Like most good things in life, we have superstitious Chinese gamblers to thank for The Grand Lion, who guards the entrance to the MGM Grand Hotel & Casino on the Las Vegas Strip.
Opened in 1993, the gambling den originally had a cartoonish lion’s head at the entrance, but Asian punters avoided the place because they believed waltzing through a creature’s mouth would bring bad luck.
What a bunch of scaredy-cats!
“It wasn’t literally true (that they entered through the lion’s mouth),” former MGM Mirage executive spokesperson Alan Feldman told Casino.org, noting that visitors actually entered beneath the beast’s chin. “But many customers believed it to have the same negative vibes, and refused to use that entrance.”
I feel the original lion – who was delightfully kitschy – got a roar deal, but let’s keep moving.
In May of 1996, the owners announced plans to scrap the lion and replace him with a new $40 million façade. To be fair, they would’ve made that money back from the first busload of buxom betters from Beijing.
The result was 45-foot, 50-ton bronze critter known as The Grand Lion. Designed by Snellen Maurice Johnson – a convicted con man who traded a life of crime for a life of designing oversized roadside objects – he was unveiled to a bemused, yet anxious public in 1998.
The Grand Lion has gone on to become the face (and paws!) of the Las Vegas glitter strip. I guess you could call him the mane attraction – teehee!
The Chinese gamblers returned. Profits went through the roof. And all was good in the world…
…until zany prop comic Carrot Top turned up.
Top o’ the morning to ya!
“Y’know, Bigs,” a velvety voice purred from behind me, as I posed with The Grand Lion. “That should be a statue of me up there.”
Annoyed to be dragged from my unfettered admiration of The Grand Lion, I turned to see a mop of flaming red hair and an impish grin. It was my old acquaintance – and long-time Vegas comedian – Carrot Top.
I’d played his love interest in the late-90s cult classic Chairman of the Board, but we’d had little interaction since.
“Top,” I groaned. “Wouldn’t that scare away the Oriental gamblers?”
“The Oriental gamblers love me, Bigs,” he whooped. “They rub my hair for good luck before heading to the slot machines.”
Top gyrated grotesquely towards a group of Korean businessmen, sending them flying into the night like bugs. I turned to follow them, but Top grabbed me by the elbow.
“I built this dang town, Bigs, with my quirky mix of physical comedy and scathing political satire,” he snapped, placing a pair of underpants on his head. “That lion’s not the king of the jungle – I’m the king of the jungle!”
“Are you having an episode, Top? What jungle?”
“The concrete jungle, man, the concrete jungle. Meow!”
The ginger-hued madman snarled at a passing family from Wichita, Kansas, sending them scuttling into the nearest overpriced burger joint for sanctuary.
“Top, this is getting ridiculous,” I sighed. “I’m here for the five-storey Panthera leo, not your vulgar buffoonery.”
“I just want to be loved, Bigs,” Top wept, falling to his knees. “Do you think you could ever love me?”
As I backed away in disgust, the last I saw of Carrot Top was him struggling into a banana costume, before rolling past The Grand Lion and out of my life forever.
