It’s been a long time since I walked through the terminal and straight onto the plane, but after leaving Seattle behind schedule and after waiting in an interminable 45-minute security line at SeaTac airport—thanks for opening 1 out of 4 security stations, SeaTac!—that’s exactly what many of us did. I didn’t get a breakfast sandwich or cocktail, but there was still room in the overhead for my carry-on. And did you know they serve cocktails on the plane? Amazing.
We organizers have been talking for a few years about giving the Downtown Grand a try, and this fall, thanks to some pretty good room rates posted in the late spring, we went for it. The bad news: they don’t have connecting rooms with 2 twins in each room. The good news: everything else. We got adjoining rooms in the Casino Tower. The rooms were a little smaller than the room I shared with my wife in the Grand Tower this summer (though that was a corner room, so maybe the comparison isn’t fair), but it was clean and comfortable and in great shape. After unpacking, G-$, Jonny Reno and I wandered downstairs to dip our feet in the video poker pool while Miles wandered up the street to claim his room at the Main Street Station.
In 2006, I had the kind of Friday night gambling results that defined the trip—in a very bad way. I woke up that morning with a head full of regret and a wallet full of nothing. That night defined the rest of the trip, because my severely diminished stake simply couldn’t fade any more disasters.
In 2018, I had another trip-defining Friday night, but this time, in a very good way. Dang, that was lucky!
I opened up by claiming some free play from the DTG ($5 courtesy of our hotel stay, and $10 courtesy of the LVA POV) and by hitting 4 9’s while playing some 8/5 Bonus next to Jonny Reno. The cocktail service picked up right where it had left off last summer, served by at least one cocktailer I recognized. Not only were they super-swift, but they weren’t afraid to flash a bit of personality. As I dropped an empty into the adjacent garbage can, a passing cocktailer asked me in mock shock, “You mad?” as the bottle crashed into the rubbish beneath. Jonny Reno and I shared a big laugh and fist bump when we said in unison, “You mad, bro?” to describe a potential improvement in her delivery. When she passed again later, I tried to time another bottle drop, but she wasn’t paying attention. No matter; by then I was $55 up and ready to proceed up the street for some pre-steak video poker at Binion’s.
The long bank of 8/5 Bonus machines described on vpfree2.com was easy to find, and by 5 or so, at least 8 or 9 of us were plunking away. As soon as I walked back from the bar with a few Coors Lights, a cocktailer finally wandered by. Binion’s, you’re no Downtown Grand. But, with Doug on one side and David on the other, I lined up 4 deuces and left the machine up $70.
Our 2018 crew of 14 guys amassed at the Million Dollar Photo for a quick shot before steak. Some hugs (both bro-style and normal) were exchanged, as well as some insults (because we’re the worst friends ever), and when we crowded into the elevator, I think most of us were in collared shirts! But you better ask Jonny Reno to verify.
Dinner at the Top of Binion’s Steakhouse was terrific as usual. I surfed (scampi) and turfed (petite filet) after enjoying the iceberg wedge. Note to self: ignore Future Gimbl in 2019 when he asks you to consider the Caesar instead.
Jonny Reno thought “Binion’s was a hit again this year. Definitely need more bread for Sims! They really treat us well and with the coupon it’s a pretty unbeatable deal.” Many fellas delivered positive reviews, so watch out Binion’s: we’ll probably make it 8 years in a row in 2019, assuming that oh-so-lovely POV coupon is still going strong.
After that fine meal, we made our way up to the Go Go Golden Gate, where the evening of blackjack would begin. Because I was the last one to approach the table, I got stuck at 3rd base, but the existing 1st baseman seemed like a good dude and he made decent, though conservative, plays up there. In between us were Jase, Hanley, Cranberry (making his blackjack debut!), G-$ and Miles. The first dealer was our fave, but she didn’t last long.
I made $156 on the table in total, most of which with The Professor (our 2nd dealer), a quiet but super-supportive Asian gal who was working a Hot Librarian vibe. Rolling along, I put out a $20 bet, got some splitting and doubling cards, won ‘em all, and got a quiet nod and wink from The Professor. That’s her delivery in a nutshell: quiet and supportive. A little later, Cranberry got a wild pair splitting hand with at least 4 hands and 2 doubles out there, and he didn’t fare as well. Sorry Mike, but our advice was awesome! Right? Right?!?!
After our 3rd or 4th shoe, Hanley abruptly started shoving red chips toward The Professor. Then he shoveled some more out of his pockets, first one pants pocket and then another. The mountain ended up being colored up for 3 blacks, making it a very handsome run for Hanley.
