A March Madness in Vegas Memoir Part 2: St. Patrick’s Day Madness

---

Josh Brickner shares Part 2 of his March Madness in Vegas Memoirs…

The Preamble

Welcome back, everyone and I hope you enjoyed Part 1 of the March Madness Memoir detailing our adventures at the Hard Rock Cafe’s Hoops Madness watch party.  If you haven’t read Part 1, please go read it before jumping into Part 2.  As with any second part of a series or anthology, you will be lost without the appropriate context and backstory provided in the previous version.

Part 2 will be somewhat different from its predecessor; while March Madness is still at the core of this memoir, we will be describing some St. Patrick’s Day activities that have very little, or nothing, to do with March Madness.  The idea is to give you, the reader, a (mostly) unfiltered glimpse of the perfect storm of revelry that exists in Las Vegas when St. Patrick’s Day and the first two days of NCAA tournament intersect.  Additionally, there will be restaurants and attractions (Pizza Rock & In-n-Out Burger specifically) which will be briefly mentioned as they pertain to our story, but we will reserve a full review to a separate blog post.  Once again, contributions to this post were made by both my wife and me, but the piece will be written in my (Josh’s) voice.  The reason, which will become apparent in coming paragraphs, is I’ve had a serious sports fixation from a very young age.

Day 2: March 17, 2017

A Hard Truth to Confront

A later 7:30 am wake-up was in the cards as there were no open-bar parties today; instead, we were heading downtown to the California Hotel ballroom to meet my cousin Rich.  Rich has friends in the Vegas area and this was all of their preferred spots to take in March Madness.  There would be no complaints from us as we were looking forward to witnessing the St. Patrick’s Day parade on Fremont St.  Around 8:30 am, with our coffee in hand and all morning hygiene necessities completed, we take the elevator down to the Harrah’s lobby.

We encounter the Fulton Street Food Hall while making our way off the elevators.   It’s at this point Wendy says, “Why don’t we stop here and get something to eat?” It was a good suggestion, Fulton Street Food Hall has the bagels, pastries, etc. you would want to coat your stomach on this most reverent of drinking holidays.  “No, look at the line,” I reply.  “We (I) don’t want to miss tipoff of the Michigan game.  I’m sure they will have plenty of cheap options for us to eat at the Cal,” I confidently proclaim as we walk towards the lobby.

“Do you want to see a free show?!”  We don’t break stride as we intentionally ignore the timeshare vulture’s question; today she’s dressed in a festive green outfit to try and lure unsuspecting tourists into her two-hour sales presentation trap.  After reaching the Lyft pickup area; we hop in a car and head downtown to the California Hotel and Casino.

The California Casino is roughly a block away from Fremont St. and is connected to the Main Street Station Hotel and Casino.  When you walk in the main entrance of the California you are greeted by four craps tables surrounded by various slot machines in a smaller room.  You then walk up some small steps onto the main casino floor where you will see the Sports Book bar to your left, all other table games lining both sides of the main walkway, and more slot machines in the back near the escalators.  The escalators take you up to the second floor to the Cal ballroom which would be our home base for the day.

The ballroom was a decent sized area (originally it’s two separate spaces but the divider was down on this day) with roughly twenty eight-top tables.  There were two large, projector screens in the front of each of the separate spaces and two more large projection screens on the far sides of the room.  These four large screens were flanked by roughly eight other smaller televisions strategically placed throughout the room.  There was a snack bar in the back with reasonably priced food and drinks.

 

After exchanging pleasantries with Rich and his friends we walk up to the snack bar to check out our food options.  Unfortunately, all they currently had available at this time of the morning was a breakfast burrito.  The good news was the burrito was only three dollars; the bad news, we got what we paid for in this case.  The burrito was a huge brick resembling those at Chipotle; however, the comparisons stop right there.  The scrambled eggs, potatoes, and sausage inside could not even be generously described as lukewarm and the entire thing tasted like it was made the previous morning.  “We should have stopped at Fulton Street Food Hall,” Wendy declares as she’s enjoying the burrito as much as I am.  Suddenly, a chill rushes down my spine as I must face an extremely difficult truth; the kind of truth no spouse ever wants to say aloud (let alone put in writing); my wife was right (I wanted to make these four words 6 point font size to save space, but my co-writer disagreed for unknown reasons).

