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Superstitions die a slow death, particularly in March, which explains why I am flying to Reno rather than riding the rails to Sacramento. I know my usual ritual is to chill in a Vegas sports book and catch a few shows and a few laughs. Its usually good for a least two wins at the Dance. But this year is different. What kind of fool gives up tickets to The Event to wander around some smelly casino? No regular fool I tell you.
So it would be easy to assume that I don't have high expectations for a long Zag tournament run. However, that assumption would be wrong. It has more to do with the Bellagio restraining order than anything else. They were non-plussed by Frank and my launch of the motorboat in the Bellagio fountain last year before the UCLA game. I suppose if we hadn't set it on fire, the humorless drones at Treasure Island wouldn't have sued the Bellagio for some kind of copyright infringement. Entertainment Capital my ass.
Frank declined the invitation to join me in Reno. He wants to watch the Muskrats take out the Seagulls in person. I appreciate the logic given the fact his trip to Vegas doomed the X last year. As always Frank was a little hyped up and he hinted he wouldn't come out to Reno at all, since Xavier would be "cooking the whole enchilada" this year and Reno doesn't have an Eiffel Tower like Vegas. But I suspect another reaon: the mother of one our massage girls had been stalking him. In Frank's words, the girl had a bit more of her father's DNA. Although not many men sport a D cup, I knew what he meant. And her mom's dad must have been a knife fighter. Frank had told me to stop sending him Fatal Attraction DVDs and Easter bunnies sans the stuffing.
"What happens if you run into Dewey?" Oh god, I had forgotten about Dewey from Indiana. He weighed at least 300 pounds even with his bib overalls off and was the scourge of the buffet. A nasty drunk too. He was on the receiving end of one of our nastier tricks in Vegas. In our post game celebrations after defeating the Hoosiers, Dewey had taken full advantage of our hospitality. When he woke up with a foggy memory, we congratulated him on his marriage to Kiki the asian housekeeper and told him we respected his commitment to her four kids. It was like watching a block of sharp chedder turn into a big glob of mozzarella.
"Worried? Forget it. Dewey is still running and has at least made the Kansas border by now. If he made it home, I doubt he'll be back. I've been sending him child support summons every three or four weeks and slipped a paternity action in for a little extra jolt." Frank laughed, "You know the ways of the French, mon freire." Indeed.
So this looks like a solo trip. I don't know why I just don't drive down because I hate planes. I'll probably need a hot ginger oil massage when I get there and a bottle of 12 year old single malt and a box of cigars. I guess I'm going to be taking another one for the team. And one of the guys told me Jane now had a base of operations in Reno, a fact which could bring no dearth of bad karma and the sports equivalent of kidney stones. She acts like she has the hots for a lot of us old-timers, but I'm not falling for that again.
Wish me luck.
Your Pal,
Bowser
So it would be easy to assume that I don't have high expectations for a long Zag tournament run. However, that assumption would be wrong. It has more to do with the Bellagio restraining order than anything else. They were non-plussed by Frank and my launch of the motorboat in the Bellagio fountain last year before the UCLA game. I suppose if we hadn't set it on fire, the humorless drones at Treasure Island wouldn't have sued the Bellagio for some kind of copyright infringement. Entertainment Capital my ass.
Frank declined the invitation to join me in Reno. He wants to watch the Muskrats take out the Seagulls in person. I appreciate the logic given the fact his trip to Vegas doomed the X last year. As always Frank was a little hyped up and he hinted he wouldn't come out to Reno at all, since Xavier would be "cooking the whole enchilada" this year and Reno doesn't have an Eiffel Tower like Vegas. But I suspect another reaon: the mother of one our massage girls had been stalking him. In Frank's words, the girl had a bit more of her father's DNA. Although not many men sport a D cup, I knew what he meant. And her mom's dad must have been a knife fighter. Frank had told me to stop sending him Fatal Attraction DVDs and Easter bunnies sans the stuffing.
"What happens if you run into Dewey?" Oh god, I had forgotten about Dewey from Indiana. He weighed at least 300 pounds even with his bib overalls off and was the scourge of the buffet. A nasty drunk too. He was on the receiving end of one of our nastier tricks in Vegas. In our post game celebrations after defeating the Hoosiers, Dewey had taken full advantage of our hospitality. When he woke up with a foggy memory, we congratulated him on his marriage to Kiki the asian housekeeper and told him we respected his commitment to her four kids. It was like watching a block of sharp chedder turn into a big glob of mozzarella.
"Worried? Forget it. Dewey is still running and has at least made the Kansas border by now. If he made it home, I doubt he'll be back. I've been sending him child support summons every three or four weeks and slipped a paternity action in for a little extra jolt." Frank laughed, "You know the ways of the French, mon freire." Indeed.
So this looks like a solo trip. I don't know why I just don't drive down because I hate planes. I'll probably need a hot ginger oil massage when I get there and a bottle of 12 year old single malt and a box of cigars. I guess I'm going to be taking another one for the team. And one of the guys told me Jane now had a base of operations in Reno, a fact which could bring no dearth of bad karma and the sports equivalent of kidney stones. She acts like she has the hots for a lot of us old-timers, but I'm not falling for that again.
Wish me luck.
Your Pal,
Bowser
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