“You’re welcome!” G-$ shouted. For the 1st time out of at least a hundred on the weekend.
Our third dealer got one thumb down for her dealing skills (super-fast), and another thumb down for her personality (none), so after about 4 or 5 hands, I called it. Everyone else was happy to keep playing, so I ambled up to the front of the casino the play a little 8/5 Bonus while I waited for them to decide if they were going to keep playing.
Not so long afterwards, G-$, Miles and I jaywalked across Main Street and straight on into the Plaza Party Pit to continue the card-playing fun.
And those Party Pit dealers were awesome. First gal was okay, but I lost a bit. Second gal was super tall and enthusiastic. I managed to crawl out of the little hole I was in and make a little headway. But our third gal was Miles’ nemesis (sort of). She was curvy and saucy, shooting everyone shit with a shotgun approach. I stayed out of her way (at least as much as I could). But Miles was undaunted: at one point, he pushed yet another dollar toke above the betting circle, demanding, “Go ahead! Lose more of your own money! That’s right! That’s your money—go on and lose it!” Is this reverse psychology or just plain psychosis? Your guess is as good as mine, but as for yours truly, I got to the last shoe in good shape and decided to push a few bets. Cracked a bunch of them and ended the session up $209.
With the Party Pit closing, G-$, Miles and I took a break. Those two dummies wanted a smoke before we walked down to White Castle, so we parked it in a couple of cushy seats.
Cushy seats around the Fortune Cup horse racing game, that is.
Soon enough, somebody—smart money’s on Miles—put a twenty (or maybe a hundy; this is Miles after all) into the machine. So two other dummies followed suit.
The Fortune Cup strategy is quite similar to the strategy for Sigma Derby. Rule One: be drunk. (Check.) Rule Two: don’t bet the favorite. Because that’s a Chump Bet. Rule Three: don’t bet the longest shots. Those are Chump Bets. Fourthly, bullshit with your pals while frantically pushing a few buttons, mostly paying attention to Rules Two and Three above.
Using that unbeatable strategy, we had a blast at the Fortune Cup machine, but eventually Miles hit some sort of longshot (but not the longest, because chump bet) and mandated that it was time to cash out and eat tiny burgers. So I took a look at the board, and the odds, and put a couple of longer shots together. And on that Friday, I was rolling so good that those little plastic ponies came in, and I cashed out of the Fortune Cup game up $130.
A few tiny burgers and a short nap later, we 10 intrepid golfers hooked up outside the DTG to wait for our shuttle service out to Coyote Springs Golf Club, a masterpiece of a course in Moapa at which a friend of my wife’s is the golf director. Karl was nice enough to hook us up with the locals rate of $75, and the weather on this early November Saturday cooperated just enough to permit us to wear shorts and short sleeves for most of a terrific day.
Back downtown at last, I cruised through the shower and headed downstairs to get in a little video poker before dinner across the street at Pizza Rock. Miles, Doug, Jonny Reno and I sat down and began to churn away (with beers already delivered by the super-speedy cocktailer), and we were at our most charmingest when…
…Vanessa the casino host came up behind Miles, introduced herself and asked if there was anything he (or we) needed.
(Huh?)
She continued to chat with Miles (and us), and then asked again if she could do anything for us.
(Gah?)
“You guys have dining plans—want to visit the Freedom Beat?”
(Whuzzah?)
Don’t get me wrong—we know the drill. We just didn’t know the drill exists anymore. We’re loyal gamblers, and pretty heavy players (relative to our own stakes and bankrolls) but hadn’t been given any attention aside from auto-mailers and e-offers for years. For a host to introduce herself to us was a throwback to the days before computer ratings and tiered lists ruled the day.
We told Vanessa that we had plans to visit Pizza Rock (sorry, can’t comp that place) that night, and hit the Main Street Station champagne brunch Sunday morning.
“Our brunch is much better…how many of you are there? 4?”
“Well,” began Miles rather sheepishly, “There’s actually 14 of us.”
Expecting a door-slamming kind of return, we were shocked when Vanessa instead continued the conversation with and about our large group. We explained where we’re from, how long we had been doing the trip, and some of the goofy shit we do while we’re in town, like the video poker tourney Miles and G-$ throw for Jonny’s and my shared birthday every year. She volunteered to:
- Take a few of our club numbers and get back to us with a comp;
- Close a section for the next day’s video poker tourney;
- Get maintenance to fix the card-reader on one of our chosen machines, and fix the sticky button on another;
- And see us for the start of the tourney.