That Team up North & My Obnoxious Cousin

It was referenced in Part 1, but just in case you missed the clues: I’m a gigantic fan of the Ohio State Buckeyes and have been pretty much since birth.  When my grandparents would drive me to preschool a few days a week, we would listen to a cassette tape (it was the late 80s) of the Ohio State Marching Band and my favorite song was always We Don’t Give a Damn for the Whole State of Michigan.  Now, was it my favorite song because it gave me carte blanche to swear as a 4-year-old child (my mother always told me to say darn, but other family members said to go for it)?  Possibly, but it underscores the point that when you’re born a Buckeye you are raised to hate Michigan and vice versa.  (In honor of Woody Hayes, Michigan will be primarily referred to herein as that Team up North [TUN] or another adjective befitting of that disgusting place north of Ohio.)  During my March Madness research leading up to the trip, and viewing of conference tournament weekend, I had noticed the scumbags up North had not only been on a roll which culminated with them winning the Big Ten tourney, but were only two and a half point favorites against what most experts viewed as a weak Oklahoma St. team.  Initially, I was hesitant about siding with a mortal enemy; however, it was just business and feuds needed to be put aside if I had any chance of leaving Nevada with some of Vegas’ money.  Therefore, in my Samsung Galaxy S6 memo titled March Madness Betting Leans, I added “A-holes up North -2.5,” to my list of desired bets.

“I made an awful choice with this burrito,” I thought to myself as Oklahoma St. and TUN were playing a back-and-forth, evenly matched first half.  TUN makes a three and I let out a cheer which was not well received by my cousin Rich, “Why in the hell are you cheering for Michigan?!”  He asked in a very demanding and forceful tone.

“I have them -2.5,” I calmly reply.

“WHAT KIND OF OHIO STATE FAN CHEERS FOR TUN?!!!”  Now much more visibly annoyed and upset.

“It’s all business,” I again calmly reply.

The rest of the game was excruciating, not just because it was a close contest, but my cousin’s contentious cheering for Oklahoma St. (he did have a moneyline bet on them) and repeating of the same phrase (“I can’t believe you bet on Michigan.”) every five minutes was exhausting, to say the least.  We were both on conflicting sides of this bet, however, the respectful opponent environment present at the table yesterday with four strangers was painfully absent thanks to my own family member today.  He even tried to twist the knife more by claiming our grandfather would roll over in his grave had he knew I bet on TUN.  I immediately rebuffed him as during the 2004 Rose Bowl my grandfather had not only lectured my brother and I about supporting the Big 10 (even TUN) in postseason play or bowl games but bet both of us a dollar that Michigan would win the game.  Thinking this might put an end to Rich’s nonsense, I wait for his reply… “I STILL can’t believe you…”

“YA, I GET IT!” I forcefully interrupted as my limit for times I could stand him repeating the same phrase was 100 and that was 101.  Unfortunately for my cousin, his actions reminded me of another obnoxious individual from more than 12 hours ago.  The last minute of the game was grueling as TUN would be up four or five, Oklahoma St. would hit a shot to close it to two or three and immediately foul.  TUN would make one or both free throws and the whole process would start over again.

With six seconds left, Oklahoma St. makes a layup to cut the lead to 2 points (a loss for my -2.5 bet) and immediately fouls Michigan to put them on the foul line for two shots.  The anxiousness in the ballroom, and especially at our table, could be cut with a knife as he steps to the line.  First foul shot is up… and good as I pump my fist and mostly cheers come from the California Ballroom; the second shot is good with just under four seconds left to go.  Rich’s moneyline bet was all but dead at this point as Oklahoma St. was now down two possessions (four points) and only had time for one.  I stand up to watch the last few seconds as the Oklahoma St. player takes the inbound pass, dribbles to just past half court and heaves a shot from just inside half court… swish, TUN wins by 1 and my bet is lost.  The room lets out a big gasp with a few cheers mixed in as  I immediately pound my fist on the table and let out a string of expletives to describe the cesspool up North that would make Andrew Dice Clay blush.  Simultaneously, Rich burst out in a booming laughter which can only be described as a cross between a stoned hyena and a title character from the movie Mean Girls.

