Can’t Lose for Winning

CITY OF CHAMPIONS – Considering some members of our kickball team have never paid homage to the city of living dreams, and may be casting serious doubt over the prospect, due to the apparent aftermath of such an excursion, evidenced by the state of several individuals last night, I offer the following in defense of the glittering palisades of southern nevada…

Hunter Thompson describes Las Vegas like this… “There was madness in any direction, at any hour. You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning.”

Michael Herr said… “It’s a corny old gag about Las Vegas, the emporal city if there ever was one, trying to camouflage the hours and retard the dawn, when everybody knows that if you’re feeling lucky you’re really feeling time in its rawest form, and if you’re not feeling lucky, they’ve got a clock at the bus station.”

For a twenty-something from Boston, it’s a giant playground. The awe some felt at age 7, waddling around Disney World and happening upon a life-size Mickey Mouse, is mirrored in a way-too-realistic Elvis-siting or casual celebrity encounter.

I once was on my way to a meeting in Cambridge, Friday morning, and was running about 15 minutes late (hard to believe, I know), until I realized that the meeting had been pushed back one hour, so I had some time to kill. I sent a text to some friends who were just starting their three-day weekend in the City of Lights, …living vicariously was my intent.

Seconds later, my phone rings. I answer, but there’s a flood of bells, and whistles, and white noise on the other end. Finally, a man’s voice, that I almost recognize, yells into my friend Jessica’s phone… “Hello?”. I yell back “Yes? Hello? Who is this?”. The person in possession of my friend’s phone seems to find a quieter corner of whatever place he’s at and asks “Is this Shannon?” There’s some more indiscernable chatter, then…”Oh, Shallan? Is this Shallan?”.

I reply “Yes.” Not a little confused.

“This is Matt McConnaughey, I’m hanging out with your friends at ESPN Zone, in town promoting my new movie Sahara, why aren’t you here?”

My first instinct, of course, is to call out “Shenanigans!”. I think, is it Jimmy? Andrew? Any of the other pranksters Jess is used to hanging out with? Could it just be a random, with a dead-on impression? Then I remember I was once at the same table as Vince Vaughan in Bellagio’s Light, and I saw Wilmer Valderama lose an unhealthy sum of chips at a craps table in MGM, swearing it wasn’t his money. Finally, I accept the fact that I’m on the phone with a movie star because, well…my friends are in Vegas, and anything is possible. A desperately uninteresting conversation follows, further solidifying that I was talking to the real thing, then we telephonically part ways.

No one lives in Vegas. You’re in a time warp. It’s a great big waiting room with lots of toys. For those of us who have to work for a living, it is a vacationland where one minute past 72 hours, and you’ve over-stayed your welcome.

The air you breathe is charged with electricity, bulging your eyes so you can take everything in. When your chip stacks are tall, you sense magic in your hands. When they’re low, the twinkle in your eye promises fortune at the next turn.

It’s like when you’re lined up at the beirut table, pong ball in hand, fate of your team rested squarely upon your shoulders, and you with the knowledge that no matter what happens, it’s going in.

The previous tirade might be a little heady for an early morning, and for that, I apologize. The point of the relation was to not let anyone scare you from possibly the greatest trip you’ll ever take. (Best to travel in numbers…more likely to be able to piece together events).

Viva Las Vegas!!!