Editor's note: This article originally ran on October 17, 2002.
There isn't anything on the planet quite like the sensation of "I'm getting my butt handed to me in Vegas," which feels like getting pulled over for a speeding ticket, but for an entire weekend. Voyage to Vegas enough times and it's bound to happen. Law of averages. With six trips on my résumé and only one semi-thrashing, I knew another one was coming. Eventually.