So I land in St. Louis, arrive at the crappy Harrah’s hotel, sleep fitfully and awake to find…that I’m scooped!

Somehow, even though I pitched this idea more than 9 months ago, Slate chose this week to dispatch fellow Slatester David Plotz to MO to do the same piece. I hate when that happens. I hereby vow not to read his until mine is written.

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