(Whuffuk?)
I lost $60 during the pre-dinner session, but by the time we were seated in the Rock’s party room, Vanessa had told us that thanks to a pool of play from Miles and me ($150 in comp each) and G-$ and Mattt ($50 each), we’d have ourselves a $400 comp to run through in the morning. Thanks, Downtown Grand and thanks Vanessa! We will absolutely, positively see you next year.
Meanwhile, Pizza Rock had provided us a (relatively) quiet table at which we gorged ourselves on several different kinds of pizza. The keepers: the NY pizza, Chicago thin crust. The losers: the Mob Boss (just way too big & heavy), the Detroit (the crunchy, cheesy outer crust was divine, but the bottom crust and the sauce and cheese just kind of seemed like garlic bread on steroids), the sausage & stout (I friggin loved it, but was soundly out-voted).
After that whale of a dinner, we lost a little bit of focus. I was in no shape to lead us, but was followed nevertheless as I performed a zombie-like shuffle back into the DTG. Soon we stumbled all the way back up to the Plaza. I joined Doug and Jonny for a short video poker run, during which I lost my free play and another $20. I redeemed a match play coupon in the Party Pit, but that $25 beauty was beat down. I stayed on the table just long enough to let another $25 join it. At this point, I was starting to poop out. The limited sleep I’d had Thursday night and Friday night—about 8 hours in total—had caught up to me. I went home, dumped one last twenty into the DTG video poker machine, and went to bed.
I woke up quite refreshed Sunday—amazing what a few extra hours of sleep will do. And I managed to feel refreshed despite being rudely woken up by an astonished Jonny Reno, who hadn’t been the last person to the room in many nights over several years. We had a laugh that morning, then decided we both felt so great we’d like to run a few errands and play a bit of low-key video poker to start the day.
After buying some souvenirs for the young people in our lives, we took fliers on the Boyd Gaming “Pick the Pros” contest (I ended up going 4-8, he went 3-9), and then sat down at the Fremont to play a bit of 8/5 Bonus. Jonny had himself a couple of delightful cups of hot tea, while I had a couple of adequate bloody Mary’s. As we played, we did a lot of catching up. Nice, mellow start to the day.
Soon enough, it was time to bum rush the hostess stand at the Freedom Beat. All 14 of us made it, and we destroyed the brunch and bloody Mary bar. On the way out, we ascertained that we were a bit short to our comp, so we had our server bring out enough walkin’ beers to get us to $400. Zip, bam, boom.
“Free breakfast was awesome,” declared Jonny Reno. “I actually enjoyed the food. I have heard several others complain about the atmosphere there (i.e. the singer), but it’s a free breakfast. Shut up. I would eat there again. I thought it was better quality than the MSS buffet.”
9 of us walked those beers on down to Axehole in Neonopolis, where Comic Book Guy taught us how to throw axes (hatchets, really) and Chinese stars. Because it was Jonny’s and my birthday month, we got to chuck some spears too! Team Gimbl won the first two matches pretty handily, but when we added trick shots into the mix, and awarded bonus points, Team Jonny turned the tables. It was Cranberry who had the shot of the day, when he started the game-winner with a pirouette and a side-armed throw right to the bullseye, then turned back to the camera and nodded, “Oh, yeah.” Nice work, Cranberry.
Vanessa was true to her word, because as we returned to the Grand, we saw our machines were out of service. Promptly at 1:30, she appeared, with maintenance in tow, and opened up the bank for us. Miles and G-$ handed out amazing souvenir shot glasses (which niftily divided up the teams) and introduced the rules for this year:
- Teams would once again compete match-play style, mano-y-mano, blind, with one team on one side of the bank, and one on the other
- 2 rounds of play, 3-on-3 per round
- $20 in, 30 hands minimum, 10 minutes maximum
- All betting slips would go to winning team
This last innovation, suggested by Vanessa, turned up the intensity a couple notches, especially after a Round 1 in which Team Jonny players Jared, Sims and Jase schooled my opening round squad of Cranberry, Hanley and Mattt. Down 3-zip, Miles, Byers and I sat across from Doug, Sergent and Jonny. Miles and I hit early 4’s-of-a-kind and felt like we were in command, so we halted after 30 hands. Byers, on the other hand, was treading water in the $15-to-$18 range. We hadn’t heard any celebrating from the end of their row, so it was impossible to tell if Sergent was in the tank or not.
Byers hit a late straight, and I quietly told him to pull the plug and sit at $17.50. The minutes ticked by. Judge G-$ and our bystander, Vanessa, gave us no hint as to whether we’d force overtime or fall short.