Almost immediately after my tirade against the worst state in the Union ended, a guy in his mid-twenties comes sprinting in the Cal ballroom, literally jumping for joy as he does a victory lap screaming “I THOUGHT I LOST, I THOUGHT IT WAS OVER, BUT I WON!!!”  Today, I’m happy for this guy as, unlike Rich, he wasn’t trying to be an asshat and was genuinely ecstatic a buzzer-beating miracle had kept Vegas from taking his money.  However, on March 17, 2017, that was the last straw as I storm out of the ballroom with my hands on my head fuming with anger.

You would think that Rich witnessing me experience the worst beat of the tournament would be enough, but of course, it was not.  I was welcomed back to the ballroom with him making a video on his phone where he repeats (surprise, surprise) all of his greatest hits from the last hour and describes, in true jackass form, what just happened and how I lost my bet.   At the end of the video, Rich asks me how I felt about it and turned his phone in my direction; I wait for a few seconds and give him the one-finger salute he very much deserved.  Rich, worried he wouldn’t get the gold medal for being a jerk that day, sent that video to twenty members of my immediate and extended family to secure his place atop the podium.

The Zona Brothers & St. Patrick’s Day Parade

To say I needed a change of scenery would have been an understatement; luckily, the St. Patrick’s Day Parade on Fremont St. was about half an hour from stepping off at noon.  We stop by the newly renovated Sportsbook bar at the Cal to grab a drink for the walk (only in Vegas sentence) and to, unfortunately, see that Baylor was destroying New Mexico State (+12.5) and that would be another loss.  Trying to shake off my 0-2 start for the day on the walk over to Fremont, we settle in at the Stage Bar right outside of the Golden Nugget.  The Stage Bar was the perfect spot for this beautiful St. Patrick’s Day, not only was it right on the “parade route,” but they had roughly six televisions stretched across the bar showing all March Madness contests simultaneously to the several dozen patrons.  While awaiting the start of the parade, we start talking with four brothers from Arizona.  Their stacks of empty 24 oz. beer cups were not only being used as makeshift cup holders for their current beers but let us know they’ve had a productive St. Patrick’s Day morning.

The topic on everyone’s lips was the only in Vegas March Madness moment from half an hour ago that seemed to derail a few of the brothers as well.  I, of course, tell them how Scarlet and Gray courses through my veins, Rich’s annoyance, and that my hatred for Michigan now rivaled how the Hatfields and McCoys felt about one another.  It was then one of the brothers spoke up, “Well, that’s not as bad as losing the last leg of a parlay to win $500 by half a point!”

“Oh my god, that’s awful.  What team did that to you?”  I responded as the least I could do was provide a sympathetic ear to someone else’s tale of March Madness betting misery.

“Unfortunately, it was my (Arizona) Wildcats last night.  We had them at -18.5 and, of course, they can’t score on the last possession and only win by 18 and cost us each over $100 in potential profit.”  He explained as he looked down at the mostly empty beer which would soon be added to his stacked cup collection.

“I’m really sorry, that’s the worst… half a point.” I respond in a compassionate tone, “Vegas knows all.”

“The kicker is my brother Jim was really pissed, he’s a diehard (Arizona) State fan and hates the University of Arizona with a passion.  Watch this…” as he looks over in Jim’s direction and shouts “Hey, Jim; how about that Zona game last night?!”

Jim comes barreling over to where his brother was standing and while only a few feet away screams “FORGET (he didn’t say forget) ZONA,” at the top of his lungs. This was immediately followed by an unending parade of curse words in describing the University of Arizona which is not fit for print and reminded me of my own outburst just thirty minutes ago.  “…there’s nothing worse than putting faith in your bitter rival and having that cost you money,” as Jim ends his rant and finally takes a breath.

“I promise you, right now I know EXACTLY how you feel,” as we all erupt in laughter.

Moments after our conversation ended, a police office on a bicycle rode by to clear out a path for the parade.  A minute later, we hear the sound of bagpipes and see the grand marshal make his way towards us dressed in full St. Patrick’s Day garb.  The parade featured a combination of Las Vegas Local 1285 and the Nevada Emerald Society playing a traditional Irish tune on the bagpipes and drums, the grand marshal riding by in a convertible, and a vintage fire truck.  When Wendy and I talked of the parade in the months of anticipation leading up to the trip, we both imagined a longer, more substantial display of Irish pride.  However, the duration of the parade was perfect as it was free of the usual clutter of participants which would have taken away from what seemed to be the focal point of the parade: a way to honor the local firefighting community.

