The Super Bowl At The Sportsbook, And Sweet Revenge In The City Of Sin

Las Vegas is a city where the rhythms of the place almost perfectly match the landscape. Deep, depressing valleys that seem to go on forever, and then out of nowhere, these majestic, skyscraping hotels that seem too good to be true. Emptiness and excess, side-by-side, a staging ground for dreams and desperation in equal measure.

We're talking about gambling, of course. Ruminations of Nevada's landscape aside, sit long enough at a blackjack table, and you'll see the same neverending valleys and too-good-to-be-true, "I can't believe my luck" peaks. Over and over again this happens. Every day, new tourists show up, and go through the same motions. Sweeping from high to low or, if they're lucky, vice versa. Usually it's amateurs like me that produce the most melodramatic swoons, but even from the grizzled Vegas veterans, you'll see hiccups of giddiness or despair as they momentarily lose their poker face on a streak gone hot or cold. Peaks and valleys. It happens to everyone.

That's Vegas. The rhythms of the place match the landscape. But only if you look closely, will you see that much. Only if you spend a few hours at the blackjack table or in the poker rooms or the craps table. Rarely do you see it all distilled into one, three hour orgy of adrenalin, where everyone's fortunes hinge on the same game. Then, the subtle rhythms of a blackjack table take a backseat to a thousand people shouting at the top of their lungs, high-fiving strangers, and riding the waves of a game for three hours straight.

That's Vegas on Super Bowl Sunday, where I was yesterday. And God it was awesome.

From 9 a.m. to 9 p.m., I spent most of my Super Bowl Sunday wandering around the Mandalay Bay Sportsbook in Las Vegas. And forget any larger statements on the rhythms of Vegas or any other meaning that might be derived from my experience this. If there's anything essential to be taken away from my experience, it's this: A Sportsbook is a fan's paradise. If you haven't been, go. And if you have been, you should probably go again. It's the environment that every fan tries to cultivate when they build their dream home theater. Multiple TVs, plush chairs, bars all around, crappy food. This is what we want. GET TO VEGAS NOW.

But that's not even the best part. What puts the whole experience over the top are the people. Even if you don't gamble, there's nothing better than watching a game with a roomful of sports gamblers. Because there's no fan that's more hardcore than a guy that just laid big money on a big game. Even if they don't like the team they just bet on, come gametime, they'll root just as hard and just as loud as any diehard you know. It's awesome.

Maybe I was in the wrong casino, but there weren't many Saints or Colts fans at Mandalay Bay on Sunday, and it didn't make the slightest difference. All the years of emotional investment that make fans go nuts for a big game, at least in a practical sense, can be bought. Bet enough money to make your palms sweat, and before you know it you'll be screaming WHO DAT, high-fiving a bunch of rough look Hispanic dudes that also bet on the Saints, and steering clear of that Colts fan who kicked you out of his reserved seating once he realized you were a Saints fan. And yeah, maybe that was just me, but I'm telling you, this is what happens.

In a matter of minutes, and without any previous allegiances to a given team, people become the best kind of sports fans—living and dying with every success and failure, and forming bonds with strangers over teams that neither person will care about a few hours later. It's truly awesome to watch. Cheering for laundry, yes, but cheering 'till their voice gets hoarse.

For me, it was sort of like that, but with a personal twist. I wagered an irresponsible amount of money on the Saints to win outright (as opposed to the 5.5 points they were getting with the spread). This made me a pretty big Saints fan for the day, but it was exacerbated by an external factor. Not only did I bet on the Saints, but I did it out of pure spite. We'll get to that later, but it bears mentioning that as the game unfolded, it felt even more personal for me. But, anyway... Let's talk about the game.

People began gathering in the Sportsbook as early as 10 a.m. There were a bunch of people in and out throughout the day, but from what I could see, 10 a.m. was when people showed up with plans to stay 'till the end of the game. Considering the game didn't start until 3:40 in Vegas, that's pretty impressive dedication. That, and the line to place bets at the Sportsbook was never less than 50 people long, and must have been stretched longer than a 100 for most of the early afternoon. So early on, it was clear pretty that this was an Event, even for the gamblers that are normally nonplussed by this stuff.

The buzz had been building all day long, and surprisingly, things hit a crescendo when CBS played that Jay-Z, "Run This Town" introduction. How many different networks have licensed that song? 3? 5?10? I feel like I've heard that song used a thousand different times the past few months, but given the reaction in Vegas, I guess it's still new to some people. From that point on, there was a nervous energy that overtook the place.

(At this point, I was just nervous. Not for the game, but about using my cell phone, which I do as a reflex, wherever I am. In a casino's sportsbook, that's not looked upon kindly. At one point there was an announcement: "The use of cellular phones is strictly prohibited if you are in line, or at the betting counter. If you are using a cellular phone, you have three seconds to put it down, or you WILL be electroshocked." Were they joking? Probably. But then... Have you seen Casino? A healthy fear of casino managers is never a bad thing.)

And just as the place was pulsating with nervous energy and kickoff was getting closer, the Sportsbook announced they'd be broadcasting the Super Bowl on tape delay, in favor of a "really great WNBA highlight tape." Because any joke about the WNBA is a good and necessary joke, this made me laugh out loud. But it was also just an admirable attempt from the casino to screw with the keyed up audience, most of whom were too distracted to actually get the joke. A small moment, but it put me in a good mood.

Then came the coin toss, and let's put it this way: If you're the type of person that travels to Vegas to watch the Super Bowl in a Sportsbook, you're the type of person who bets on the coin toss. When it came up heads, it was easily one of the top five cheers of the night, and a sign that, well, sh** just got real.

