Those of you who have been long time readers (the majority of the population to be sure, teeming in good sense and excellent taste too, I might add) know this column will do no such thing.

You will read the column title and recognize it as the lead-in to my annual column on “Leaving Las Vegas” and possibly “Joining my brothers in the Great White North.”
Past reasons for these relocation columns have included:

 - My first experience with an earthquake

 - My on-going confrontations with idiot tourists and/or moronic locals…and the Paris Hilton phenomenon - in which I detailed the sad state of affairs as the sad state of Nevada’s Sin City is being overrun by hoards (whores?) of Paris clones, ‘Para-sites” as they have become known (don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with a girl who can’t safely arrive at four from two plus two; I enjoy a good skank as much as the next guy, but we all need a little variety, not to mention originality.)

 - My latest reason for seeking an alternate choice of domicile is…bullets.

Last week the guy in the office next to mine (an accounting firm) fired an employee who decided the only thing worse than a life as a CPA was a life as an ex-CPA, and, although his background check revealed no time spent as a carrier of the US mail he decided to come back and shoot the place up. Luckily, he was no better at aiming than he was at arithmetic, and no one was hurt. But I must say it is a sobering experience to walk in to the building each day and see “exit” wounds – holes in the walls from where the hollow points he used went straight through the walls.

Two days later, a few blocks from my home, a drive-by shooting seriously injured a passenger in a car. Police believe it was a random shooting, perhaps part of a gang initiation ritual – we’re still unsure, and most likely will never find out as not much information is available - the local media do not publicize such events, in either the newspapers or local TV news; bad for tourism ya know.)

Now, you might be thinking, “Don’t blame Vegas, Sonny, move out of the slums.”
Well, in September, there was a shooting right on the corner of Flamingo and the strip, the busiest tourist intersection in town. It doesn’t matter where you are, it’s the wild, wild, west out here. I live and work in a rather nice neighborhood.

If you’re looking for a reference point I’m only minutes from the new Red Rock casino in Henderson. Toney as the surroundings may be, even in this affluent neighborhood we have crooks and hobos. I think I may have mentioned here in a column a few weeks back, that I recently saw a homeless woman camped in her sleeping bag next to the local Starbucks, holding a hand mirror while putting on her makeup. I believe “Will work for Mascara” was my tag line for the sighting.

All the above, inconvenient, to be sure, but tolerable for the most part. And then, there was last night. It was around 2 AM and I was asleep. Yes, I was home asleep at 2 AM on a Saturday, not out on the town. I had a life-awakening, sobering experience lately. I was coming home, around 9 PM, stopped at the store to buy milk. On line in front of me were two kids buying beer, and it hit me – when did my life take that wrong turn? When was it that I was not looking and I became the guy buying milk and going home at 9 PM, instead of the guy buying beer and heading out at 9 PM??

But I digress. Where was I? Oh yeah, I was home last night, 2 AM, and I was awakened by a sharp, rhythmic report, with far too much power and snap to be a knocking on a door. I dismissed it and went back to sleep, and as I discovered the next morning, it turned out to be 9 rounds fired next door to my place, from a something-millimeter. Luckily, not intended for me. I think. The intended target has not yet been determined.

At any rate, it was too close for comfort. So I contacted my real estate buddy and told him to “put her on the market.” Time to move on.

And with mortality as our topic today (and as it's supposed to be a sports column) I would be remiss to not mention a loss suffered by the college football world this week. Brent Musberger was found dead in his hotel room in Columbus, Ohio, with his microphone cord wrapped tightly around his neck and his mic shoved far down his throat. Apparently, I was not the only one who wanted to hurt him for his canned, pretentious line uttered after Michigan scored first in their big match-up with the Buckeyes – “You just know that somewhere, Bo Schembechler is looking down and smiling.”

OK, for the sake of the legal department I will retract that last remark- Brent wasn’t really ex'd off the planet.

But if there really is a God…..

Picks/Review:

The Over in the Colts/Cowboy game didn’t get close last week, and I also missed with the Indy team total over. That takes the season record to 9-8 ATS.

This week I’m looking at Holmgren on Monday night.

Packers at Seahawks – Holmgren’s had a few shots at his old team, with entirely unimpressive results. But this time around he gets them at home, on Monday night. I think he gets his win vs. the Pack here and does it convincingly. Let’s play on Seattle.
Take the Seahawks. 

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Sonny Palermo is a contributor to Every Edge Magazine, a weekly sports betting publication available on newsstands and via online subscription.
You can visit Sonny at www.everyedge.com

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