing but I'm still having fun. I am fine with steady, minor bleeding as long as jokes are flying and I'm not hemorrhaging like Clint Malarchuck. We've become fascinated with the line for the Playboy Club, which stretches past our table and features people carrying various STDs that, frankly, I'm not even sure have been diagnosed yet. "Can I get a cold sore just by looking at these people?" I wonder. Nobody knows. (By the way, note to the female readers: Not everyone is meant to wear a tight cocktail dress. It's OK. You don't have to force it. Actually, this should be the new "Just Say No" PSA to replace the old drug ones -- just a montage of overweight women crammed in cocktail dresses four times too small as innocent bystanders repeatedly look into the camera either wincing or saying "No." We need to get the word out. This has to end.)10:30: Three amazing things from the last hour. First, we're still losing but having fun. That's how much we missed each other. Second, Stoner is gambling despite being cheaper than Donald Sterling and -- gasp -- enjoying himself. (This renews my faith that gambling can corrupt anyone on the right night. Even the Jonas Brothers.) Third, the fact we were grandfather clause'd into a $10 table that's now $25 has prompted an engaging "where does the grandfather clause rank among society's most underrated rules?" argument. We need more grandfather clauses. That leads to this moment ...Me (joking): "There should be a law that every pre-marriage hookup can be grandfather clause'd into your marriage so it's not adultery if it happens again."Dealer I Sneezed On (still seething): "Do you want a hit or not?"11:15: The first wave of guys trickle to bed. We're three down, four if you count Camp's hair. The good news: Grady is stuttering a little bit. Back in college, Commissioner Camp named Grady's fantasy football team "The Stuttering J's" because of his penchant for drunk stuttering. Now it's back. Like seeing MJ's patented fallaway again. I point this out."Stop it," Grady says. "I-I-I'm not stuttering."11:35: A pivotal moment. We're fading (especially the East Coast guys). I just plowed through nearly $600 without breaking a sweat. Same for Grady, who's starting to get an "I wouldn't mind going to bed soon glow to him." Somehow I find a second wind and give a speech more inspiring than Pacino in "Any Given Sunday." Come on! It's Vegas! WE GOTTA SUCK IT UP! WE GOTTA FIGHT FOR THAT INCH! VEGAS!!!! I get $300 more in chips and bet $100 on the next hand, hoping this will inspire Grady to hit the ATM. A second passes. You can feel the tension. And ... "I-I-I-I'm going to the ATM, I-I-I-I'll be right back."(VEGAS!!!!!!!!)12:15 a.m.: Big run. Big, big, big run. Big run. The turning point? We finally realize that the Palms had Playboy chips featuring bunnies, Playmates and, especially, Hef. We start stacking the chips for our bets accordingly. Grady puts the same Playmate chip on top of every bet. I go with a system where Hef's chip is always upside down on top of a chip with one or two playmates, leading to jokes like, "Hef Chip feels like having a threesome" and "Hef Chip, you haven't had your way with this blonde yet, go to it, my friend." It's working. All of it.12:20: Here's where you know the stars have aligned: Lots of money on the table, multiple double-downs and splits (I have four hands worth of money going alone), dealer showing the 6, flips over the 5 (NOOOOOOOOO!), flips over the 4 (COME ONNNNNNN!) ... flips over the 7 (NOOOOOOO! WAIT, THAT'S 22!!!! YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!) ... followed by complete and utter table chaos. Any good or bad night comes down to that ONE hand and that ONE hand alone. You know either way. Now? We know.(But can we stay awake and coherent?)12:40: Just had the old drunken blackjack epiphany in which you have only green and black chips; the green stack looks like the Leaning Tower of Pisa; fifteen solid minutes passed before you realized that you had this many chips; and you end up thinking, "Wait ... all right!" and debate whether you want to point out the giant stack of chips to your buddy next to you (and whether this would jinx everything that's happening). Also, I am talking to Hef Chip the same way Chuck Noland talked to Wilson the Volleyball. We're having actual conversations. I am only using him for certain hands and Hef Chip can't lose.12:45: Crap. Just lost Hef Chip. Watching him get snatched away was like watching Wilson floating away in the ocean. "HEF CHIP! HEF CHIP! I'm sorry ... (sobbing) ... HEFFFFFF CHIP!!!!!!"1:00: Still winning. Also, I can't see out of my right eye; I'm betting $125 a hand; I'm 99.9 percent sure we just saw Barry Bonds; and I just screamed "CIGARETTE LADY!" and caught her attention even though she was 550 yards away. This is where blind luck kicks