 

 

 

A Different Kind of Madness

By the time the parade had concluded, both Wendy and I needed another adult beverage.  I immediately walk to the Stage Bar and ordered two Vodka & Sprites… little did I know I would be extremely thankful I had not waited another ten minutes.  Drinks in hand, I rejoin my lovely wife to check on the rest of my bets.  Iona (+15) was doing work in the second half to erase a twenty-seven point deficit against Oregon, SMU (-6) had built an early lead over USC, and Jacksonville St. (+19.5) was hanging tough with Louisville in the first half.  I had stand-alone bets placed on the spreads for both Iona and SMU, while I had a two team parlay with SMU and Jacksonville St.  A hopeful feeling came over me as a win on all three of these bets could turn the day around and get that losing taste from my mouth; unfortunately, point spreads and parlays would be the least of my concerns for the next 15 minutes.

“BACK UP, EVERYBODY GET BACK,” I hear someone shout a few feet away as I notice two men causing a commotion near the bar.  With my adrenaline kicking into high gear, I immediately grab Wendy as we both very quickly backpedal away from the bar and head across the street in front of Binion’s.  Once a safe distance away, we notice two men standing right next to Stage Bar, about ten feet away from one another, both in ready-to-throw down position.  One man was over six feet tall, with long black hair, and was wearing a leather vest over a black t-shirt with a menacing look on his face; the other guy was much shorter, wearing only a t-shirt and shorts, and was sporting a look of grave concern.  It took only a few moments for the shorter gentleman to realize he had poked the wrong bear that afternoon.   The tall man reaches his right hand towards his belt buckle…  Now, it only might have taken him a few seconds to reach down there, but with my heart beating a million miles a minute it felt much longer.  The entire crowd looked on in anticipatory horror as the scene could turn dire quickly depending on what he pulled from that belt buckle.  Some gasped in fear while others in relief as he pulled out a gigantic hunting knife from a carrying case on his waist.  There was no relief on the part of the shorter man as he immediately sprinted past the entrance to Golden Nugget and stopped outside of a discount t-shirt store where he grabbed one of the line queue stanchions to defend himself.  The guy brandishing the knife takes off in the direction of the shorter man and suddenly, for reasons only known to himself, stops dead in his tracks right in front of the Golden Nugget’s entrance, lays down flat on his stomach while tossing the knife away, and places his hands interlocked behind his back as the shorter man flees from the scene.

A security team from the Golden Nugget immediately comes outside to diffuse the situation and detain the obviously troubled man is what SHOULD have happened.  In reality, Crocodile Dundee lay in an arrest-ready position five feet away from Golden Nugget’s entrance for several minutes literally waiting to be apprehended.  Security from Golden Nugget only emerged when a concerned onlooker ran inside to inform them of the situation.  Look, I understand a casino’s chief concern is their bottom line and most of security’s resources go towards ensuring Rain Man and Zach Galifianakis are not counting cards at the blackjack table.  However, the fact Golden Nugget was completely oblivious to a man brandishing a deadly weapon at one of their bars is absolutely unacceptable.  The Golden Nugget and all those responsible for security on Fremont Street MUST take better steps to watch over those visitors NOT at the tables.  Had the man pulled something different from his belt buckle, or kept chasing after the shorter man in a fit of rage, we could be having a completely different conversation right now.  Thankfully, the Las Vegas PD showed up and took him away.

Grateful that Wendy, myself, and everyone else had escaped the situation unharmed, I barely notice when Iona misses a three-point field goal as time expires causing them to lose by 16 and me to lose my wager.  For the first time since yesterday morning at 8:30 am, March Madness was not the first topic on anyone’s lips as it had taken a backseat to the bizarre chain of events that just unfolded.  Apparently, the man with the knife, who was drunk and/or extremely mentally disturbed, had been in the area all morning dumping alcohol on the ground around people just looking for a fight.  It is unknown how, but he did something to upset the shorter man enough to the point where he was compelled to sucker punch the taller man right in front of the Stage Bar thus setting up the scene for all that followed.

Friendly Faces

Wendy and I are recollecting our wits outside of Stage Bar when we notice two people walking out that same Golden Nugget entrance… it was Evan and Isaac!  They are a welcome sight and we immediately jump into the conversation as if yesterday had never ended.  We invite them back to the Cal ballroom as it’s soon discovered they also have a bet on SMU -6.  On the walk, we witness the final stages of our knife-wielding friend getting placed in the back of a police cruiser.