From here, we could go through everything that happened in the game and the reactions, but given the deluge of analysis today, you probably don't need any more recaps. Instead, I'll just mention four moments that really stood out for me on Sunday.

1. The First Punt, 42 Yards From Thomas Morstead. Like any good interloper in Vegas, I decided early on that I had to indulge in at least a few bets that were designed specifically for gambling addicts. And with that goal in mind, "Over/Under On First Punt of the Game" seemed right up my alley. I took the over on 42.5, thinking the Super Bowl adrenalin would translate to big kicks. And wouldn't you know it? Thomas Morstead kicked it forty-two. And if nothing else, this was an indication of just how terrifying Vegas is. Like, really? They can get it within half-a-yard? Jesus. I'd be terrified to have Vegas put lines on things in my life. Like, do I really want to know where they'd put the over/under on sexual partners? Or, "odds that Sharp will use a Wire reference in his NBA article: 9/5." It would haunt me to no end. And with Vegas, it's just routine. All in the game.
   
2. The Colts Made Me Hate Vegas. It's impossible to state how overconfident the Colts fans were after the Pierre Garcon touchdown put Indy up 10-0. It was otherworldly, it was suffocating, and... It was all prelude to how insufferable they became after Indianapolis stopped New Orleans on fourth-and-goal late in the first half. At that point, I just wanted to go to the airport and get on my flight out of town. Imagine being surrounded by flashing lights, cigarette smoke, and Colts fans shouting about Gary Brackett. This was a serious, serious valley—hopelessly depressing, and with no end in sight. At that point, a redeye flight to snowed-in Washington D.C. seemed shockingly appealing. The worst part: Who could argue with them? At that point, the Colts had made things look effortless. A few miscues on offense had kept them from getting points in the second quarter, but going into the half an onslaught seemed no less inevitable than it had all week long.
3. Who Dat Hits A Fever Pitch. Speaking of inevitable outcomes, it was amazing how reluctant the celebrations were when the Colts scored their go-ahead touchdown in the fourth quarter. People went nuts, don't get me wrong. But not until New Orleans won that challenge—and the Saints had a seven-point lead—did things go really crazy. At that point, what sounded like the whole casino broke into a "WHO DAT" chant, and you almost forgot that half the people there had bet on the Colts. The whole place was unhinged from that point forward.
   
4. Jesus, That Onside Kick... The most surreal moment of the night for everyone, not just the degenerates in the sportsbook. But good lord. In case you forgot exactly what happened, the Saints went for the onside kick, and then there were a solid three minutes when nobody had any idea who had the ball. You can imagine how that played out in the sportsbook. Just everyone in the place screaming at the top of their lungs for like five minutes straight, half panicked, half excited. And then afterward, Colts bettors in disbelief, while I, along with all the others who'd bet on the Saints, suddenly had new life. Just... Amazing.
   

And clearly, whatever happened to the Saints fans at Mandalay Bay, it happened to the Saints, themselves. They were a different team afterward, and that was the game. Instead of backpedaling on defense and settling for field goals, the Saints became the aggressors, and everyone—fans in the casino, players on the sideline—suddenly believed that New Orleans would win the game. The next hour or so was a blur of spontaneous yelling and Who Dat chants that, again, I'll remember for the rest of my life.

When the game ended, everyone who'd been stupid enough to bet on the Saints rushed the counter, chanting at the top of their lungs, exchange high-fives with everyone they saw, and generally reacting like their favorite team had just won the Super Bowl. For most of them, that wasn't true, but then... That's the magic of Vegas. Sunday night, everybody that'd bet big on the Saints made themselves temporary members of Who Dat nation. This was true of most Americans, yes, but to the people that'd actually had faith enough to put money on New Orleans, there was heightened investment, and even more of an emotional reward when they won.

And I, myself, felt a particular satisfaction.

The reason I bet on the Saints wasn't because I thought they could win or because "the city of New Orleans really deserved to win." It was far less noble. Basically, I put a lot of money on the Saints, solely to spite Colts fans that'd pissed me off weeks before. It all started with a brief article where I mentioned that Chris Johnson had a legitimate case for NFL MVP. Go and read the comments. I was called "retarded" and "kind of a hack" by the head writer of SB Nation's Colts blog, to say nothing of inane comments from other Colts fans.

A few weeks later, when I had the gall to point readers toward a good article in GQ, I received a few personal e-mails from that same head writer, Big Blue Shoe, basically saying that nobody respects my work, and nobody will ever read me. Awesome.

For a young writer, it was actually a great experience. We later met in person and he explained himself by saying he's "very impulsive" and "prone to overreaction" and that really, it's all part of his persona. In other words, it's sort of his schtick. And that's fine. He never actually apologized, but I understand. It's his schtick.  It's just that I don't have much respect for schtick of any sort.

And on Sunday, that's what compelled me to bet on the Saints to win outright. Not because I thought New Orleans would really win, but because even if they lost, it was the right thing to do. The Colts were a juggernaut, and I didn't have high expectations for the Saints defense, but sometimes you just have to roll with your principles.

And then this happened...

And it became clear that the Saints were going to win. Score one for the good guys, at least in my book. For one night, Vegas and a few Colts fans had turned me into a hardcore Saints fan. And after experiencing the valleys in the first half, the peak felt better than ever. Pausing every few minutes to count the stack of hundred dollar bills I'd just won, I spent the rest of the night on air, bouncing around while people played "Saints Come Marching In" on the piano over and over again, the whole casino cheered the Saints, and of course, chanting their trademark.