Our first guest post from Las Vegas comes from Anthony Maggio, a local media personality and a friend of ours. Anthony and his wife Melissa brought their 18-week-old son, Brooks, to Vegas for the Gophers/UNLV game and much more. Here is the report from Sin City, through the eyes of Brooks:

 

I only wear tuxedo shirts. Is that going to be a problem?

I only wear tuxedo shirts. Is that going to be a problem?

 

As an 18-week old, my only exposure to Sin City before Thursday was the Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas audiobook I listened to on my way back and forth from day care (remind me to nominate my dad for Father of the Year, by the way). Naturally, I was a bit wary I wouldn’t have the endurance for such a trek. But I quickly surmised a Raoul Duke Vegas experience wasn’t imminent when the only drugs in my parents’ suitcase were Pepto Bismol, Ibuprofen and Lipitor.

My parents seemed nervous as our travel commenced, and I wasn’t sure if it was due to this being my first time on an airplane or because they rolled the dice on the cheaper flight that was scheduled to arrive a mere two and a half hours before kickoff of the Gophers/UNLV tilt. They certainly weren’t the only Gophers fans who gambled on Sun Country’s punctuality – there were a couple dozen folks sporting maroon and gold on board. And, of course, a large fellow in a Jordy Nelson Packers jersey. Fortunately, he wasn’t in our row.

 

 

Donning my Gophers onesie with a screen-printed necktie, I was the star of the flight thanks to less than a minute of combined crying and being the cutest person on board. The fancy attire was required – I changed into my tuxedo onesie later after multiple spit-ups – because my parents are part of the Section 117 Classy Gentlemen. It’s a bit of a misnomer for my mom, but you get the idea. A couple times a year they whip out the tuxedos, buy copious amounts of fake money to randomly throw around while laughing maniacally, and do their pregaming in a limo. Being that this was Vegas, the hot pink stretch Hummer limo they arrived in to whisk my parents away made perfect sense.

 

So that wasn't a joke. Huh.

So that wasn't a joke. Huh.

 

Between my Uncle Jaso’s fake mustache, my Uncle Tony’s smoking jacket and my Uncle Big Party’s form-fitting maroon tux, the group was a sight to behold. I immediately understood why my dad attended a season-planning meeting at Hell’s Kitchen last weekend – you can’t pull off a gathering like this without some serious preparation. In fact, I perused the agenda meticulously crafted by my Uncle Matt from said meeting en route to the airport. Of particular note was the spawning of a book club to discuss 50 Shades of MarQueis Gray.

If I were to pen such a tome, it would largely chronicle overthrown receivers. It sounds like he pulled it together a bit in the second half, but I was fast asleep by then. I probably shouldn’t have been awake for the first half, but decided to live it up a bit. I may be a baby, but I’m still in Vegas!

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Friday (What happens in Vegas intrigues a lot of Gophers fans) edition: Wha' Happened?

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RandBall: Taking over Sin City one game (and craps table) at a time