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"VIVA LAS VEGAS!"

What happened when SG spent last weekend in Vegas? You're about to find out... (3/17)



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MORE Return to Boston's Sports Guy main. I thought the best way to describe a male-bonding weekend in Las Vegas would be to keep a running diary of the festivities... it's crass, it's off-color, it's bizarre and it will definitely offend at least some of you, so stop reading now or forever hold your peace.



(Hah! I knew you'd keep reading!)



Onto the running diary...



FRIDAY

10:10 AM (West Coast time):

We arrive in Vegas from San Francisco, giddy, excited, and ready to rake in some major dough. There's four of us -- me and my buddies Bish, Mike and Hopper (who all live in San Fran) -- as well as three more friends (Geoff, Butz and the Doctor) who will be getting in later that afternoon. In addition, Mike and Hopper have about eight other friends that are also staying at our hotel (Rio). It should be a frightening weekend.



In Vegas, you always need to set goals. I have five.



1. Come out on the plus side with my sports bets.

This is a must. I'll be betting between $50 and $100 per game... I'll probably wager on 6 or 7 NCAA games and at least 4 NBA games. I'll also probably bet on the Holyfield/Lewis fight and put a token $25 down on the Holy Cross women against Duke (getting 22!). That's twelve bets in all. I need to hit at least seven of them to be in good shape. Shouldn't be a problem. I mean, after all.. I AM the Sports Guy...



2. Stay consistent.

One way to get killed in Vegas is to keep changing around your bets -- if you bet $50 on some games and $100 on some others, you invariably win the $50's and lose the $100's. Same goes with blackjack and craps -- as soon as you start upping your bets, you usually get killed. So I'm going to try and bet $50 on each sports game and play the $10 tables in blackjack and craps.



3. Don't get too drunk while gambling.

Two years ago in Vegas -- when we stayed at Treasure Island -- I was up $700 on the blackjack table by midnight of the first night. No joke. The waitresses were bringing me free jack-and-cokes every five seconds... I was smoking and drinking and winning and giggling and flirting and feeling like James Cameron during the 1998 Oscars (I can still see all the chips sitting in front of me)...



By 2AM, I was down to twenty $5 chips and I had to be lugged up to my room like Nicolas Cage in "Leaving Las Vegas."



There's a lesson here. Casinos give customers free drinks for a reason -- they're trying to get them s**t-faced. When you're s**t-faced, you end up making dumb bets and saying things like, "Sure I'll double down with a nine when the dealer has a queen showing!" And that's why casinos keep getting built every year... it's also why pawn shops stay in business.



4. Stay away from the good Doctor.

Goes without saying. One of my old high school buddies, the Doctor now lives in L.A. and goes through women like disposable razors (he's a good-looking guy -- ponytail, fu-manchu, well-dressed -- and has the whole "rapping with women" spiel down to a science at this point). As if that's not enough, he's even an aspiring actor. In short, the Doctor is a great guy... but if I want to stay away from trouble this weekend and stay faithful to the Sports Gal, I need to stay away from the Doctor at night. He's not just a vampire, he's like Dennis Eckersley during the 1989 season -- he closes the deal every time. And I have to make sure I don't end up being the Goose to his Maverick.



Now here's the catch: This year we're staying at Rio -- one of the hippest hotels in Vegas and possessor of Club Rio, which is only THE hottest club in Vegas. By staying at Rio, we get to bypass the lines for Club Rio each night and basically jump in and out of that place like it's an all-you-can-eat buffet line. Trust me... for your buddy the Sports Guy, this isn't a good thing. Four years ago, Club Rio would have trapped me and made me do something dumb. Now, I'm in my late-twenties, I'm smarter, and I have that "87 Celtics" veteran experience on my side -- I know that the best way to stay out of trouble is simply by staying away from any situations that might lead to trouble.



Besides, the Sports Gal isn't someone I can mess up with -- she's vengeful as all hell, and if I cheat on her, she would somehow find out and probably kill me in cold blood (or she might even do something worse, like hook up with my favorite Celtic -- Paul Pierce). I can't mess with the Sports Gal. She's like Clint Eastwood. Therefore, not only do I need to stay away from the Doctor after sundown... I need to stay away from Club Rio completely.