in. I should go. Right now. Nope.1:20: We have the obligatory "we should have packed it in after the last shoe" hand where everyone (me, Grady, Mahady, Wyman) gets crushed. Had to happen. My chip cash-out yields two black chips ($100 apiece) and one yellow chip ($1,000). Does it get any better than a Yellow Chip Night? Instead of cashing our chips out for money, we pocket them and opt for the 10-minute walk from Palms Casino to Palms Place (where we're staying) just in case Grady ... well ... just in case he pukes. You never know.1:25: This has turned into the most exciting moment of the night. We're wobbling back to our rooms as Grady openly looks for plants to puke in. Some people (Grady being one) just throw up when they're drunk and feel much better the next day. I would kill to be one of these people. Instead, I'm the guy whose body shuts down almost like the MacGruber countdown. Like, if I don't get into a bed within 25 seconds, things will blow up and I will just sleep wherever I am. Then I feel horrible the next day. I wish I could buy the abilities on eBay to (a) sleep on airplanes, and (B) puke when I drink too much. Alas.Anyway, Mahady and I know Grady is a puking threat, only we're not saying anything because we don't want to reinforce any vomiting inclinations that might be lurking. He somehow stumbles into the elevator. Our 10-second elevator ride becomes the most exciting 10 seconds of the night. Can we make it? All we need is Verne Lundquist narrating this moment like it's one of Tiger's long putts in Augusta ..."Can he get there ... yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"And we do. We somehow make it to our room. Grady collapses on his sofa bed like he's been assassinated. I scrape my contacts off my eyeballs, cough up my left lung, brush my teeth, climb into my bed and start to pass out ... only I can hear the faint, familiar sounds of Grady puking his guts out. Like the sounds of the waves in Malibu, only more relaxing. And you think I'm kidding.Saturday9 a.m.: There's nothing quite like the feeling of waking up in Vegas and having absolutely no idea what time it is. Is it 1:00 in the afternoon? Is it 5:30 in the morning? Is it Tuesday? Did I just sleep through the winter? Between heavy curtains, oxygen, alcohol fumes and the comedown of adrenaline, it's really like hibernating. I wake up, fumble for my glasses, check my cell phone and … yes! Nine o'clock. That means seven hours of uninterrupted sleep. I'm already chalking up this day in the "W" column even though my lungs feel as if they were just dragged through the Lincoln Tunnel at rush hour.My roommate, Grady? He's less excited. He's the color of cookie dough right now. Somehow, we successfully pull off back-to-back showers, dress ourselves and make it downstairs for a Coffee Bean run by 9:45, leading to this exchange:Me: "I can't wait for coffee. I might climb over the counter and just drink from the giant Starbucks pot. I've always wanted to do that. Remind me to do that."Bill Simmons It's Saturday morning -- let's go drink, gamble and head to Vegas nightclubs that make us feel old!Grady: "Too early for coffee for me. I'm getting a Coke."Me: "A Coke? Why not coffee?"Grady: "I have a hangover system. I need the sugar and the fix from the Coke first. Coffee comes later. That's Part 2."Me: "Wait, isn't puking the night before Part 1, Coke Part 2, then coffee Part 3?"Grady: "Yeah, you're right."(These are the conversations you have in Vegas.)10:00: After Coffee Bean, Grady orders a Sausage McMuffin from McDonald's and … I mean … can anyone NOT have a Sausage McMuffin if someone else is planning on eating one? Let's play two!10:05: So happy. So delicious. I almost feel human. Hey, did you ever wonder why McDonald's doesn't just start lying about how many customers they've had? Currently, it's "billions and billions served." Couldn't they go with "trillions?" Or even "kajillions?" What's the highest they could say where you'd believe what they claimed? For me it's "kajillion." I would absolutely believe "kajillion." I throw this at Grady. A beat passes."Don't ask me to think right now," he finally mumbles.