I’ve always prided myself as a Clark Kent-type of reporter. Mild-mannered, strait-laced, tending to avoid risk.
But that’s all out the window when you go to Super Bowl weekend in Las Vegas. It’s my third day here, having just covered an Ultimate Fighting Championship event.
I know what happens in Vegas is supposed to stay in Vegas, but we’re among friends, and after all, I am a reporter.
So, in a not-so-typical pregame dose of information, here’s a look through the keyhole into some of the last 48 hours, and some insight into the personalities who will help weave us through Super Bowl Sunday at the world-famous Mirage Race and Sports Book.
Briefly recapping how we got here, the daring, raucous weekend started with a car ride across the Mojave Desert with two good friends.
It was something like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xsGP35Vd6qQ.
We’ll skip many of the other details that I’d like to provide here, because this is family-oriented website.
We passed under a large freeway sign screaming, “ZERO TOLERANCE IS THE LAW IN NEVADA.” Good advice.
Somewhere around the state line on Friday, a friend of mine already in Las Vegas who’ll be by our side during the Big Game called to say he’d have to meet us later because he and his buddies were going to Cheetahs. And I presume that didn’t mean he was going to the zoo. Or at least a zoo as most of us know one.
Upon arrival, my car’s other passenger, a beanie-wearing international lover, became distracted by the number of attractive women in attendance at Friday night’s Santana concert at the House of Blues. Las Vegas is all about the beautiful people, but I was beginning to think my friends had been transported back to their frat-house days.
Still, you think you’re having fun when you look around and wonder, “How did I get here?” “Who are these people?” “Can I trust them?” The next day can bring sobering perspective.
The cause is helped because one of the friends is captivated by what, for me, is a typical working weekend in Las Vegas: covering the UFC event, schmoozing with sources and associates, and, in this case, sticking around to live-blog Super Bowl XLVII in New Orleans live from a sports book.
At the UFC fight at Mandalay Bay, she remarks, “Everyone in here looks like Joe Rogan.” Some of the fight action was thrilling and Charles Barkley was among those taking it in.
“You’re in the amazing business,” my friend says.
I’ll check back in around kickoff. This should be good.
But that’s all out the window when you go to Super Bowl weekend in Las Vegas. It’s my third day here, having just covered an Ultimate Fighting Championship event.
I know what happens in Vegas is supposed to stay in Vegas, but we’re among friends, and after all, I am a reporter.
So, in a not-so-typical pregame dose of information, here’s a look through the keyhole into some of the last 48 hours, and some insight into the personalities who will help weave us through Super Bowl Sunday at the world-famous Mirage Race and Sports Book.
Briefly recapping how we got here, the daring, raucous weekend started with a car ride across the Mojave Desert with two good friends.
It was something like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xsGP35Vd6qQ.
We’ll skip many of the other details that I’d like to provide here, because this is family-oriented website.
We passed under a large freeway sign screaming, “ZERO TOLERANCE IS THE LAW IN NEVADA.” Good advice.
Somewhere around the state line on Friday, a friend of mine already in Las Vegas who’ll be by our side during the Big Game called to say he’d have to meet us later because he and his buddies were going to Cheetahs. And I presume that didn’t mean he was going to the zoo. Or at least a zoo as most of us know one.
Upon arrival, my car’s other passenger, a beanie-wearing international lover, became distracted by the number of attractive women in attendance at Friday night’s Santana concert at the House of Blues. Las Vegas is all about the beautiful people, but I was beginning to think my friends had been transported back to their frat-house days.
Still, you think you’re having fun when you look around and wonder, “How did I get here?” “Who are these people?” “Can I trust them?” The next day can bring sobering perspective.
The cause is helped because one of the friends is captivated by what, for me, is a typical working weekend in Las Vegas: covering the UFC event, schmoozing with sources and associates, and, in this case, sticking around to live-blog Super Bowl XLVII in New Orleans live from a sports book.
At the UFC fight at Mandalay Bay, she remarks, “Everyone in here looks like Joe Rogan.” Some of the fight action was thrilling and Charles Barkley was among those taking it in.
“You’re in the amazing business,” my friend says.
I’ll check back in around kickoff. This should be good.