Finally, G-$ called time.
And we swept round 2! Byers’ match was indeed close, but he won by 5 bucks, $17.50 to $12.50.
So into overtime we went. The only change for the overtime period was the length of time, shortened to 5 minutes. I would face Jonny for eternal glory, a gaudy 5-1 record in DitD, and all 13 cash-out slips.
I fed another twenty into the machine and G-$ yelled, “Go!”
I got a few decent hands, with high pairs, two pairs and maybe even a 3-of-a-kind or two keeping me afloat for the first half the round. I knew a full house, or even a flush, could be the difference-maker, but after 30 hands, I hadn’t hit any of those, and sat at a pretty mediocre total in the $10-$12 range. Of course, many times over the course of my thousands of video poker sessions, a single twenty had evaporated in 30 hands (or less), so I knew that Jonny busting out was a possibility.
But I didn’t think he had.
So I fired up a few more hands. Nothing, high pair, nothing, high pair…
…Straight!
I played one more hand, and then pulled the plug. Either $18.75 would be good enough, or it wouldn’t.
G-$ called time. Then he pointed to the winning team: Mine. Final score of the overtime period: $18.75 to $13.75. The boys on the team whooped it up, and a bottle of tequila was presented to me. Again. I fed the cash-out slips into a machine and gave each player on my team $50 for his efforts.
A few of the boys continued to mill about, have 2nd tequila shots, and watch the Seahawks come up just short against the Rams. Anybody who bet it had enough points to become a winner, though, so there wasn’t too much consternation about the loss. I flashed over to triple double bonus to hit another 4-of-a-kind, but the machine didn’t listen to me.
Darkness began to fall outside, signaling it was time for 8 of us to cab over to the Neon Museum for the first tour and show of the day. As we strolled through the boneyard, we reacquainted ourselves with some old friends, like Tam O’Shanter, Las Vegas Club, Sahara and Stardust, not to mention a few horseshoes. I wish the Treasure Island skull could be displayed upright—or that there were a staircase or parapet or something so one could see his face—but that’s a quibble. The show across the street was fun. I was a bit nervous that it would be hokey, or that the lighting effect would be a little fake. Nope. Just awesome. I was glad it wasn’t too long, because by the time it was over, I had moved from chilly to downright cold.
Unfortunately, the Uber ride from the Neon Museum to Casa don Juan took us across the Las Vegas Marathon course. Our driver was pretty savvy though, and after a few false starts managed to get us there ahead of the other car (which went around the south end of the course) and ahead of the other doofuses (who, coming from Fremont Street, probably should’ve walked).
Casa don Juan served up some good grub—I heard only one semi-negative review, courtesy of Jonny Reno: “For me, CDJ was a bit of a miss. But, I think I can chalk that up 100% to how crappy I was feeling at the time. I would definitely be willing to give it another try. And perhaps not wreck their bathroom this time.”
Between Pizza Rock and CdJ, I do believe I’ve put another couple of arrows into my quiver of weekend dining options. After being forced to ditch the Triple 777 and its deteriorating food and after disasters such as Mickie Finzz and Hennessey’s, I deserve a few solid spots.
After dinner, a few cowards walked back to the Main Street Station. Those of us who dialed up an Uber beat them there by 20 minutes at least. Maybe I should’ve walked though, because the Main Street ruthlessly took $140 away from me (although it seemed at the time like much more). After a short losing session on my RF machine from 2017, I let G-$ take me on a penny slot odyssey. One of us, after all, was guaranteed to hit some bonus rounds and win some dough. We tried a couple of Asian-themed machines, then tried a German bier hall machine, and although we saw a few interesting bonus screens, we both lost our asses. I think I saw a cocktailer once or twice, but that may have been a mirage.
Beverage service was better at the table, and the gambling results were too, as G-$ and I opened up a $5 table and got ahead early. Miles and David joined us after solving most of the world’s problems, but then the Main Street brought in their closer. I went from $100 up to even in about 2 shoes—and was really pissed at myself for not calling it after 1 shoe. Just when I think I have myself figured out, I failed to listen to my instincts and jump off a table on which the dealer was proving time and again she could make 21 from any starter. Dammit.
We must have been at the Main Street for hours, because suddenly we were ordering a bunch of sliders at White Castle. On this busy night, the staff took an awfully long time to get us our food, so they threw extra burgers into the bag. That was nice, but did I really need a 5th slider? No. And don’t tell me I didn’t have to eat it!