(Did I mention that we're having a fantasy draft within the hour? I wish I could short the odds of his winning our league this season.)10:10: We meet everyone else in the lobby. Mahady and I tell the "walking with Grady and wondering if he might puke" story (see Part 1) and capture 85 percent of the drama. "I could see it coming during our last shoe," Mahady tells me. "Suddenly, you and Jim looked like Apollo and Rocky in Round 15. [sounding like an announcer.] There's SIMMONS with another cigarette. And there's GRADY ordering another drink! I don't know what was keeping you two up.""The greats can take it to another gear," I explain. "Sometimes it's not about talent, it's about human will.""And there IS gonna be a rematch," Grady adds. (Note: I might die tonight. There's like a 42.7 percent chance.)10:15: We're headed to Caesars to meet the CEO of Las Vegas Fantasy Superdraft, a fledgling enterprise that's aiming to become the World Series of Poker for fantasy draft weekends: a once-a-year destination/excuse for buddies to get together, gamble, carouse and pick a fake football team. Apparently the CEO's goal in life is to get everyone in America divorced. Through a connection, he hooked us up with a Caesars suite for our draft. Instead of our cramming into three cabs, Mahady negotiates a stretch limo for $50. Add this to the "great things about Vegas" list -- where else can you take a limo with 11 friends for 10 minutes?10:22: Underrated part of any limo ride: Making jokes like, "Put the cocaine away until we get there!" and "It's too bumpy, I can't light this crack pipe" as the driver keeps nervously glancing into his rearview mirror. I love Vegas.30 FOR 30Starting Oct. 6, ESPN begins celebrating 30 years of sports with 30 documentaries from 30 filmmakers. Bill Simmons explains how the idea was hatched.• 30 For 30 10:35: CEO Eric meets us in the lobby, cracks one of those, "Wow, you guys look HORRIBLE" smiles and brings us to our suite. There's a big table with 10 chairs, along with a wireless signal, notebooks, danishes, muffins, coffee and even a bathroom that has a TV in the mirror. Well, thank you! After CEO Eric leaves, we sit down for our first "Everyone's here!" draft in nine years and hash out our crappy rules. A little history: Our league started in 1990, back in the pre-Internet era, when Commissioner Camp used Monday's USA Today to calculate scores by hand, then mailed updates every Tuesday (always my most exciting piece of mail every week, and by the way, writing that sentence made me feel 60 years old). Although we made somewhat of an effort to modernize things (adding a successful playoff system that rolls into the actual NFL playoffs), we remain the only league on the planet that still starts TWO quarterbacks. That's right, two. It's indefensible.This wrinkle skews the value of QBs too high, I argue. Others chime in. The two traditionalists (Russ and Stoner) make their arguments. This is turning into Roe v. Wade. At one point, I belittle Russ' "Look, it's the way we've always done it" line by hissing, "Yeah, that's what newspapers said." It's getting heated. We need to have a vote before someone throws a chair. The vote for one QB: 7 yes, 2 no … and one abstention. That's right, an abstention. Mahady wouldn't vote. We can't get over this. How do you abstain in a fantasy football draft vote? "I have my reasons," he says cryptically. What? What the hell is happening right now?11:35: Bad start. People are hung over and hungry. Stoner and Russ are sulking. Mahady won't explain his inexplicable abstention. Bitterness galore. Our first five picks: Peterson, Brady (more valuable because of our playoff wrinkle), Forte, Jones-Drew, D. Williams. I go with Tomlinson (playoff wrinkle again) and somehow steal Calvin Johnson and Frank Gore in the next two rounds. But it's still pretty grim in the room. A struggling Grady takes Ryan Grant 30th (oof) and Joe Addai 31st (yikes), then goes to the bathroom. Next two picks: Portis and Barber. Grady returns, leading to this exchange …--Grady: "Hold on, who got picked while I was gone?"--Me: "The two guys you should have taken."--Wyman & Russ: "Bammo!"(That got the comedy blood flowing in the room again. Of all the things women don't understand about men, where does "legitimate tension in the room after a debate about the rules in which you pick a fake team of random football players and compete against one another in a fake league for money" rank? I'd say top five.)12:12 p.m.: I wanted to emerge from this draft with one of these QBs: Brady, Brees, Manning, Romo, Rodgers, Rivers and (gulp) Kurt Warner. After 35 picks, six of seven are gone. And I'm on the clock. Which means I have to say the words … (gulp) … "Kurt Warner."12:12: Flinching.12:12: Yup, they're lobbing jokes about Warner's age at me like grenades. I have no comeback other than "He dyed his hair this year." Dammit. Time to lash out at someone. Given that Camp took Tony Romo too early (second round), and he's on the clock again, I slap this one together: "Camp, you should take Romo again since this is the round you should have taken him." Mild chuckles followed by this exchange:--Wyman (appreciative): "I don't think you've ever used that one before!" --Mahady: "Bill wrote new material for the draft." (Wait, am I getting insulted again?)12:20: The doorbell rings. It's CEO Eric! He's accompanied by two scantily clad Pizza Girls, five pizzas and a case of Bud Light. I'm not kidding -- this almost caused a riot. One girl is dressed