In reviewing the day’s fortunes with Evan and Isaac back at the Cal, I’m happy to find out they are killing it thus far after having a tough day yesterday.  I am 0-3 for the day, however, I’m still hopeful because in the 2^nd half Jacksonville State is pushing Louisville to the max while SMU (-6) has a ten point lead on USC.  Rich and his friends triumphantly return to the ballroom after a successful session of pai gow poker and we all settle in to watch our fortunes decided.  The situation starts to look murky as Louisville really turns up their intensity in the last few minutes of the game; thankfully, Jacksonville State “holds on” to only lose the game by 15 points.  Unfortunately, similar to a sinking boat where another leak springs up immediately after fixing one, SMU had not only lost their ten point lead, but they were now in an extremely tight contest with USC.  The game ends and… USC wins the game by 1 point and my betting record for the day now stands at 0-5 (Jacksonville State covered, but since they were a parlay bet with SMU, the bet was lost when SMU did not cover the spread).  That same optimism I felt fifteen minutes ago had violently mutated into a chorus of self-defeating pessimism. “I’m sick of losing, I’m never betting on college basketball again,” I loudly pronounce (blatantly lie) to everyone while watching USC celebrate.  A similar rant a few minutes later is interrupted by Rich’s friend who walks over and hands me a stack of tissues stating, “Looks like you could use these…”  The whole table, myself included, breaks into laughter as some self-deprecating humor might be exactly what I needed to turn my luck around.

Some Perspective & Pizza Rock

Turning around the karma for the day would have to take a backseat to the current demands of my stomach.  Apparently, drinking a decent amount of vodka after only eating half of a terrible breakfast burrito was not a winning combination.  We set our sights on Pizza Rock after bidding adieu to Evan and Isaac as Rich and his friends retreated back to the Pai Gow table.  Arriving at Pizza Rock, we see that their happy hour starts at 3:00 pm and it was only 2:30 pm.  Luckily, the annual Firefighter Games outside of next-door Hogs & Heifers were about to begin.  A bartender from Hogs & Heifers kicks off the event by asking for a moment of silence to read the firefighter’s prayer.  The heavy words of the prayer really hit home; my complaints about losing a few bets in a row while on a Vegas Vacation (no matter how soul-crushing one of them may have been) pales in comparison to the life-and-death decisions these men and women must make for themselves and others in their profession.

The bartender leads a toast to all firefighters immediately following the prayer to usher back in the festive atmosphere and begin the competition.  The first event was fire hose bowling and it is exactly what it sounds like; each member of the different teams would throw a rolled up fire hose towards ten pins and the team that knocked over the most pins would win that round.  To say this event was a treat to watch would be an understatement; some of the firefighters would implore laser-like focus in their approach as if they were on the PBA tour while others were more concerned with not spilling their beers and steadying themselves.  Predictably, either approach got mostly the same result: the hose would come undone right before reaching the pins.  The crowd did not seem to mind; even those watching from the Downtown Grand rooftop pool would let out a collective “Aww” when the hose would fall short and erupted in thunderous applause when a few competitors were able to break through and hit some pins.  All in all this is a great event and I would recommend stopping by if you are downtown on St. Patrick’s Day.

 

As much fun as we were having to watch the games, the struggle was real and I needed food ASAP.  At 3:01 pm we arrive at Pizza Rock when I believe I notice some bad news on the television at the bar.  Rhode Island (+1.5) appeared to be behind Creighton 60-47; I just laugh it off as I prepare to go 0-6 for the day as we walk to our seat.  Luckily, my vodka-impaired vision misread the score from afar as Rhode Island was actually ahead 47-40 in the game.  “I need a glass of ice water please,” I reply to the server’s drink request as my H2O intake for the day was well below the required amount for binge drinking in the 80-degree heat.  Thankfully, a personal bacon pizza (delicious) and a pitcher of ice water did the trick and (combined with a Gatorade upon returning to the Cal) allowed my stomach to rally and continue enjoying St. Patrick’s Day.  In better news, Rhode Island won the game by 12 points; easily covering the spread and giving me my first win of the day.  While I was beyond pleased to win $40 for myself, the game had much more importance to others as Rhode Island was the 6^th bet for Cameron and Mike’s eight team parlay.  Meaning, in the simplest terms, they were two successful wagers away from winning $28,000.

