Normally, I'm not a gambler. My family plays poker for M&M's instead of cash, so the game's more about the willpower to avoid eating your winnings than about luck or strategy. Beyond M&M poker, I rarely make bets for more than 25 cents, and it's not hard to imagine how rarely quarter bets are paid up.
You can see why I was hesitant about hitting Las Vegas for a weekend to celebrate my darling roommate's 21st birthday. What on earth was I going to do? Feed my hard-earned laundry money into dingy slot machines while she worked the craps tables, hitting on playboys and sipping free cocktails? Hardly appealing.
But, in the interest of roommate solidarity and a patriotic concern for the Nevada economy, I threw my tackiest clothes into a suitcase and hopped on a plane. We'd see who would viva -- Las Vegas or me.
Three days, two nights, seven casinos and countless drinks later, the score stood something like this: Me -- $5 richer, Vegas -- one devotee stronger. The M&M-and-quarter gambler had found that being a sports fan in Vegas was a lot like your first bite of Arch's: one spoonful and TCBY never looks as good again.
You step off the plane in Vegas and two things grab your attention: The rows of slot machines glistening throughout the terminals and the odds screens, with the spread of every football game, horse race, baseball game or golf tournament (I'm serious here) up-to-date and at your fingertips. I was miles from the strip and already my credit cards were starting to vibrate in my wallet. I swear I heard my purse whisper: Why not back up that team pride with a little cash, Jess?
Luckily, the sound of falling quarters from a nearby winning slot snapped me back from the abyss. I would have to wait until I actually touched Nevada soil to start throwing my money around.
You've heard about the lights of Vegas, the glamour and the glitz. But did anyone ever tell you that the entire city is like one giant ESPN ticker? I'm not just talking about the ESPN Zone nestled between New York, New York and the Monte Carlo. I'm talking about every casino floor, every bar and every lobby. I could keep one eye on my roommate at the craps table and the other on the Virginia -- Wake Forest game, with constantly updated scores, spreads and predictions.
Forget waiting for :28 and :58. I had every game I wanted right in front of me. And did I mention the free drinks?
Saturday night, I had four messages from people back East, telling me about the Cavs and the Cubs and all the other teams that I live by. But it was all old news to me -- even though for the first Saturday in a month, I hadn't watched a single down of football. Not one! And here I was, twice as informed on the state of the sports nation as you'll ever find me in Charlottesville. The real kicker came Sunday, which we spent at the Hard Rock Hotel a little ways off the strip. The casino floor at the Hard Rock is almost unique in that it is a huge circular room, nothing like the mazes at Circus Circus or gilded curtains at the Bellagio. This meant that from anywhere in the casino you could see the sports betting area. A theater-sized screen, split into one main game and four others down the sides, smaller monitors for horse races and the flashing LED lights of the odds board. In front of this sports information overload were about 30 Lay-Z-Boy armchairs with cup-holders and little desks for notes, betting sheets and a cigar ashtray.
It was like combining the best parts of a living room with your favorite sports bar, upping the stakes with money on every point. I didn't have to worry about a housemate coming in and begging me to switch channels so she could catch another rerun of Friends. No one would ever ask, "Who's playing? What's the score? What sport is this?" And again, those free drinks.
I might still be sitting in that leather chair, stuttering crazily about the idiocy of NFL referees if I hadn't gotten a load of Mike. Mike was the guy in the Lay-Z-Boy down the row. I only know his name because he kept talking to himself, cursing his picks and how much money he was losing and how awful his teams were. Mike looked like he hadn't slept in eight days and was living entirely off Long Island Iced Teas.
I glanced up at the scoreboard: The Skins, the Cubs and Virginia had all won the games that counted this weekend. I was one happy girl, quickly becoming addicted to the combination of sports and cash. But when I glanced at Mike, I saw only a tragic future. So I extracted myself from the chair, silently thanked Vegas for the lesson in sports overload, and went to find my roommate.
When I found her, I half hoped she would ask me who was playing, what the score was, what sports were in season. Look around Vegas, I'd tell her. Pretty soon you'll know the score.
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