Honestly, this fight is probably going to suck

Anyone who likes sports in general would had to have been living under a rock if they didn’t hear about the year-plus of build-up that has finally culminated in an official set date for the next fight of the century, pitting MMA superstar Conor McGregor against Floyd “Money” Mayweather.

Let’s be real here though, the buildup was everything, will continue to be everything as we’ve still got nearly three full months until the match itself, and said match itself will be the most disappointing part of this entire saga.  Basically, this is kind of like a slightly watered down version of Mayweather vs. Pacquiao all over again, except McGregor is a way more entertaining shit-talker and as colorful and flamboyantly outspoken personality as Mayweather himself.

But the result is going to be the same, and that, I would actually wager money on: Mayweather will win via decision after 12 rounds.

As much trash Mayweather spouts, it’s kind of laughable that his boxing style revolves almost entirely around defense, dancing around for 36 minutes and occasionally landing a jab only after he’s 100% certain it will hit after endless time spent observing and circling, instead of actually boxing.  He spends 36 months talking shit, and when it comes time to throw down, he always turtles up and waits for his opponents to make the first moves before methodically playing the counter attack game all the time.

I mean really, the guy is 49-0 where 23 of them came via decision. 

I’m gonna defend myself against you to death!” 

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Photos: A tiny Vegas trip

Literally, two weeks ago, a close friend of mine messaged me out of the blue to tell me that she was getting married in Vegas.  Initially, she assumed I was already going to be in Vegas because of Otakon Ve(r)gas, but pffh I don’t don’t really go to conventions anymore, much less the ones run by friends.  I had no intention of going out to Vegas for OV, but to be there for a good friend’s wedding?

Not to mention an Elvis wedding?  Totally worth it.

Thankfully, I was able to find some reasonable travel and lodging accommodations, and was able to make it out to Vegas this past weekend, in spite of the last-minute nature.  The wedding itself was everything I thought it would be; short, succinct and to no real surprise, the Elvis impersonator himself was really mediocre.  He didn’t do the voice, barely any mannerisms, and nary was there more than like two lip curls.

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For once, I agree with the Mayor

In short: the idea of an Atlanta casino has been planted, but Atlanta Mayor Kasim Reed is reluctant about it, in spite of differing, majority opinion.

I’ve already said that I am on the side of the fence that is against the idea of an MGM casino in Atlanta. I’m actually kind of surprised that that opinion is kind of echoed by what the mayor feels about it:

“I’m not there on gaming at all. I believe Las Vegas is in Las Vegas for a reason,” the mayor said. “I just have real issues setting a facility in Atlanta where working folks get off work and walk into a gaming casino.”

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Watching sports is worse than gambling

Roulette is considered to be the game with the worst odds in the casino.  Contrarily, it also has the highest payout, for a direct hit.  Ignoring side bets, half, quarter, row and column bets, it’s basically a game where you have a 1-in-38 (37 on European tables with no double zero) chance of hitting a single number.  However, if you ever do manage to hit that number, you get paid 36 times for every chip you have on that sole number.

A few times, I have grinded out enough table time to have been privileged to have hit 17 on the wheel while I’ve had a chip(s) sitting on it on the board.  It’s truly a phenomenal feeling when you hit your number, multiplied by how many chips you have touching it, because it’s a massive payout, especially when your chip denominations are higher than just a dollar.

Among my degenerate gambling friends, I still recall the story of one particular magical night where my brother and I literally spent eight hours in front of the same roulette table, where we hit our magic number 17 at least five times.  I had risked a grand total of $200 of my own money, and walked away with numerous times more than that.  I paid off the remaining balance on my car, and had comped Vegas rooms for nearly two years.

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Good enough to have fooled Vegas

Just when it seemed like I had nothing to write about today, the outlet known as “life” gave me something that might seem remotely interesting to at least one or two of my six readers.

I have a tendency to sit on cash sometimes.  Sometimes it’s because no reason other than I simply don’t want to take the time to go a bank or ATM to deposit it, other times it’s like a mental challenge; like if I can operate my regularly scheduled life without X dollars in my account, I can always fall back onto this cash as something of a safety net.

Regardless, I spent a little bit of money that warranted me deciding to put the cash back into my bank account to cover for some of the expenditures, grant a little bit of breathing room and give me a little bit of peace of mind.  So I went to an ATM to deposit the cash, and a hundred dollar bill kept getting spit out by the ATM.  I tried it three times, to no avail.  My skepticism was immediately piqued at that point, but there was also the remote possibility that it was ATM sensitivity.

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The weekend of productivity

Since the start of the new year, I haven’t really done much. Just about every weekend has been spent at home, where I ultimately have done nothing but play a lot of League of Legends. Now it’s not that I don’t enjoy the game immensely, but the bottom line was that I was not being very productive with my weekend spare time, and I think it began to creep into my head that I was really wasting a lot of time.

Wasting time is one of my biggest pet peeves, and you really haven’t seen me get bent out of shape until you see me when I start feeling like my time is being wasted; especially when it’s by circumstances caused by someone/something other than myself.

Long story short, I challenged myself to get off my ass and actually do something this weekend. At any given time, I’ve always got a project or three that I want to do, but have always sat on my hands and done nothing, until I felt they were warm enough to start spamming QWER keys and right clicking on LoL. So basically I said to myself to simply fucking do something this weekend.

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The time I felt like Rain Man

It’s been a little while since I’ve been back from Vegas, but a combination of getting sick, prioritizing getting photos processed and out the door, and simply catching up with post-holiday/vacation life, I simply neglected to write about it. But aside from the Pedro Griffin trolling story, there was another time at the blackjack tables, where I felt awesome, and remembered a story that I wanted to write about but forgot to, so better late than never.

As is often the case with a Vegas trip, this past one was just the same in the fact that I could have actually made it home having made money – if it weren’t for that last day. It’s pretty typical for me that it’s the last day in which Vegas not only catches up with me, but manages to make sure that I don’t leave with all of the money I brought in which to play with, and this last trip was no exception to that rule. I had been gambling shrewdly up until the last day, and it was naturally on the last night, in which I watched the house money diminish, and then some of my own money subsequently. Regardless, it’s not a big deal, because it’s money that’s accumulated for such frivolous purposes, and it doesn’t affect my bottom line or any financial responsibilities otherwise.

Anyway, aside from Pedro night, it was the night prior in which I was having a particularly good time at a table, and managed to walk away with a little bit of a cherry on top. I was gambling at Paris, where I was pleased to have found a single-deck table that also was being dealt by one of the sexy lingerie-clad dealers that seems to be the fortuitous norm for the Planet Hollywood/Paris/Bally’s troika of casinos these days.

Regardless, as aesthetically pleasing as the view is, being the gentleman I always pretend to be, I’m not one to creep on or unabashedly flirt with and hit on the sexy-clad dealers, because I’m sure they get it enough, and I have no game anyway. To no surprise, such a mentality typically warms most of them up to me, because I’m not such an obvious sleaze, and ultimately my goal is play blackjack, not get reamed, and get as many free drinks as I can in the process; the view is just a bonus.

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