If the early-morning tee vee in Miles and G-$’s room has switched over from “Law & Order” to “The Arrow,” it must be Monday, and time to move hotels. It took a bit longer to get our shit together Monday morning, mostly because a really hungover dude (who looked an awful lot like a paler, nauseated me) took his own sweet time getting down to Starbucks and back before packing up his crap.
But eventually we battled our way over to Angel Park’s #1 tee, where the 10th installment of the venerable drunk-fest known as the Chug ‘N’ Putt Gamblepalooza began in glorious fashion. Team captains Mattt and Sergent had announced that in putting their head-to-head matchups together, they’d analyzed each player’s worst holes, and thus pitted golfers against their nemeses, human and topographical alike. “We challenge you to conquer your own demons,” Mattt speechified, “And to become your best selves.”
A quick scan through the day’s matchups revealed some doozies: Jonny Reno and G-$ would renew their rivalry (which Jonny thoroughly dominated last year 3-zip); Miles and Cranberry would combat for the first time in a contractor’s brawl; Number One picks Byers and I would duke it out on the first hole (Byers’ worst) and the island green of #10 (by far my worst hole); Jared and Jase would see who could out trash-talk the other; Sims and Doug would provide fireworks on the course’s 2 longest holes; and team captain Mattt would see if he could keep Pat out of the win column.
In a bit of a wrinkle, a 5-some including 2 young golfers teed off right before we did. So as we poured our opening round of Fireball shots, we realized that pace-of-play would be diabolically slow. Drinking the required 6 beers before hole #12 would not be a problem.
Some memorable moments:
- Byers and I tied on hole #1, Byers managing an easy tap-in par before I drained a 5- or 6-footer for 3.
- I launched a terrific 4-iron to about 15 feet on hole #3, setting up an early birdie opportunity (which I just missed).
- Sims stuck the island green to about 5 feet and made his only putt of the day for a beautiful 2 (which we found out later was the second birdie of the day on the hole; G-$ had also mastered the island green).
- Byers splashed down on #10 while I put it on the green. Yes, he threw his wedge.
- Byers, Sims and I all hit the mid-green bunker on #11. KP on that hole (by Cranberry) was on the opposite side of the bunker from the pin, so yes, a physically impossible putt to make was your KP.
- Jase is your back-to-back, three-time CNPGP champ! Congrats and enjoy your new, lower handicap.
What a day! Afterwards, G-$ and I adjourned to his and Miles’ two-bedroom suite (partially comped by the friendly folks at Suncoast) to tally the scores, while Miles and Jonny Reno got the after-party started at The Game. We distributed cash awards and hit the casino floor after some decent bar food.
We spilled onto the casino floor like sand from a shattered hourglass, with a few heading for the slots, a few heading for the card tables, and few heading for the craps table, and a few of us looking for video poker action. We found an Ultimate X poker variant called “Super Streak,” which awards bonus multipliers based on dealt hands. I love the rush but hated the results this year. G-$ pulled the plug on all X poker games at that point, and we found ourselves joining 4 other fellas at the blackjack table. The very full table was methodically pulverized, and soon enough, G-$, Miles and I were out of the action.
So we did what sensible men should do: we broke for the movie theater to buy a giant bag of popcorn. Turns out, 1 wasn’t enough, so Miles upended a butter terrine over his very own bag. I sat between the two of them for a long (long) session of 50-cent 8/5 Bonus, and while I did manage to hit 4 5’s to bring me back close to even, I couldn’t break through, eventually settling for a $100 loss. Luckily, though, I had snuck away between the blackjack annihilation and the popcorn bender to hit 4 8’s on a dollar 8/5 Bonus machine, so in total the video poker wasn’t as unkind to me as it could’ve been.
Somehow, G-$ and Miles lost contain, because I found myself in front of another Ultimate X machine, trying like heck to bookend the trip with successful gambling endeavors. But I could neither hit the big one nor lose ‘em all, so as the clock struck late, I allowed Miles to peel me from the machine. We stumbled upstairs, possibly with G-$, but I don’t really remember. He may have ditched us by then because of the Ultimate X hate he’s got going on.
Tuesday had to arrive eventually, but when it did my quick math was telling me that I’d done just fine on the gambling front. Just fine, indeed. That Friday success, while never matched (not even close), provided a wave I surfed all the way to breakfast at Mr. Lucky’s 24/7. Afterwards, Miles and I barely had enough time to win Megabucks, and for the first time in several years, we left the machine a pair of losers. Our foolproof system had failed! How is this possible?
New streak starts next year.