Let it Ride & Dayton +6

We return to the Cal to find Rich and friends about to sit down at a Let it Ride table.  I’ve never played Let it Ride; however, Rich informs me this was our grandfather’s favorite casino game and that’s more than enough for me to throw some money on the table.  The game was simple to learn and enjoyable; Wendy isn’t a huge fan of table games outside of blackjack and even she had a blast.  More importantly, the table had a great view of the Dayton (+6) and Wichita State contest.  I had my usual low-roller, budgeted $44 bet on Dayton with the spread and this was the 7^th bet of Cameron and Mike’s eight team parlay.

Things could not be going better as Dayton had a two-point lead at halftime while our Let it Ride dealer was not only friendly and energetic but helping some of us win money as well.  Regrettably, especially in Sin City, all good things must come to an end.  Our dealer took a thirty-minute break and apparently took her bubbling personality and good luck along.   The card’s dealt by the replacement sadly matched this new dealer’s personality; flat and uninspiring.  Our favorite dealer would eventually return; however, by that point, the damage had been done and only one of Rich’s friend walked away from the table with their original buy-in.  To make matters worse, Wichita State had turned things around and now held a six-point lead with over five minutes left.  I could sense the level of anxiousness for Cameron, Mike, and friends all the way from the strip as we headed up to the Cal ballroom.

I’m glad I didn’t remember Cameron or Mike saying they had issues with high blood pressure and/or blocked arteries because they might not have survived the last five minutes of this game.  Dayton would make a shot to cut the lead to two or three only to be immediately answered by Wichita State hitting a clutch shot to keep the Flyers at arm’s length.  Finally, with about 25 seconds left and down by 7, Dayton had no choice but to begin intentionally fouling Wichita State; Cameron and Mike’s chance at $28,000 would come down to 18-22 year old’s ability to make foul shots.  Wichita State’s shooter splits the first two free throws to put the lead to 8; Dayton would not go quietly as their star guard makes a driving layup while being fouled.  After making the ensuing free throw, Dayton was down only 5; again they foul and the shooter for the Shockers only makes one of two free throws and Dayton is down 6.  Much to the delight of Dayton bettors, and the chagrin of Wichita State’s head coach, the Shockers stupidly foul the Dayton player and are only up by 4 points after he makes both free throws.  There are ten seconds left when Dayton fouls; the first free throw for Wichita State…is good, the second also goes down and now Wichita State is ahead by 6.  The clock ticks down towards expiration as Dayton’s star player lines up a three point shot (the few seconds the ball was in the air seem like an eternity) that is no good.  Wichita State grabs the rebound and the game is over; Dayton loses by six points meaning it’s a push.  For me, I would simply be refunded my $44 dollars; for Cameron and Mike things got a little more complicated.  The good news was their parlay was still alive; unfortunately, it was now only a 7 team parlay and their potential winnings were cut almost in half to $14,600.

A Broken Promise & ONE MORE BET

Remember how earlier I was done putting any new bets on college basketball?  Well, it only took three hours for me to welch on that declaration; I add the Michigan State moneyline (as did Rich) and Kent State (+ 18.5) to the South Carolina (-1.5) bet I made a few days earlier.  The first six minutes of the Michigan State and Miami game couldn’t have gotten off to a more miserable start as Miami looked to be in total control ahead 17-5.  It is then decided a group trip to the craps table would turn around our fortunes in the game and/or we’d be stacking so many chips at the table we would not mind.   With no particular evidence outside of hope and bravado, I declare to Rich’s friend, who is a Michigan State alum, that by the time we return Michigan State would have the lead.  The tables at the Cal were packed to the brim, so we head next door to Main Street Station.

Two watered down drinks were all Rich, his friend, and I had to show for our thirty-minute session at the craps table.  During our flogging at the dice table we did not get a chance to check on the score of the Michigan State game; much to our delight the Spartans not only got themselves back into the game but now led Miami by 11 points at halftime!  After hanging around the casino for another ten minutes my phone starts buzzing on our walk back to the California Ballroom… and it’s Cameron!  I had sent him a good luck text before the last game of their parlay began and he had replied back with an emoji of four birds I didn’t quite recognize at first.  Wendy immediately realized these were gamecocks, which made sense since all that stood between them and $14,600 was South Carolina beating Marquette by two points or more.

