The Bears fail to convert on fourth down, and the Colts take control of the ball. The stadium empties out. A sad night for Bears fans. Adande tells me to look at the Bears mascot on the sidelines. It looks distraught.

Meanwhile, the score is 29-17. Not that I’m into these kind of things, but the Vegas over/under minutes before kickoff was 47. Amazing.

Grossman hits Jones for a screen pass, he stays in bounds, and the clock ticks, ticks, ticks away.

Jeff Saturday and co. get Tony Dungy on the Gatorade shower. Peyton Manning’s got his Super Bowl ring. I look for the 300-pound woman in the Reggie Wayne jersey. She’s hugging her bearded husband in the Harrison jersey. They are happy. The Bears fan giving them the middle finger in front of them is not.

My Super Bowl MVP? I’m fine with Peyton winning it, but think Addai and Rhodes should share the award. This entire season’s been about these two. When Edgerrin James left, people wondered how the Colts would ever recover. What they got was one of the league’s best running back tandems in years. Two modest men, each one willing to share the carries with the other, who came a long way to get where they are right now.

Their final stat lines?

Joseph Addai: 19 carries, 77 yards; 10 receptions, 66 yards.

Dominic Rhodes: 21 carries, 113 yards, 1 TD; 1 reception, 8 yards.

Give it to ‘em both.  They’ve shared the load all year. Why not share the glory?

The Bears knock through a field goal and it’s 22-17. Strange box pool score, to be certain. How many guys got the old “2, 7” and clapped their hands saying, “Yes!” About as many who had money on John Gilmore returning more kicks than Devin Hester. I ask a friend back home how the Super Bowl ads have been thus far. “Not sure. Still reeling from that Prince halftime show.” Wow. Was it that bad?

Joseph Addai’s stat line is pretty impressive right now. At the end of three quarters, he’s got 17 carries for 63 yards, and 10 receptions for 66 yards. That’s 27 touches out of a rookie running back. He’s gotta be the MVP at this point. Long ways away from being a backup running back much of last year at LSU.

The Bears begin a march that could very well become the defining drive of Rex Grossman’s career. He hits Mushin Muhammad for 22 yards and the place is rocking. Somehow, some way, the Bears are only down 5 points, with the ball, in the fourth quarter o####ame they’ve been absolutely outplayed in.

And just as I type those words, Grossman throws a pick six. Devastating. How about that play for Kelvin Hayden. Nick Harper gets replaced, and here comes Hayden—a guy who no one even bothered interviewing on Media Day—intercepting a ball and running it back 56 yards for a back-breaking score.

And just as everyone in the press area is whispering, “Bench Rex?” “Griese time?” Grossman goes out and throws another pick, this one intercepted by Bob Sanders.

And as everyone in Colts blue and white are going wild in the stadium, the Bears fans fall silent. No more “Ditka”, no more “Da Bears” at every swivel of the head. Rather, just a soaking wet fan base, collectively shaking their heads in confusion.

The scoreboard shows John Travolta up in a luxury suite. He’s smiling and waving. Apparently, he’s not much of a Bears fan.

After the smoke clears and a flood of text messages come in about what was apparently a really bizarre halftime show for those watching at home, the Colts take control of the ball. Manning leads the Colts down the field, and Vinatieri nails a field goal.

The Colts continue going with the squib kick, which, if your friend did in a game of “Madden” you’d likely never speak to him again. This #85, John Gilmore, is suddenly the most valuable player on the Bears special teams unit. The Bears go from a 2nd and 1 to a 4th and 23 in no time, being forced to punt the ball away yet again. Grossman fumbles on third down. His numbers right now? 8-10, 55 yards, 1 TD, 0 Interceptions, and a pair of bobbled snaps.

The Colts march right down again, and Vinatieri puts another field goal through the uprights. Somehow, this game is still a one-possession game. The Colts can’t seem to put the Bears away. A TD there likely would have done the job.

Well, that was interesting. Prince did a set consisting of “Let’s Go Crazy”, “Best of You” by the Foo Fighters, and “Purple Rain”.

The “Best of You” cover elicits a ton of responses amongst the press box. Former FOXSports.com editor Andy Nesbitt, says “I want to hear Prince do a version of Metallica’s “One”. Just would love hearing Prince start a song with, “Darkness Imprisoning Me…Is All That I See.”  Meanwhile, I've got my buddy Berman texting me, "Can't they just re-play the highlights from the Jacksonville Jaguars 2006 team video or something?"

I'm actually enjoying the performance. Maybe it's like hockey. Much better live than on TV.   Adande and I are rocking to “Purple Rain”. Everyone's getting drenched. No one's been electrocuted yet. All in all, pretty fun little performance here out of Prince. Still would have rather heard Billy Joel do "Miami 2017".

