OK, the rest will have to wait until Monday.
Have a great weekend.
OK, the rest will have to wait until Monday.
Have a great weekend.
Let's see, where was I . . . oh yes . . . we were heading to the race book . . . .
Surprisingly, the race book was not crowded – at least the betting windows had no lines. All of the little booths had “reserved” signs on them and were filled with rows of 60 year old men who all looked like they’d flown in from upstate New Jersey.
Whale Jo and I walked up to one of the open betting windows and asked for the race card for the Belmont. The sweet gal behind the window gladly handed over hers. Prior to the race, I had already committed myself to laying money down on the #1 horse . . . don’t know why, but that’s the “feeling” I had. The gal told us that she liked 2, 3, and her sleeper was the #7 . . . the only filly in the race. Between us, we dropped about seven bills on this race . . . I’ll leave you in a little suspense as to whether or not any of the tickets we bought paid off.
We still had a little time before the race, so we stopped in at the nice little café/deli shop that’s right behind the race book. I don’t remember what it was called, but it was the absolute perfect place to watch this race. There are big flat screen TVs that you can look at from virtually any seat and most of them had the race tuned in. I got myself a big ole fat cheese steak, adorned it with some splashes of ketchup, sat back and was ready to watch magic happen.
Or at least that is what I was hoping would occur.
As I sank my teeth into the sandwich, I realized I had not had anything to eat since breakfast, earlier in the morning. It made the sandwich all that more scrumptious. So, there we were, getting some much needed food, sipping on some expensive Miller Lights, and waiting for the race to begin. Man, I love anticipation. Oh, and the meal was picked up courtesy of Mr. Whale Jo’s comps at the Wynn . . . .thank you sir.
All of our race tickets were spread out in front of us . . . I think we were really the only ones in the little café interested in watching the race . . .and then, THEY’RE OFF.
The little space in the café we were sitting in came to life.
“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARD, RUUUUUUUNNNNN HARRRRRRRDDDDDDDDD!!!!!” I screamed this out as the race got underway.
I watched in dismay as the one horse fell behind the back.
“COME ON DONKEY!!!!! GET IT GOING NOW BEFORE THEY TURN YOU INTO GLUE!!!!!” Not sure that this comment was appropriate, but money was on the line folks. And my dismay turned to despair as the one horse fell even further back.
And then my dismay turned to sheer disgust as I watched the seven horse – the horse I’d been told I should put some money on - - started making its move.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” I ruined a few lunches by screaming at the top of my lungs. I hadn’t bet the seven horse, and the seven horse won.
I sat still for several second s and caught my breath . . . oh well, I could easily get that money back . . . .
But I hit the afternoon wall . . . you know, where you just cant’ seem to muster the energy to go on? Thankfully we got a call from our gals and they were ready to move on from the pool and get ready for the night’s activities.
On tap? A repeat trip to the Golden Steer – which as you may know, did not turn out so well (which should have been no surprise based on my trip there in April). After the Steer? We were gonna try some gaming at Venetian and Bellagio.
I went up to my room, cleaned up, and put on my evening duds. Just some nice silk pants, silk shirt, and a pair of comfortable leather sandals. Most comfortable Vegas outfit I have. I grabbed all the money I had left stashed in the safe and in a loud and proud voice, told my gal, “Saddle up girl, we’re headin’ to the Riviera”
I sold going there based on the idea that it would be great to see this piece of history - real old Vegas - plus a little cheap craps gambling - a game she really started getting into. Mostly though, I wanted to see if I could exercise the demons from last trip when I vomited money in that place.
I couldn't have been more embarrassed of my choice - how drunk was the crew on the last trip that any of us liked this property? Was it dark when we were there? Were we on drugs? JC on a popsicle stick - we walk into the place and are met with an overwhelming stench fog laced with urine - I guess because most of the patrons in there had either wet their pants or were in the process of wetting themselves. Every table was empty and the dealers all looked like someone had cut their nipples off and replaced them with hot pepper tic tacs. I tried a few tables and lost about $20 in chips - but freakin' every loss I got this look like the dealer thought I had just compromised my last mortgage payment on my 1972 Double Wide Vinyl Express . . How bad was this place? One of the dealers was trying to push the freakin' chess championships they had going on. Compounding the problem was asking one of the zombie cashier people whether or not we could walk to the Sahara . . . "Sure, it no problem sir, just two block, two block down, you go, nice nice."
Yah, two blocks that encompass an entire two miles of strip property - 90+ degrees out - and having to endure the anxiety that every person we passed on that walk was going to jack us up if I didn't move off the entire sidewalk into traffic just so he could pass unabated. I can't wait until they blow that place up.
So, out we went into the desert heat and took the long hard walk between the Riv and Sahara. I don’t remember how long it took . . . at some point I began hallucinating that we’d been transported into Escape from New York . . . I half expected Snake Plissken to jump out from behind one of the several decrepit bus stops . . .
But we made it safely, if not a little dusty and definitely sweaty. Ahhhh, the pleasant sanctuary of the Sahara . . . I could tell she was glad to see me . . . . first order of business was to hit the players card desk and find out if I had racked up any cred from the night before and possible from April’s trip.
“Sir, you have $85 worth of credit to use”
Well tickle me Elmo and call me Grover, if that didn’t just put a little hip in my hop. I could now buy my gal and good and proper gift courtesy of the Sahara gift shop. I came out of the players card area, took her hand, and said, “Come on baby, let’s go shopping!”
To be continued.
Jaco, "the afternoon wall." Indeed. It can be greatly accentuated by 18 holes of golf in 109* temp.
Something I actually hope to experience one of these Vegas trips . . . love golf.
Bad news, bro. All 3 ponies picked by Wendy the Super Prognosticator (or whatever her name was at the book) would have netted ya a nice chunk of change...it went 7, 3, 2. Hmm. Didn't have your ears on, huh? And the #1 horse? Imawildandcrazyguy. You should do more than bet the names.
As good as ever Jaco. A neighbor of mine is a sixty something guy, born and raised in NJ, who spends a couple of hours each morning studying the ponies in the paper. I could easily picture him feeling very comfortable amidst the scenes you describe at the Wynn!
Just went thru & got caught up on your TR and now I've gotta wait until Monday!!!?? Uggghh....It's gonna be a long weekend.....good stuff as always.
Me too! What am I supposed to do when the trip reports are over? I'm stuck here at home, very ill, and these wonderful TR's keep me sane! LOL Good job, I feel like I'm actually there!
I about fell out of my chair laughing at that one line.
Another Jaco masterpiece!! Loved it! ;)
I can't wait to hear her thoughts on your remark of ''Come on baby, let’s go shopping!” You were talking shopping at the Sahara, right?? As I said, can't wait for her response!