like a cheerleader; the other is wearing Tom Brady's jersey and underwear (only if both had been shrunk to one-fourth the size). Later, CEO Eric described our reaction as "2-year-olds at a birthday party as Barney walks in." By the way, we're old.12:40: Pizza, beer and awkward conversation with the girls is highlighted by a hungover Grady (wearing Tevas) struggling to keep things moving by asking the girl in the Brady jersey, "So, where are you based out of?" My favorite moment of the weekend so far. Slayed me. I want to see this scene re-enacted online with Zach Galifianakis playing Grady. In Tevas.12:45: All the visitors leave, and we get back to the draft as the pizza wreaks havoc on everyone's picks. Somehow, I land Dwayne Bowe, Eddie Royal and Detroit's Kevin Smith in Rounds 5-7. If Kurt Warner comes through, I am winning the league. Period.(Key part of that prediction: "If Kurt Warner comes through …" That's like saying, "If Obama can figure out this health plan, his first four-year term will be a success." Crap. Dammit. I'm screwed. You know, UNLESS Kurt Warner comes through …)12:54: In a brilliant move to rattle the other married guys, Stoner starts playing online porn on his laptop. High comedy. He just took out half the room. We have guys breaking down the first scene Mark Schlereth style and wondering whether the loud actress involved has a safe word. Camp decides it's "apple sauce" and starts screaming "APPLE SAUCE! APPLE SAUCE!" This brings down the house. Porn jokes, beer, fantasy football, pizza … have we hit every cliché of a fantasy draft with married guys yet? Are we close?12:58: Just stole Darren McFadden in the eighth round as everyone was discussing why, on most porn sites, you will see categories like "BLACK" "ASIAN" and LATINO" but not "JEWISH." Russ (who's Jewish) laments that the Jews have been overlooked yet again, adding, "It would be fun to see a clip like 'Melissa Schwartzstein has a threesome.'" Round of laughs. Yep, it took online porn to shed the rules bitterness from earlier. Who knew porn had healing powers?1:04: Just had a three-minute group debate about whether there's any way to write on ESPN.com about what just happened during my Chris Cooley pick. Here's what we settle on: "Right as I made the pick, let's just say it was met by immediate approval by the actress on Stoner's laptop." There you go.Bill Simmons It's official: There is now one person betting on the Jets to win more than seven games.1:30: I land the Pats D, Cotchery, Ward (TB), Crosby and Steve Smith (NYG) with my last five picks. No backup QB. I'm not spending a draft pick on the likes of Joe Flacco. Sorry. Either Warner is taking me to the promised land or we're going down in flames. So be it. The highlight of the last five rounds: Camp unable to make his 13th-round pick as we started ripping him for taking too long; Camp panicking and taking Kevin Boss; Camp hearing us laugh about Boss; then Camp screaming at the top of his lungs, "Apple sauce! Apple sauce!" Fun draft.2:30: Sharing another $50 limo, we notice a giant billboard outside the Palms for DJ AM's weekly Friday show. He had just overdosed early that same morning. A deadly "too soon for a joke" silence settles over the limo. Always respect the dead in Vegas. Meanwhile, I just tweeted my monster team and am now reading the responses to taunt everyone -- stuff like, "Eric6789 says, 'Well done, did you pick with a bunch of 10th graders?'" -- as Stoner gets madder and madder and finally goes on an anti-Twitter rant that ends with him saying, "Who are these losers who would send a stranger messages in the middle of the day?" It's pointed out to Stoner that he's the loser sitting in a limo full of losers who just argued for 30 minutes about the rules in a league where we pick fake football players."Yeah, but at least I'm sitting in a limo! Woo-hoo! YEAHHHHHHHH!"(You gotta love Vegas.)2:35: Upon reaching the Palms, two more high school buddies are waiting for us: Bish and Hopper, staples of every Vegas column I have ever written. They're drinking John Dalys (Arnold Palmers with a shot of Absolut Citron, as described in last week's mailbag). "These are going down like water," Bish says. Uh-oh. Again, it's 2:30.3:00: Treading water at a $10 blackjack table and ordering John Dalys two at a time. (You know he's more excited about having a drink named after him than owning a Claret Jug. I'd bet anything.) Camp and Russ come over with some stunning news: They're headed over to the Palms movie theater to see "Inglourious Basterds." We react like some sort of crime is being committed. A Saturday afternoon movie? In Sin City? Is this legal?3:30: You know, every Vegas weekend has one song that every casino beats into the ground to the point that people groan when it comes on. The song is always peppy, but in a nonthreatening