(Daniel Banks/Suns.com)

(Daniel Banks/Suns.com)

When I first set foot in Vegas this week I thought it was going to be the beginning of something beautiful. I’ve come to find out that God has a sense of humor, and unbeknownst to me before this weekend, I am the constant butt of all his jokes.

I haven’t seen an event like this backfire since Janet Jackson performed at the Super Bowl. It was supposed to be the best week of my life. An all-expense paid trip to Vegas, while getting to watch the Suns of the future develop before my eyes. And that would be enough for me, if I was a mature adult. But one thing I’ve learned about myself on this trip, a mature adult I am not…

That’s why I’m going to give you five reasons why I won’t be lured into Vegas again:

1. Pool at the Palms: When my co-worker and I entered our suite and saw that we overlooked the infamous pool, a rush of adrenaline pumped through our veins as the thought of us poolside made us as giddy as Tom Cruise on the Oprah Winfrey Show. But that boon would prove to be our vice. As the bass kicked into its ninth hour of bumping, the sound waves continued to crash against our window and the shallow end began calling to us like the voice in the “Field of Dreams,” my colleague and I could wait no longer; we had to know what all of the ruckus was about.

So as we peered out our window, we realized that Cancun Spring Break was going on right below us, and we weren’t invited. Beautiful women were bandying about in the pool, giggling, dancing around, all while I’m trying to write an article about Alando Tucker’s jumper. And while my co-worker was snapping photos from afar like he was on some safari with National Geographic, I was contemplating who I was going to attack first: my colleague or Alando Tucker.

2. My colleague: It’s bad enough that a party at the Playboy Mansion is occurring out on your doorstep. But when your roommate is narrating every juicy detail of the party like he’s Morgan Freeman and you can’t do a thing about it, you start scouting the room for blunt objects. When people are faced with difficult decisions, it’s comforting to know that those close to you come from high moral character. My co-worker is no such person. When you start to contemplate ditching your work duties to go frolic in the pool like a sea otter, the last thing you need is a guy packing your bathing suit and goggles for you.

3. Buffets: Go eat at the Bellagio’s buffet, or better yet, Planet Hollywood’s, and then tell me you can do anything more than breathe shallowly after you’re finished. Only watching a CSPAN marathon could wipe you out more. After my sixth plate of dessert, I was pondering what model of crane they would need to airlift me out of there. I can’t work like that…

4. Did I mention the Palms’ pool?: Seriously. Go find 50 of the 5,000 best-looking women in the country, put them in bikinis, add smooth music and great weather; and you’ve got yourself the Palms’ pool. The real kicker came the next day when I was asked by our productions guy why my co-worker and I didn’t go to a certain NBA private pool cabana with various VIP personnel. Thanks for the text brother!

5. Cash: Why is it that Vegas is the only place where people don’t believe in logic and reason? Where else do you say, “Don’t worry, we’ll win it all back.” Everyone has their foolproof plan, which only seems to prove how big of a fool you can become. If someone makes a $10 bet in the office about some trivia and loses, they’re peeved for the rest of the day. Meanwhile, $10 bets are the lowest minimum bets you can find in Vegas over the weekend and no one bats an eye. How many times have you heard, “I lost $200, but that wasn’t too bad.” But that same person would never bet you that amount on, let’s say, what the capitol of Alabama is? See. Logic goes out the window.

What’s weird is that after a couple of days there, you stop using your noodle too. You start concocting schemes like Russell Crowe’s character in “A Beautiful Mind.” There really should be scientific studies done on at what point you lose your mind in Vegas. From my experience, I say 12 hours…

(Sidebar: By the way, who came up with the brilliant plan of sending young, impressionable athletes, who just recently came into a lot of money to Las Vegas for an entire week?)

So anyway, that’s why I’m retiring my number in Vegas. Too much temptation and teasing for this guy when I’m trying to stay focused on work. Can’t do it anymore. Stick a fork in this turkey, I’m done. Adios muchachos… Wait, wait… Hold on a sec. What is this miscellaneous category here on my expense sheet? Wait a minute. Perhaps I’ve overreacted…

(to be continued next year…)

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