You'll notice a common theme in the pics: no people. Some were shot at 6:30 a.m., but most were not. Port Lucaya on Grand Bahama Island just wasn't that hoppin'.

I don't know what to tell ya. The Our Lucaya Beach/Golf Resort boasts 14 bars/restaurants on its property but, at any given time, the Isle of Capri casino was the most happening place. I'm talking at 1 p.m., 8 p.m., 1 a.m., whenever. I'm always looking for a good story, but I don't think Bobby Brown could get arrested down there. Unfortunately, the unseasonably cool weather kept me and just about everyone else out of the pools and ocean. The sight of a deserted swim-up pool bar was enough to make a grown man cry.

I'll say this for the casino (which included a sports book), it did attract some heavy-hitters, a few of whom made weekend jaunts from Florida. One guy was reportedly down $120,000 at a private blackjack table. He'd play multiple $1,000 hands at a time and not even flinch. Another guy claimed to have lost $50,000 on his birthday and had to endure the even worse indignity of scraping his middle-aged friend's head off the bar after he'd lost $6,000 and passed out drunk. For the most part, the biggest bettors seemed to enjoy themselves least, just another couple of black chips going out and coming in. Saw a lot of $500 and $1,000 chips in play. I didn't really get it; just hoped they had enough money to spare and lived otherwise happy lives. I'm pretty sure a few did. And I'm pretty sure a few didn't.

As for myself, I wound up in the black for a change. Taking out tips for dealers and waitresses, I was still up +$100 at the tables, -$55 on sports (lost on Syracuse, Rutgers and Pittsburgh on Saturday; won one and lost one on the Eagles on Sunday), and up about +$120 in free beers. Not bad considering I went in for 3-5 shifts a day, just trying to kill time.

Single chicks seemed as rare as a male Oprah audience member. I can recall betting next to three genuinely hot chicks. Two were married and one had a boyfriend. One thing about being outside New York City, you sure do see a lot more engagement/wedding rings. Here you get deported for that kind of irrational behavior. Oh, and you see a lot of mustaches, too (sometimes on the guys). And you get to hear a Georgia fellow share with our BJ table and Bahamian dealer that he appreciates the Patriots because he likes to see their white linebackers succeed in a black man's world. On his next hand, he hit blackjack. I can only assume karma waited until his flight home to smack him upside his head.

Among the positives: the Bahamian people were so cool, not jaded or patronizing service-industry types. Just pleasant folk. The food was very good. And the air was light and clean; something you'd want to bottle and take home, like that Midwestern MILF who, unfortunately, got run from the table before I could think of a way of poisoning her husband.