way. It's designed to appeal to people of all ages. It has some sort of signature hook. And by the 10th time you hear it in 20 hours, you are ready to break a beer bottle against the blackjack table and start stabbing people with it. This year's song? "Use Somebody" by Kings of Leon. Heading into this weekend, I wasn't for or against these guys. I had no opinion. Within 25 hours in Vegas? I hate them with every fiber in my body. We get it, Kings of Leon: You could use sum-BAH-dayyyyyy. Heard you loud and clear. And I understand you're hoping it's someone like you, someone like you, someone like you … believe me, I hope you find this person. Because if you don't, I'm going to kill everyone in a 25-foot vicinity. Now go away.3:45: I present my "why it should be OK to split 10s against a 6" theory to Hopper (detailed in Part 1), sending Hopper (an aggressively good blackjack player who hates when anyone at the table does anything out of the ordinary) into somewhat of a frenzy. "Just talking about this is making Agro Hopper come out," he says threateningly before dragging on a Marlboro Light. "You don't want bad-energy Agro Hopper. We need to stop talking about this. I'm not kidding."(Question: Do anyone else's friends refer to themselves with third-person situational nicknames? Or is it just mine?)4:15: Our first friendly/gregarious dealer of the weekend (Morris) shows up. We know this because Hopper saw his name tag and sang, "Oh e oh e OH" as I quickly added, "Where's Jerome and his mirror?" … and Morris laughed. A good sign. We immediately go on a gigantic run as Morris tells us "Here are the best celebs I've ever had at my table" stories. This gives me an idea: Why doesn't Vegas allow a group of friends to pick a blackjack dealer for the night? I see it operating like the Bunny Ranch. You walk into a lobby, and there are a bunch of dealers sitting there next to each other. You settle on one, then you walk off with him as though he's a Bunny Ranch hooker … only in this case, he or she leads you to a blackjack table and stays with you for $100 an hour for as long as you want. Split between five guys, that's $20 an hour for a good karma dealer. That's not worth the money? I tell my idea to everyone.Bill Simmons Guess who is tied for first place in the EPL? That's right ... Tottenham Hotspur!Bish: "Wait, you've been to the Bunny Ranch?"Me: "No!!!! I just remember from the HBO show …"Everyone at table (laughing): "Sure …"4:45: Morris leaves. The shellacking begins. We should get up. We should get up.5:00: No, really, we should get up.5:15: "Throw the damned towel! THROW THE DAMNED TOWEL!"5:30: Our three-hour session ends. Abruptly. Everyone lost. Whatever. The Bish-Hopper-Simmons-Grady group hasn't played blackjack together in years. We're all winners. The bad news: I am officially constipated. Food I've eaten since Friday morning: Arby's roast beef and curly fries, pizza, Sausage McMuffin, blueberry muffin, more pizza. Call it the Vegas Diet. I think my body would reject fruits and vegetables like a bad kidney match at this point.6:25: Back to the room for second showers, shaves and a dress change, highlighted by Grady's phone call to his wife in which he adopts the Vegas Husband Voice. This is one of my favorites. So, whenever guys talk to their wives or girlfriends, their voices naturally soften and go up a little. It's a reflexive thing, and I don't know why this is. We all do it. Because this is Grady's comeback Vegas trip, he's out of practice, and what I'm trying to tell you is this: He might have just broken the record for "highest octave change." He is Michael Jackson "She's Out of My Life"-level high right now. I'm cracking up. This should be an Olympic event: Biggest Unintentional Octave Change While Talking to a Significant Other.7:15: We meet at the Palms Place bar for a pre-dinner drink, then head over to Lavo (at the Palazzo) for a group dinner. I am a big fan of the group dinner under the following conditions. First, you have to split everything X ways and that's it (no haggling). Second, you can't do Friday night because the combo of jet lag and heavy food will make you more sluggish than Charlie Manuel. Third, no wine under any circumstances. (Much like women weaken legs, wine weakens late-night gamblers.) Fourth, you can't overeat or you'll hate yourself for the rest of the night. Fifth, you have to plow through dinner in two hours or less. (You're in Vegas, for god sakes.) Sixth, you can't forget that most restaurants will stick an 18 percent gratuity on the check, only some scumbag waiters are too greedy to tell you (hoping for a double tip). If you remember too late, you'll get mad that you double-tipped and it's bad for group karma. Seventh, don't play Credit Card Roulette for the check. There's already enough stuff to gamble on, and it's not worth the possible karma shift if the loser takes it personally. Just don't do it. Promise me. Stick by my seven group dinner rules and you'll be fine.