You know me. I can wax nostalgic in a finger snap about the old Las Vegas.

I bleed neon faster than a busted casino marquee.

Give me two seconds, and I can drum up a melancholy melody about the way things used to be and sing it so loud that gambling bosses up and down the Strip cover their ears.

In the place where legendary casino buildings aren't just replaced but imploded into dust and rubble, there has been plenty for a hopeless Vegas guy to croon about.

The Dunes, the Sands and the Desert Inn, now those were fascinating joints with amazing histories. Even the Landmark and the Hacienda had their moments.

And the Stardust, when it finally disappears and is replaced by the $4 billion Echelon Place, will be one to pine over.

But this week, I'm suffering from a terrible case of Vegas throat after the closure of the Boardwalk and today's scheduled demolition of the Castaways. Suddenly, I'm overcome by stage fright.

Try as I might, I can't think of a reason to sing "The Bulldozer Blues" for those two holdovers from our carnival midway upbringing. In fact, I can't think of a reason those two joints should be remembered at all.

I never quite understood their themes.

The original Castaways many locals remembered was a fun, funky place on the Strip that featured Bill Friedman and Sonny Reizner's "Hole-in-the-Wall" sports book. It was a parlay card player's paradise awash in cheap food and drink. Now that was a place filled with colorful characters and crazy cacophony.

But that Castaways has been gone for more than 15 years.

The Castaways in question is the former Showboat on the Boulder Highway, which was arguably the first locals-oriented casino.

In its heyday, the Showboat was known for its professional bowling tournaments and bucket-of-blood boxing matches. For resident slot junkies in the days before the Gaughans, Boyds and Fertittas franchised the local casino action, the 'Boat was a great place to spend a Social Security check, plow through a cheap buffet or catch one of Mel Greb's fight cards for a $10 ticket. Joe Kelley knew how to run a joint.

That all changed when Michael Villamor bought the property from Harrah's and managed to run up $50 million in debts before seeking bankruptcy protection in 2003. Longtime employees were beside themselves with worry that the place would close without making good on their paychecks.

It was a real mess when the Fertittas spotted a bargain and scooped it up before blowing it up.

Commuters have been able to watch it get stripped of its lower walls in preparation for its final journey to the scrap heap of Vegas history. I will miss the Showboat, but not the Castaways.

In fact, the phrase "justifiable homicide" comes to mind.

The Boardwalk, meanwhile, is a testament to the local belief that even a terribly tacky joint -- one with an Atlantic City theme, for crying out loud -- can grind out a cash flow if it happens to be located in the heart of the action on the Strip.

Frankly, its eerie clown sign gave me the creeps. Just driving past it must have given kids nightmares. Maybe it reminded them of the haunted theme park in those "Scooby-Doo" episodes.

At a time when Las Vegas was busy building roller coasters and other thrill rides, the Boardwalk was known as the little casino with the fake Ferris wheel.

I'm sorry to see its employees have to relocate. Experienced workers sometimes prefer a smaller joint over a more impersonal megaresort, and the Boardwalk was definitely smaller. But who can doubt whether MGM Mirage's $5 billion Project CityCenter will make everyone forget that gaudy slot trap?

And not even a neon sentimentalist like me can wonder whether the Fertittas will replace the careworn Castaways with something polished and professionally operated. Love them or hate them, they know their business.

That's the problem with waxing too nostalgic about Vegas past. For the most part, it can't compete with the present.

The Boardwalk and Castaways might be missed by some, but not by me.

As far as I'm concerned, it's the end of an error.

John L. Smith's column appears Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. E-mail him at Smith@reviewjournal.com or call 383-0295.