The Wizard of Oz at Sphere

My brother and I both did a light breakfast at the Starbucks inside the casino. Neither of us was especially hungry, which made sense given how much we’d been eating over the past few weeks. Coffee was enough. By late morning, we were ready to get out and do something, so around eleven we headed toward Allegiant Stadium, hoping to catch a stadium tour.

Allegiant Stadium

The stadium is still relatively new, opening in 2020 after several years of construction. It was built to bring the NFL to Las Vegas and to give the city a modern, multi-purpose venue capable of handling football, concerts, and major events. Fully enclosed to deal with the desert heat, it still feels open thanks to its translucent roof. The project was controversial because of public funding, but there’s no question it reshaped Las Vegas as a major sports city.

My brother had once been a Raiders fan, back when they were still in Oakland. The franchise has always been restless. Founded in 1960 as part of the AFL, the Raiders built a reputation around toughness and independence, winning championships and cultivating a distinct identity. They moved from Oakland to Los Angeles in the early eighties, then back to Oakland, before finally landing in Las Vegas. Al Davis defined much of that history. After his death in 2011, the team passed to his son, Mark Davis, and the move to Las Vegas followed—a decision driven as much by opportunity and revenue as by geography.

When we arrived, we were told there were no tours until the 3rd (tomorrow). They were already prepping the stadium for a Sunday game. Instead, we walked the perimeter. I was fascinated by the field, which sits on a massive tray system that slides in and out of the building. I had wondered how they managed that with structural supports in the way, but later learned sections lift and shift to clear the path. While we were there, the field was extended outside, and crews were repainting lines, logos, and end zones.

From the outside, the building is striking. A black, angular form with sharp lines and huge expanses of glass, it feels more industrial than decorative. It doesn’t try to blend in with the Strip. It stands apart—deliberate, imposing, and unmistakably Raiders.

Sphere

We had tickets for the two p.m. showing of The Wizard of Oz at Sphere. I was almost as excited to see the building itself as I was for the show. For months I’d been watching YouTube videos about its construction—the engineering challenges, the custom sound system, the resolution of the screen, and the massive LED exterior that wraps the entire structure. Even knowing all that, it still felt abstract. I wanted to see how it actually worked in person, and whether it lived up to the hype.

It was unusually warm for January, so we spent some time walking around outside. There was a large display of the Wicked Witch of the West, her legs and ruby red shoes sticking out as if the building had landed on her. It looked like Sphere was crushing her, and it quickly became a magnet for photos. Plenty of people were dressed in Wizard of Oz costumes, leaning into the moment. Around one thirty, the doors opened and the crowd moved inside with surprising efficiency. I grabbed a beer and some fries—we hadn’t eaten lunch—and wandered around, taking in the scale and design of the interior. Large screens throughout the space displayed messages and countdowns every few minutes, gently reminding everyone that the show would start promptly at two.

From the opening moments, the presentation completely pulls you in. The screen is overwhelming in the best way—wrapping around you, above you, and far into your peripheral vision. The level of detail in every scene is astonishing. As the story unfolds, the environment becomes part of the experience. During the tornado sequence, high-powered fans kick in, the floor vibrates, leaves blow through the audience, and the sound ramps up until it feels physical.

When Dorothy shakes the apple tree, lightweight foam apples rain down from above—I managed to snag one. Later, real snow falls into the crowd, and at one point flying monkeys swoop down from behind, close enough to make people flinch. It’s not just visual spectacle; it’s fully immersive, layered, and relentless in its precision.

After the show, there were additional presentations in the lobby, and the crowd was gradually guided out. Even the exit felt choreographed. Everyone seemed energized, smiling, and slightly stunned. The entire experience—from the building itself to the show design and crowd flow—was carefully thought out and executed. It was, without exaggeration, one of the most impressive entertainment experiences I’ve seen.

We went back to the hotel and took a break. It really struck me the crazy number of personal injury attorney billboards there are in vegas (“In a Crash”, I’m the best, “Accident with a Truck?”). Everywhere you turn, entering town, and throughout.

Nora’s

We’d been to Nora's Italian Cuisine before, back when my sister and I picked up my brother from the airport in Las Vegas just before Christmas. It’s her favorite restaurant in the city, and at this point I think all three of us agree—it’s ours too. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t feel like a Vegas novelty. It feels established, confident, and quietly excellent, which goes a long way here.

We started with the grilled octopus, which had a subtle mesquite smokiness and came over a chickpea-based sauce layered with celery and a mix of spices. The texture was perfect—tender with just enough char. I had a glass of red wine, and together the flavors settled in slowly, rich and balanced, the kind of dish that makes conversation pause for a moment while everyone takes another bite. It was an easy start to the evening, and a reminder of why we keep coming back. The entrés were equally good.

We headed back to the hotel, another full day behind us. As we walked in from the parking garage, something overhead caught my eye. The ceiling was covered in shoe marks—dark, dusty prints stamped into the concrete. Anywhere the ceiling dipped low enough, people had left their mark.

It didn’t take much imagination to picture how it happened. Someone kicking off a shoe, laughing, then slapping the sole up against the ceiling just to see if they could. And once one person does it, everyone else follows. The marks ran almost all the way back to the entrance, a strange, accidental gallery of footprints overhead. It felt perfectly on brand for Las Vegas—pointless, impulsive, and oddly communal.

We both packed for our early morning exit and then settled in for a good nights sleep.