(The bigger question: Why aren't there any Credit Card Roulette videos on YouTube? You're telling me I can watch dozens of videos of guys opening baseball card boxes, but I can't watch one game of Credit Card Roulette for a $1,900 dinner?)10:30: Highlights from the past three hours: A phenomenal male bonding dinner (even better, Lavo didn't pull the double-tip trick) … seeing Treasure Island (the place where I lost my Vegas cherry in 1996) through the window the entire time … a 100-degree walk to Caesars that allowed me to make the Siegfried and Roy memorial joke to Bish (see any other Vegas column I've ever written for details) … Hopper and I wagering on Tottenham Hotspur at 40-1 to win the Premier League (you're damned right I made a soccer bet) … and everyone searching in vain for an open blackjack table (and failing). Wait, that's not a highlight. That sucks. Out of nowhere, Mahady comes up with one of the three greatest Vegas ideas I have ever witnessed: Everyone throws in $100, we head to the slots and play as many Wheel of Fortune machines as possible at the same time. (Hmmmmmm … why not?) According to Mahady, if you luck out and hit "SPIN," you get to spin the wheel and it's (allegedly) exciting. We trust him because he's Italian and Italians have good gambling instincts (like me -- I'm half). Still, can you calculate the comedy of a group of washed-up married guys playing slots on a Saturday night? No. You can't.10:50: Slow start. Sloooooooooow start. I will confess: Up to this point in my life, I found slots to be perplexing. So, you sit in a chair and sadly press a button over and over and over again? And this is fun … why? "Great idea, Mahades," I heckle. "I can't think of anything more fun than watching somebody else hit a button a whole bunch of times." "Just wait," he says. "Just wait."This was a lot more fun than it looks.10:55: I can't even describe how fast I just flipped on slots. Working six of the eight machines, we just hit $400 (Hopper) and, astonishingly, the big $1,000 (Bish). Each time it happened? Chaos. We went crazy. Now every time someone gets to spin, five other guys race over to cheer them on. Even if you rarely end up hitting a big number on the wheel, every "Come on, come on, WHOAAAAAAAA-ohhhhhhhhhhhhh" moments is worth it. This is … gasp … fun?11:10: All hell has broken loose. We have all eight machines, we're up two grand as a group, and we're making so much noise that a crowd of people is now cheering us on. I'm not kidding -- our group might have been the Jackie Robinson of Fun Slots Experiences. I don't think anyone ever considered the concept before. Wait, you can have fun playing slots as a group? Really? Now Bish is hitting every "SPIN" with his elbow. Hopper is hitting every "SPIN" with his forehead. Even the formerly cheap Stoner has turned into the Mark Madsen of gambling. Who knew? Slots! Slots? Slots!11:30: In less than an hour, we just turned $1,100 into $2,850. We're all stunned. That was way too much fun. We can't believe it. Quite possibly the best gambling experience I've had in years. Hopper summed up why in a classic e-mail Monday:"The WOF slots were fantastic. Bish and I were talking on the flight out how we were kind of tired of Vegas, we'd done everything we could do, etc. Now I think we just need a new Vegas theory which I'm gonna call it the 'Vegas Shocker' theory. Just like a relationship, you have to work at Vegas. Go to the same casino and play the same game, eventually, you're gonna get bored even if you win. So, just like with your wife or longtime girlfriend, you gotta spice it up once in a while and keep Vegas on its toes. It might cause a scene, but it will be fun and unpredictable. Plus, she'll eye you nervously for months afterwards which, as we all know, is a good thing for women. We have to pull a 'Vegas Shocker' every couple of years: play group slots, pool your cash on bizarre bets, stay downtown, shake up the usual group, etc. We want Vegas to be eyeing us nervously afterwards."(And if that e-mail didn't make any sense to you … well, you've never been to Vegas.) 