Frank Martin: The Man, The Myth, The Legend

I could not imagine the pressure Cameron was under at that exact moment as South Carolina (-1.5) was the bet he had chosen for their parlay.  If the game did not turn out the right way, not only would he miss out on his share of over $14,000, but would have to endure a lifetime of grief from his friends for being the reason they came so close to only get left with nothing.  Cameron had chosen South Carolina for three reasons: first, and most important, the game was being played in Greenville, SC and the Gamecocks would be enjoying a semi-home court advantage usually not afforded to lower seeded tournament teams.  The other two reasons were more sentimental: Cameron had grown up in South Carolina and he, like myself, was a great admirer of South Carolina’s head coach: Frank Martin.  The reason for the admiration is simple:  Frank Martin coaches the game of college basketball with a level of intensity and heart few can match.  Less than 24 hours before (when the friends winning the long shot parlay seemed unlikely) I had assured Cameron if they were in this present spot, Frank Martin would not let them down.  South Carolina was initially testing my unbridled confidence as they trailed by 10 halfway through the 1^st half.

As some of you already know, this story has a happy ending; South Carolina fights back as the first half closes to cut the deficit to one point.  The Gamecocks then, fueled by the home-state crowd, turn up their defensive intensity in the second half on the way to an impressive twenty-point win (and an improbable run to the Final Four).  Cameron, Mike, and their five other friends had beaten extremely long odds (176 to 1) and won over $14,000.  What was it like for those guys watching the last two games you may ask, well, according to Mike:

“Oh man.  So we pushed the Dayton bet, it came down to all those free throws at the end.  That was tense.  Then we all gathered in the room for the finale, which was Cameron’s bet on South Carolina, who hadn’t won a tourney game in 40+ years.”

“Cameron’s bet…hadn’t won a tourney game in 40+ years.”  Mike’s quote, even more than a month later, reiterates just how much pressure was riding on Cameron’s shoulders during that game.  Because of this, I expected Cameron to describe how he was taking slow, deep breaths into a paper bag throughout most of the game.  However, Cameron simply describes the event as “…one of the best nights of my life… literally.  What a ride.”  How did the friends celebrate their VERY good fortune that evening?  I’m not sure as I’d never ask nor publish such private details.  Everyone will just have to use their imaginations to envision how seven guys who just won $14,600 would celebrate on a Friday evening in Sin City.

 

Basketball Ends, St. Patrick’s Day Continues

The day ended much better than it began on the betting front; Michigan State had won against Miami, Kent St (+18.5) held on to only lose by 17, and of course, South Carolina covered easily. Hopefully, this positive momentum could carry into Saturday and Sunday.  After saying goodbye to Rich and his friends we hopped in a Lyft and headed back to Harrah’s.  Upon returning to Harrah’s, Wendy and I decided to try our luck on a few slot machines. Immediately after sitting down, I notice a stray betting ticket between the slot machines next to an empty Miller Lite bottle and ashtray.  A closer examination of the ticket makes me shake my head and laugh as it reads, Michigan -2; even more than 12 hours later, the end of that god forsaken game continues to troll me.  Considering this a bad omen, Wendy and I begin a journey towards the glorious burger haven known to most as simply In-n-Out.

The Piano Bar at Harrah’s is a favorite of both Wendy and me; therefore, when we walked past and saw/heard the fantastic time being had by all, it was a no-brainer to join.  We find two spots on the railing right outside the Piano Bar so we could soak in the atmosphere without having to purchase an expensive drink; and let me tell you, what an atmosphere it was.  Patrons were singing along to hits from Journey, AC/DC, and others per usual, but you could feel something a little more magical in the air this evening.  Maybe it was the combination of Friday night and St. Paddy’s Day in Vegas, but folks were singing a little louder, wearing their smiles a little wider, and the drunk dancing was (as the kids would say) turnt up!  It’s on the dance floor where we notice three heavily intoxicated friends (two guys, one girl) who appeared to be thoroughly enjoying dancing amongst themselves and with almost every other person who wandered out on the dance floor.  These three friends leave the bar and start to get VERY… ahem… friendly with one another right between the restrooms and the gaming tables.  The three then vanish from sight and the phrase “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” more than likely summed up the rest of their evening.

