Wish me luck.

At this time a week from now, I will be doing one of the following: sitting at a blackjack table, getting hustled on a golf course, enjoying the scenery at a clothing-optional swimming pool, eating fine food or sleeping from the resulting exhaustion.

If those are not sufficient clues, I will share that I will be in Las Vegas, having accepted an invite from two longtime Lumbertonian friends and 13 of their buddies who are rubbing their hands at the fact I have been awarded just 3 handicap shots by The Commissioner, apparently the price of inclusion.

I figure if they take all my money, which really is not that much, that almost guarantees I will be asked to return on what for them is a yearly sojourn. It would be a lose-win proposition.

When Jeff called and asked if I would like to join him, David and The Lucky 13 in the heretofore high-brow DI Invitational, I said yes without hesitation. It was later that I did the math in my head and realized the trip would cost me about two months pay, so the beneficiaries of my modest estate will be paying for this.

I do not know any of the Lucky 13, but I have been included in a group email that dings incessantly; I have not seen this level of whining since my Tar Heels sent Coach K falling backward into retirement. After reading these emails and having been provided a short bio of each of The Lucky 13, I realized once again I am the answer to which one is not like the others.

Oh well, it is always a good thing to make new friends, especially when they are in high places. There should be a benefit from the price I am likely to pay.

I am not a Vegas virgin, having made my maiden trip to Sin City in 1999, the flight being financed by a raffle ticket that I had purchased for $5 that ended up costing me about $1,800, which was a lot of money for me then – and now. That was the first of seven trips in seven years to Vegas, and from what I remember I had a really good time.

It is not only the almost two decades since my last trip in 2006 that have dulled the memory. I was also foggy the next day.

We will be staying, of course, at The Wynn, where the minimum bet at the BJ table requires me to work 2.5 hours.

Blackjack is my gambling preference, moving at a leisurely pace, the same as my brain, giving me time to do the calculations. The odds are fairly favorable in BJ, especially if you know how to maximum the cards when they are in your favor, knowledge that I paid for while playing BJ from 1999 to 2006. BJ is also a social game, and if I can just break slick I win because while I am seated the Bud Light is free and flowing.

Craps moves too quickly for me, I have never pulled the lever on a one-armed bandit – there is a reason it is called a bandit — but I am considering taking a seat at the Texas Hold ‘Em table although I tend to break out in a big smile when dealt a full house, not great for bluffing.

If my wallet is being drained too quickly, I will take refuge in the Sportsbook, where it takes a couple of hours to lose a single bet, my Four Corner Delay. That is where I will be when my Tar Heels take on Dook next Saturday, so the distractions will be ample and appreciated, mitigating a defeat, but enhancing a celebration.

As for the golf, the cost for three rounds is a shade under $800, and I figure that getting to, around and back from each golf course will consume about six hours each, 18 total, so that might be less expensive than the BJ table. At least until the wagers and my 3 shots are factored in.

If I hold any power over The Lucky 13 it is that I write a weekly column and properly provoked, I can end a career, although most of these guys appear at the end of theirs.

They say that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

Maybe.

But probably not.