11:45: Thanks to a connection, I drag everyone to Pure (the famous nightclub in Caesars) for 30 minutes just so they can enter the alternate universe that doubles as a Vegas nightclub. People are waiting two hours to get in. (This shatters my One-Hour Rule, which goes like this: If you're waiting in line for an hour or more for ANYTHING, there'd better be free sex or free money at the end of that line.) Our connection leads us to the upstairs/outdoor patio, where we have a little booth and quickly realize that, hey, we're too old and have nothing in common with anyone here. Like we didn't know that already. "Would anyone like to see some baby pictures?" Stoner shouts out to the rest of the patio. That about summed it up.Here's why I know I am now old: The current nightclub scene eludes me. As far as I can tell, our goal (if we were single) would be to somehow get a booth, then order $500 bottles with mixers, then see whether we can lure girls over to the booth to talk to us, drink from our $500 bottles and possibly give/get an STD. For the females (if single), their goal is to find a booth of unsuspecting marks, flirt with the guys, drink from their $500 bottles, make it seem as though something might happen and then either flee the premises or give/get an STD. And everyone is fine with this arrangement. It's apparently fun. My three issues: First, the current system prices out nearly everyone who relies on casual sex (guys between 22 and 32). Second, I'm surprised Pure hasn't printed enough money by now to buy the Grizzlies. What a racket. And third, whatever happened to just going to a crowded bar and buying people shots and beers? Am I that old? Is this how parents in the late '60s felt when pot and Woodstock and acid and mushrooms started taking off? I don't get your tattoos! I don't get your $500 bottle nightclubs! I'm old. I'm old. Did I mention I'm old?[+] EnlargeBill Simmons The boys, looking a bit older than their first trip to Vegas, 13 years ago.Midnight: My cell phone dies. Another weird new wrinkle for Vegas -- back in the day, there was no possible way to keep in touch with your friends. Everything had to be carefully planned. We will see you HERE at THIS TIME. Now it's a genuine crisis to lose your cell phone. On the other hand, "My cell phone ran out" is the greatest why-I-didn't-call-my-significant-other excuse maybe ever. I'd say it's a wash. Forget I brought it up.12:30 a.m.: We flee Pure on grounds of "We're too freaking old to be here." It's that simple. Hopper secures a $100 price for a limo from a Caesars bellhop, leading to the classic (and so typical) moment when we get in and Hopper says, "$100, right?" followed by the driver saying, "No, $120" and Agro Hopper quickly and angrily showing him a $100 bill and hissing, "Take it or leave it." Don't pull the Limo Price Bump move on old Vegas veterans like us, Driver With 17 Letters In Your First Name.1:00: Everyone splits up to gamble or sleep. Mahady takes our excess Wheel of Fortune winnings ($650, after everyone took $200 back) to play high-stakes blackjack. Grady volunteers to be his wingman. Bish, Hopper and I settle at a $15 table. Time for another veteran Vegas move: My contact lenses are dry and killing me, so I order a spicy Bloody Mary with extra horseradish. Why? Because it will make my eyes water and refresh the contacts naturally. (Note: I should really teach a "What To Do In Vegas" class in college. UCLA, call me.)1:25: You know that I could use sum-BAH-dayyyyyyyyyyyyyy! It only took 33 hours in Vegas for me to work up a hatred for Kings of Leon that rivals only the way I feel about cancer. 1:45: Spent the past 45 minutes getting our butts kicked. Not even the reappearance of Hef Chip can save me. Everything changes when an X'ed up lady wearing a skimpy cocktail dress sits down. She looks like a much happier Regina King and immediately starts referring to our pit boss as "My future baby daddy!!!!!" This is all good. There is no way this isn't good. Even when she splits 6s against a 9 (wins all three hands) and hits a soft 18 against a 7 -- telling us simply, "I'm getting a 3" and does -- we know it's all good. She has singlehandedly swung our table, won $200 to boot and even pulled off a dead-on impression of me screaming "BIG ONE!" when I want the dealer to bust on his next card. An amazing performance. When she cashes in 25 minutes later, we beg her to stay. "I can't, sweetie," she says. "I need to find me a baby daddy tonight!"(Three follow-up thoughts. First, it's a shame Travis Henry wasn't there. Second, watching someone like Baby Mama win at blackjack by doing crazy things makes you wonder, "Why did we collectively decide that there's an effective way to play blackjack?" Because apparently there isn't. And third, my team name in 2009 will be The Baby Daddies. So there you go.)2:15: During a shuffle, I wander over to Mahady's table. He has a stack of black and green chips, and there's a whiff of "Bammo!" in the air. Wow. Grady sees me and says simply, "G-G-go away." And I do. These are the rules of Vegas.