Okay, so somehow I don't have a record of this year in my journals, so I'm pulling this from memory. Unfortunately for me, this was one of the most memorable trips - for all the wrong reasons.

It all started like normal. Mark, Ezra and I coordinating and meeting at Caesar's Palace. Based on the photos that I have, we gathered for the first night of games in the Caesar's Sportsbook and ironically, we took a selfie with me showcasing a "lucky" little pillow my daughter sewed for me. It was meant to help us win our bets. Frankly, I don't remember any of the Sweet Sixteen games even as I look at the bracket. It was the Loyola Chicago cinderella year (Sister Jean!) but the rest of the games are a blur.

We definitely made it out to UNLV on Friday, because I remember making a big deal of a scrape to my forehead by a Levine or Federman fingernail. I'm sure there was a lot of food and drink and lazing by the pool.

And then came Saturday.

Back to UNLV and Faiman Court for more knock down, drag out games of "21." I honestly have no idea how the games were going, but I'd lay money that Ezra was out-hustling us, Mark was courageously trying some Euro-steps through the lane, and I was most likely cursing myself out for settling for too many bad jumpshots.

And then, as I was dribbling at the top of the key contemplating my next "killer" move to the hoop, somebody threw a huge boulder at me and hit me below the left calf - or at least that's what it felt like. But there was nobody else. around, and there was no boulder. There was, however, intense pain below my calf - the likes I had never felt before. It buckled me to the asphalt (and Ezra probably grabbed the loose ball and drove the lane for an easy lay-up). Just kidding. The boys called a cab, carried me to curb, got me into the hotel and got the front desk to send up medical staff. I was just barely able to walk on it, but thankfully Caesar's had a scooter that I could use.

I don't really remember the medical staffer or their prognosis, but I think it was clearly an Achilles injury. There was probably a recommendation to go to a hospital, but I really didn't want to ruin the trip like that. So...I spend the rest of the weekend scooting around the casino, around the shops, around NikeTown, around the pool. I even remember parking the scooter near a blackjack table, but I have no idea if my hobbled status bought me any luck at the table. It was pretty funny that I parked the scooter right next to a long line of twenty-somethings dressed to the nines waiting to get into Caesar's hottest nightclub. I'm sure I was killing it with the youngsters as I puttered away after blackjack! LOL.

Sunday was mostly spent by the pool and we watched the games at a poolside bar with very accommodating bartender and waitress. I remember being excited to watch Villanova win, so we must've had money on the 'Cats (because diehard UConn fans wouldn't be rooting for 'Nova out of the goodness of our hearts).

Somehow, I got the airport, got on the airplane, made a connection somewhere, and got home to Indiana. I went straight to the Orthopedic Urgent Care and it was clear that I had torn the shit out of my Achilles. Not quite a full rupture, but still required surgery two days later.

Funny epilogue: I returned to Vegas two weeks later on a work trip - with a full cast and one of those wheelie scooters.