I look towards Peter King. He’s nowhere to be seen. I wanted to see him singing along, too. Sipping on a Starbucks double mocha venti latte, just taking it in. Nope. No such luck. Oh well.

Third quarter kicks off in a bit.

End of quarter 1, and the Bears lead 14-6. If the game were to end now, Hester would be my MVP. Second place? The woman in the Wayne jersey below us.

After a Vinatieri field goal, fireworks go off. I’m not against fireworks displays, in fact, I enjoy July 4th a whole lot. But do we really need fireworks after a 29-yard chip shot field goal? Is that not a bit “Boy Cried Wolf”? If you’re going to light up a tremendous aerial display of magic and wonder for a gimme field goal—what do you have in store for the game-winner with no time left on the clock? Hey, just throwing that out there for the pyrotechnics crew. Then again, this is probably the same bunch that green-lighted a referee on an ostrich and called it “pre-game entertainment”.

Bears go three and out and you can feel the momentum shifting. The Colts answer with one of those no-huddle/not enough time to get a replay in/CBS misses the start of the play marches down the field. Is anyone better at these than Peyton Manning? Dominic Rhodes  plunges into the end zone. Fireworks! Wow. They’ll give ‘em for anything these days. I just saw a guy take a sip out of his soda. Cue the works!

Meanwhile, the PA System plays “#### the Drum All Day”, and the Colts fans go wild. One guy, wearing an Addai jersey, has an actual drum. He’s ####ing it. All day. Hey, he doesn’t want to work. Just wants to #### that drum.

Bears go three and out.

If Indy drives, scores a touchdown, and gets the ball back at the start of the half—this can get out of control.

Of course, as I type that, the Colts fumble the ball. What a wacky game. Next play? Grossman fumbles the ball to the Colts.

In between all this madness, the PA guy—along with help from the scoreboard—is teaching the crowd how they can join in and help participate with the halftime show. They introduce Queen’s “We Will Rock You”, and urge the crowd to “Stomp”, “Stomp”, “Clap”, then sing the words “We Will, We Will Rock this joint till the wheels come off!”. Yes—“Rock this joint till the wheels fall off!”. There are flashlights and stuff too. After a test run, I realize that I want to rock this joint till the wheels fall off. I really do.

The NFL is so hip!

Vinatieri then misses a chippy field goal to end the half, finishing up officially the weirdest first half in Super Bowl history.

Speaking of weird, Prince is on in a minute.

Turnovers. Turnovers. Turnovers. With 4 minutes left, Grossman hits Mushin Muhammad on a tight 4-yard pass to make the score 14-6. Talking heads in millions of homes across the country nod in unison, “Good Rex”, “Grossman’s Back”, and “Sexy Rexy”.

Thomas Jones had the big run of the drive, a bullet up the middle for 52 yards.

The Colts go three and out, and then Cedric Benson fumbles the ball right back. There’s two minutes left in the half, and we’ve already seen a kickoff return for a score, four turnovers, and an injury. Wild first quarter.

On 4th and 8, the Bears go offside—making it 4th and 3 at the Bears 35 yard line. This could be a big statement for Dungy. Go for it, you tell your quarterback it’s his game and you’re going to let him be the difference maker. Punt it, and well, you know—you’re saying something else.

They opt to punt.

The Bears go three and out. On third and four, Grossman’s second pass of the game is a hideous off-the-back foot heave to the sideline. It’s nearly picked off by Antoine Bethea. Scary. You can hear all the talking heads nodding in agreement in millions of homes across the country—“Bad Rex”, “T-Rex”, “Gross, Man”.

The Colts answer with a downright methodical drive. After two first downs, Manning finds a hole. On 3rd and 10, Charles Tillman gets lost in the zone coverage and Peyton hits Wayne for a 50-yard strike. Touchdown.

Hunter Smith bobbles the extra point snap, and the Colts don’t get a kick off. Shades of Romo. Meanwhile, a million Americans with “7,7” in their Super Bowl box pools just ripped their sheets up in frustration.

A female Colts fan—wearing a Reggie Wayne jersey—is jumping up and down a few rows in front of us. She does not weigh less than 300 pounds.

I love the Super Bowl.

Wow. Devin Hester fields the opening kickoff at the nine and goes 91 yards for the score. You can’t hear yourself think in here. Hester’s kickoff return is the first to ever begin a Super Bowl. The Bears fans begin chanting their fight song, while the Colts contingent just stands in awe.

Thoughts of Ted Ginn in the BCS Title Game. Luckily for the Bears, Hester doesn’t hurt himself celebrating the score.