(Note: Imagine if Joe Buck had been me in that spot. "And look at what we have here -- through one hour, a LEGENDARY gambling performance by Mahady. Look at all those chips. From here, that looks like about $3,500 in chips. Again, Mahady is WAY UP right now.")2:45: Remember in Part 1, when I talked about those "big swing hands" that make or break a night? We have another one. I'm riding a potential run and playing three $125 hands after a successful split of 8s (20, 20, 19). Hopper has a double (18) riding for $400. Bish has a double (20) riding on his biggest bet of the night. Dealer has a 5. We're feeling good. She flips over the 6. (Nooooooooo!) Flips over the 3. (Yessssssssssssssssss!) Flips over the 7. (Nooooooooooo! Noooooooooooooo! Noooooooooooo!) 21. Translation: it's not our night. And we know it. You know what that means …3:45: Wheel… 3:45: Of … 3:45: Fortune!!!!! Did it turn out as well as the last time? No. But we played for nearly two hours and threw down so many John Dalys that his ears must have been ringing. We were up $1,500 as a group at one point before giving it all back. (I'd give you more details, but quite frankly, they're a little blurry.) No regrets. I lost another $120, putting me down a little over $450 for the weekend. Including my soccer bet, that's exactly the amount of money I would have paid on Friday's speeding ticket that I never got. See, it always evens out in Vegas. Regardless, we will remember it as the Wheel of Fortune Weekend. Sometimes, you have to keep Vegas on its toes. You just do.Sunday10 a.m.: One of the mysteries of Vegas -- waking up that second morning and feeling fine. Like, your body has opened some sort of reserve gas tank that you didn't even know existed. Then you look in the mirror and … wow. My God. Holy Schmoly. "There should be a Web site that has before/after Vegas pictures," I say to Grady. "One when you arrive, then one in the same spot on Sunday morning. That would be riveting.""I need food," Grady says simply. Well, then.10:30: You know that I could use sum-BAH-dayyyyyyyyyyyyyy! I don't even have the energy to get mad anymore. Whatever. I hope you find sum-BAH-dayyyyyyyy, Kings of Leon.10:40: We stop at the sports book to make a Super Bowl bet on Green Bay at 25-1 (my favorite of the long shots). Just for fun, Grady places a $20 on his Jets and their over (seven wins). For some reason, this causes the guy at the register to call his boss over. Apparently, Grady was the first person to make this bet. Ladies and gentlemen, your 2009 New York Jets!!! 11:00: The obligatory hungover Vegas breakfast with Bish, Hopper and Grady. We made it. It's been 13 years since our first monster Vegas trip together. Nothing has changed. We are the same guys. The truth is, you have your oldest friends in life, and then you have everyone else. Nothing will trump your oldest friends. Any amount of time can pass without your feeling as if you've grown apart because, really, you can't. It's like a plant. You just have to water it every so often and you're good. Now we're eating omelets and talking about our big night of slots. Is this what happens when you get old? Almost on cue, Barry Bonds and his family emerge from a back room. He strides defiantly right by us; it's impossible not to be captivated by his gravity-defying head. That thing is like Sputnik. Of course, we grasp the significance of the moment immediately: We're just four washed-up Vegas sluggers watching a washed-up baseball slugger walk with his family. The only thing missing was one of Barry's kids saying, "Wiggles? Wiggles? Wiggles?" "Come on," I say to Grady, "where else does stuff like that happen? We can get one trip a year from you again, right?" Grady doesn't confirm or deny. He doesn't have to. Vegas, baby. Vegas. A link would've been fine. Always a great read from the Sports Guy. 1) what does this have to do with poker2) who doesn't read the sports guy already?3) L2LINK. Jesus christ. I would just like to comment that, despite how I looked in the mirror, I have never woken up on the 2nd day of a vacation to a casino town feeling "good". TL;DR definitely your lossheeeeeeeeeelarious read Excellent! http://www.fullcontactpoker.com/poker-foru...=117731&hl=By linking, this reply would be of a much more palatable size.-MSP Link to post Share on other sites
Dubey 1,035 Posted September 10, 2009 Share Posted September 10, 2009 By linking, this reply would be of a much more palatable size.-MSPcongrats, I have never been more annoyed/angered by a post on the internet as I was by this post. (die btw) Link to post Share on other sites
Balloon guy 158 Posted September 10, 2009 Share Posted September 10, 2009 congrats, I have never been more annoyed/angered by a post on the internet as I was by this post. (die btw)You should avoid the religion section of this forum then.and off topic Link to post Share on other sites
MaxStPolish 4 Posted September 11, 2009 Share Posted September 11, 2009 congrats, I have never been more annoyed/angered by a post on the internet as I was by this post. (die btw)Lol, Calgary. You're such a flame. Link to post Share on other sites
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