 

The Journey through the Linq Promenade & a Situation Handled at In-n-Out Burger

With our voices sore from singing Don’t Stop Believing at the top of our lungs and our stomachs growling for some animal-style fries, we depart the Piano Bar and begin walking to In-n-Out Burger.  The atmosphere at Carnival Court and in the Linq casino mimic that of the Piano Bar with everyone taking the debauchery up a level.  However, all of this was child’s play compared to the scene awaiting us at the Linq promenade.

The sea of humanity standing shoulder-to-shoulder directly in front and around O’Sheas (probably the most well-known Irish bar in Vegas) was as sight to see as the stench of stale beer and shattered dreams wafted through the air. A draft beer truck and several other mobile alcohol service stations lined this area as it looked (and smelled) like everyone was having the time of their lives; if the Piano Bar was turnt up, the Linq Promenade was turnt all the way up!  During our walk, we notice a couple enjoying a spirited drunken make out session and two different sets of parents trying to navigate their gigantic strollers through the congestion; only one of these three things belongs on the Las Vegas Strip around midnight on St. Patrick’s Day.  Thankfully, we survive the drunken hordes, excessive PDA, and questionable parenting to reach our destination.

We are beyond pleased to find a very short line at In-n-Out Burger and are through the line and order our food in no time.  While waiting for our order to be called near the counter, I notice a security guard standing a few feet away.  For a minute, I wonder to myself why they even need a security guard here; well, that question was answered quickly as we hear a ruckus near the entrance.  It appears two bros had run into each other and, after some unintelligible words back and forth, they both discover their beer muscles and, for the second time today, it’s on.  The security guard was having none of this as, without hesitation, she immediately places herself between the gentlemen (using that term loosely).  When one of them still wants to fight, the short, female security guard wastes no time throwing him down like a rag doll (he was pretty good sized) while another security team member comes inside to subdue the second man as all four head outside.  The situation was handled by security in just under a minute or about ten times shorter than our noontime knife fight on Fremont St.  Look, we’re huge fans of downtown Las Vegas and the positive changes it has undergone over the past decade; however, the stark contrast in how both of these situations were addressed (or not addressed) by security is probably one of the biggest differences between the Strip and Fremont St.

AM I REALLY SEEING THIS?!

It’s around 12:15 am when we finish our delicious meal at In-N-Out and head back towards Harrah’s to call it a night.  As we approach the entrance to the Mardi Gras Tower elevators, we spot a security guard sitting on a chair by the entrance checking room keys.  Some were annoyed as, unlike your four-star and higher-end resorts, Harrah’s doesn’t usually follow this practice.  However, both of us are pleased as we found out (twice!) today that additional security measures were only a good thing.  I stop for a minute to retrieve my room key from my wallet; as I look up, I notice, about five feet away from me, one of the most ridiculous, asinine situations I’ve ever seen in Vegas… a young woman with a very young infant in a Baby Bjorn carrier just off the casino floor.  Am I hallucinating?  (Did I drink too much Vodka today?  Was it 12:30 pm instead of 12:30 am?)  I am absolutely incredulous as I hand my key to the security guard and go wait for the elevator.  Wendy immediately looks at me and smiles as she knows I’d just witnessed the most brazen example of my biggest Vegas pet peeve of keeping children in the casino at all hours of the night.  The nanosecond the elevator doors close (and it’s just the two of us) I go on an epic, solo rant regarding what we had just witnessed; “A BABY FLIPPIN [didn’t say flippin] BJORN AT MIDNIGHT ON ST. PATRICK’S DAY…” is all I can remember from the tirade two months later (and probably the following morning).  I do know my outburst must have been hilarious; when the elevator door opens, and my diatribe is winding down, Wendy can barely stand from laughing so hard while the four young women dressed to the nines waiting to take the elevator down look at us like we’re crazy.

Day 2 in the Books

While today was a fantastic day for making Vegas memories, the March Madness betting could have gone MUCH better.  However, I could take solace in the fact I had won my last three bets and could carry that momentum into tomorrow.  As I drift off to sleep, I begin to plan out the bets that would get me back to winning side of the ledger.  Unfortunately, you know what they say about the best-laid plans…

[Photos: Josh Brickner]