5. When you're not feeling it, walk away.

The hardest thing to do in any casino, but especially in Vegas. Gambling is all about emotion and karma -- sometimes it's there, sometimes it's not. Sometimes a blackjack/craps table can be ice-cold, sometimes you might have a run of bad luck... and you need to walk away and regroup. Or else you're dead in the water.



Of course, this is much easier said than done.



11:45 a.m.

After checking into Rio and throwing down a quick lunch, we immediately head down to the Rio sports book so we can bet on the late-afternoon NCAA games -- I jump on Washington (-2) over Miami of Ohio for $44 (to win $40) and Arizona (-5.5) over Oklahoma for $55 (to win $50). If all goes well and both bets hit, I'll be getting back $189 in three hours. If not, I'm out $99. You can almost hear Michael Buffer in the background saying "Let's get ready to rummmmmmmmmble!"



11:46 a.m.

By the way, we checked out the "futures" bets for each pro sport -- odds on each team to win the title -- and the Patriots have 36-1 odds to win the Super Bowl this year, lumping them in the same group with such stalwarts as Tennessee, Arizona and Kansas City. Meanwhile, the New York Jets have 8-1 odds.



I mean... were we really in the Super Bowl 26 months ago?



(NOTE: I posted the MGM Grand's list of future odds HERE)



12:30 p.m.

We visit our suite -- we're staying in the $160 suites, four people per room (I'm in a room with Bish, Mike, and Mike's buddy Birdman... no relation to our wrestling buddy the Birdman).



Bish and I always share a bed together because we understand the basic fundamentals whenever two guys share a bed together -- 1) no inadvertent touching, 2) no accidental cuddling, and 3) try to stay as far away from the other person as possible at all time. If there was a tournament for "two guys sharing a bed," Bish and I would win every time (in three years in Vegas, I don't think we've even accidentally touched legs once).



1:00 p.m.

Some of the more deranged boys in the group immediately head off to Cheetah's -- a popular strip club off the strip -- while the rest of us decide to hit the blackjack tables for an hour before we watch the second half of the late-afternoon games.



Now... I've always considered myself a pretty good blackjack player. Anyone can sit down at a blackjack table and play, but only the veterans know the hidden secrets. For instance...



* Forget the advice of Double Down Trent in "Swingers" --you shouldn't double down when the dealer has an ace, ten or two showing (even if you're sitting on an 11) unless you're REALLY feeling it. Remember, deuces are pure evil. Don't mess with them. There's a reason they call deuces the "dealer's ace."



* Stick with a set bet... in other words, don't alter your bet from hand to hand. This weekend, I'm sticking with $10 bets every hand.



* Always split twos, three, fours, sixes, sevens, eights and nines when a dealer is showing a five or a six. That way, you're playing two hands against the dealer's crappy card.



* When the dealer is showing anything above seven, ALWAYS take a hit if you have a 16 or less. Remember, a 16 doesn't do you any good if the dealer is sitting on a 17 or more.



* (And this is the important one) Try to have as much fun as possible. Blackjack is all about table karma; if everyone is cheering for each other and rooting against the dealer, invariably, good things start to happen. I'm a firm believer in this one. If the table has no karma, get up and sit somewhere else.



Does that mean you'll win every time? Of course not. In the end, it always comes down to the cards...



1:45 p.m.

And I'm not getting them! I'm already down $100 bucks. Yikes. On the bright side, I've already polished off three free jack-and-cokes and the captain just turned off the "No smoking" sign. This could get ugly.



2:15 p.m.

Still battling... down about $125. To make matters worse, we just found out that Washington lost to Wally Szezcerbiak and Miami. At least Arizona's winning...



2:30 p.m.

Right now I feel like Ron Goldman as he was handing over Nicole's glasses outside her condo... in other words, I am suddenly and inexplicably getting K-I-L-L-E-D.



1. Up by four with one minute left, Arizona missed two free throws, gave up a three, threw the ball away, gave up another basket, and missed at the buzzer. Not only did they fail to cover the spread... they LOST. There goes my NCAA Pool -- I picked the Wildcats to win the whole thing. I'm also 0-for-2 on my NCAA bets and down $99 bucks.



2. To make matters worse, I'm down $150 at the blackjack table and haven't seen a face card in hours. This is a bloodbath. I feel like Shelley Duvall in that scene near the end of "The Shining" when she's running around the Overlook Hotel looking for Danny and she sees the elevator doors open and blood rushing out of them.



3. As the kicker, my buddy Bish is already up like $200 bucks... and we're sitting at the same table. He's been getting all the good cards. Damn him! Damn him to hell!!!



3:15 p.m.

I originally walked into Rio with $300 in my wallet. $99 went to the Sports Book (gone); when I sat down at the table, I vowed that I wouldn't hit the ATM machine during the afternoon (in other words, I couldn't lose more than $200 at the blackjack table). Yet here I am, punching my pin in the ATM machine for my money.



What happened? I was down to my last $10... I got two sevens... with the dealer showing a six, I had no choice BUT to split the sevens... that meant I had to borrow chips from Bish... on the first seven, I got a jack (stay at 17)... on the second seven, I got a four... that meant I had to double down on the 11 with two MORE chips from Bish... I got an eight. To make a long story short, I had a 17 and an 19 and $30 on the table.



Any hardcore gambler knows what happened next... the dealer had a six showing... the other card turned out to be a four... then she pulled an ace.



Twenty-one.



Thus, I'm hitting the ATM for $300 more. And it's not even dark yet. And I owe Bish $20.



Time to hit the craps tables...



4:30 p.m.

I'm not even going to attempt to explain craps here. Basically, the goal is to roll as many rolls as possible without crapping out. If the shooter throws a five to start off, that becomes his "point" -- he keeps rolling until he either hits the five (or "point") again (making him a winner) or rolls a seven (meaning he "crapped out"). In the middle of all this, you can make a variety of separate bets on each roll -- that the shooter will crap out, that he'll roll a specific number (between 2 and 12), that he'll hit his "point," that he'll roll a seven or an 11, and so on. That's craps.



The "Cliff Notes" version: Any shooter that keeps going without crapping out makes everyone happy, since everyone has bets spread all over the table and can win on every roll. A shooter that keeps setting a "point" and hitting it makes everyone loves him. A shooter that quickly craps out makes everyone hate him.



So why is it fun? Well, you can't fully understand unless you've been on a table that suddenly and inexplicably got "hot." There's nothing better in the world. I'm serious. A hot craps table is like Game Six of the 1975 World Series... but it keeps going on and on and on and eventually you feel like you could run a 40-yard dash in 2.3 seconds or do a dead-lift of 1900 pounds.



Quick tangent: Two years ago, my buddy Geoff and I went to Foxwoods and had the greatest craps roll of all time -- four rolls that lasted a combined two hours. Swear to God. My last roll lasted almost an hour and I was literally throwing anything I wanted to throw -- fours, tens, double threes, and so on. I can't explain it. It was almost mystical. We won about $900 between us and actually had people coming over and shaking our hands and congratulating us. It was that good. Every gambler has had a moment like that -- the night when everything came together for a few minutes and literally swept you away. It's the reason people keep going to casinos... and it's the reason people have gambling problems (because they're forever trying to recapture that rush).



And yet I digress...



5:00 p.m.

Treading water at the craps table. Getting drunk. Things starting to get blurry. I know I should probably call it quits for the day... but I can't. I'm so despondent that I'm not even flirting with the scantily-clad Rio cocktail waitresses any more.



5:30 p.m.

The table just got colder than Albert Belle in a post-game press conference. I'm down another $50 bucks. On the bright side, Geoff, Butz and the Doctor just showed up! Let's see if Geoff and I can recover that same magic...



6:00 p.m.

No sir. Just lost another $75. Now I'm already down almost $450 for the trip, I'm drunk... and I haven't eaten dinner yet. Is there a suicide hotline I can call?



6:30 p.m.

Time for the moment of truth: Geoff and I each put down $110 to win $100 on the Blazers giving 2 to the Utah at home. I'm putting all my Sports Guy credibility on the line here -- I love the Blazers, I think they can win the NBA title, and I think they match up well with the Jazz. Basically, I think this one's a layup -- I've been eyeing it all week.



* If the Blazers cover, I'm down $350 for the first day -- not quite a disaster.



* If the Jazz win, I'm down about $550 for the first day -- a full-fledged disaster worse than "The Postman," "Ishtar" and "Meeting Joe Black" combined.



7:00 p.m

Back to the hotel room... time for a nap.



(Okay, that's a lie. I needed to pass out for an hour.)



8:30 p.m.

Just met the boys down at the Rio Buffet at dinner. Word spread that I'm getting shellacked; they're all avoiding eye contact with me and trying to avoid talking about gambling. Meanwhile, I'm still drunk, I'm bleary-eyed, and I kinda look like Robert Downey Jr. during any scene from "Less Than Zero."



It's up to me to cut the ice. Last night in San Francisco, we had been talking about a famous porno movie star named Rocco Siffredi; Rocco's pretty much the Michael Jordan of porno right now. Anyway, I don't want to get too graphic here, but Rocco's films have gotten a little more degrading and violent... to the point that one of our buddies claimed that Rocco shoved his co-star's head in a toilet during one sex scene.



Needless to say, we were all so astounded by that story that it became the running joke of the trip. So during a lull at the dinner table, I asked the crowd, "Did anyone get the name of that blackjack dealer who shoved my head in the toilet this afternoon?"



I may be down $450... but at least I got one group laugh.



9:00 p.m.

Geoff and I head back to the Sports Book to monitor the Blazers bet... turns out they're not even showing the game. According to the big scoreboard in the left corner, the Jazz are winning by five at the half. Uh-oh. We decide to walk around the hotel.



9:15 p.m.

At this point, Rio's really heating up: The guys are all decked out, the girls are dressed to the nines... even the well-dressed hookers are prowling around trying to find drunken victims. It's quite a place. If you're young and single and visiting Las Vegas and you don't go to the Rio, you should be arrested. It's that simple.



9:30 p.m.

Back to the Sports Book... Utah's winning by 15 after three quarters and getting the toilet in the visiting locker room ready for Damon Stoudamire's head. At this point, I'm catatonic. Geoff and I sit down at the Book and watch a meaningless Lakers-Warriors game, waiting for a final score. I haven't been this depressed since Reggie Lewis died.



9:45 p.m.

The final: Jazz 91, Blazers 77.



After ten hours, I'm down $550 bucks and feeling like Dirk Diggler during the last hour of "Boogie Nights." No more gambling tonight.



10:00 p.m.

Now I'm back in our room at Rio. My contact lenses are out. I'm watching "Inside Edition" and waiting for "SportsCenter" to come on, but it's an hour away. All my friends are out on the strip gambling and carousing and having fun. The Sports Gal isn't home for the "sympathy" phone call. I'm 0-3 in sports bets. My NCAA champion pick got knocked out in the first round. I'm more than halfway to my "I can't lose more than $1,000"/worst-case scenario limit. And I still have to share a bed with another guy for two nights.



Basically, I've passed the point of depression into outright despair... and there's still a whopping 41 hours left in the trip.



Time to sleep at least ten of those hours off. But not before vowing to myself, "After this weekend, I'm never, ever, EVER gambling again..."



****E-mail me at SPTGUY33 ****



DID SG TURN IT AROUND? DID HE MAKE IT BACK FROM VEGAS ALIVE? DID HE SEEK SOLACE AND COMFORT IN THE ARMS OF A TRANSVESTITE HOOKER? DID HE GET HIS HEAD DUNKED IN A TOILET? FOR THESE ANSWERS AND MORE,

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