“Crazy Train” kicks in and the stadium is rocking. There’s something about Ozzy Osbourne that just screams “Taking back the opening kickoff for a score.” Seems like the right song at the moment.

Indy answers with a dreadful drive. A deflected pass, two false starts, and a terrible interception. Ugh.

The Colts are introduced to The Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again” and the scoreboard is zeroing in on defensive back Jason David. David’s arms are outstretched, and his palms are open to the sky. Great image. He’s just soaking this moment in. Manning’s throwing some darts to Harrison, and the Indy contingent in the stadium is alive.

Moments later, the Bears are introduced. The place erupts. We’ve got a Chicago crowd, folks. “Ditka”, “Ditka”, “Ditka”—I hear it like a siren’s song. Just echoing. Walking in here, you couldn't take two steps without seeing Bears fans hug and embrace. Touching. It's been 22 years--and they're back.

Billy Joel sings—actually sings, not lip synchs—the National Anthem. Fabulous version, too. Always been a fan of Joel, and having him a part of this Super Bowl is great. Unfortunately, he won’t be the halftime act. Prince will be taking that one on.

Great.

Greetings from Dolphin Stadium. The joint is hopping. I’m perched right above the Southeast end zone with the Bears logo. Joe Budden’s “Pump It Up” is blasting, and everyone in the stadium is collectively bobbing their head as one. There’s no way to properly describe or re-create the vibe moments before a Super Bowl. It’s a vibe that just pulsates. Sitting directly to my left is J.A. Adande of the Los Angeles Times. I introduce myself, he points to a guy wearing what appears to be a homemade Walter Payton jersey below us, mutters “Worst throwback jersey…ever”, and we’re good to go.

To my right, is nobody. Yet. But I see Peter King. And he’s on the phone. I’m assuming he’s discussing Starbucks or his aggravating travel experiences from the week.

Colts tight end Dallas Clark is the only player on the field, running a 10-yard corner route to the back of the end zone over and over and over again. Don’t be shocked if Dallas Clark catches a goal-line pass in the corner at some point.

The wind is picking up and the rain is coming down lightly. Pre-game festivities begin shortly. James Woods just greeted us on the big screen. The Shark!

Taking a look at the inactive list, Ricky Proehl will not be dressing this evening. There goes scoring a touchdown for three different teams in three different Super Bowls. Doesn’t mean he can’t collect his second ring. We’ll see how that plays out.

Vertical Horizon’s “You’re a God” is blaring now, as the Cirque Du Soleil show gets ready to begin.

Here we go.

Whoa.

There are strange balloons and stuff. There’s a referee riding an ostrich? People in Bears uniforms playing the drums. Things are getting weird. I think I’m on mushrooms. No idea what’s going on here. Scared. Frightened. Please just give me football. I am so very scared at the moment. I look to Adande. He’s in the bathroom. It’s just me and this hallucinogenic pre-game show. Did someone slip me a mickey on the shuttle ride over? I’m glad there are no drug tests required for entry to this stadium.

Phew. It’s over.

I’m back from the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory chocolate river ride.

That was quite horrifying.

Game starts in 30 minutes.

Some lingering thoughts before we make the journey over to Dolphin Stadium:

- It’s raining. It’s not raining hard, but it’s raining. What’s that mean as far as the game? Probably not much. However, the Colts were 2-3 playing on grass this season, while the Bears were nearly flawless in games played under unfavorable weather conditions. Chicago’s defense thrives on terrible weather. Chicago won two gritty games on the road in New York this year and beat up on the Saints in the snow two weeks ago. The Colts haven’t played in conditions quite like any of those games this season. 

- Is anyone excited for Prince’s halftime show? Here in Miami, they’re hyping this up like it’s the greatest thing on Earth. Maybe I’m confused. I guess I liked Prince’s music in the '80s. But is he still relevant? Wasn’t he on “American Idol” last year performing? Billy Joel’s singing the National Anthem. Any way we can switch those acts up at the last second?

- I’m already sick of that Peyton Manning high school tango footage. It’s been out for two days, and it’s already been aired more than all the Mellencamp “Our Country” Chevy ads combined.

- Curious to see if there are any funny Super Bowl ads. Also curious to see what the GoDaddy.com people have in store for us. They rarely disappoint.

- Of all the experts I’ve seen on the various TV networks this week, I’d say three out of four are going with the Colts. Deion Sanders said the Bears are going to win, saying, “I’ve been on an island before, and I’m going to be on an island again. This isn’t the first time I’m on my own.” For what it’s worth, I’m with Deion. I think the Bears just dominate the time of possession battle, and win by a touchdown.

- Surveying the scene on South Beach this week, I’d say three out of every four fans roaming the streets are here supporting the Bears. Everywhere you turn, it’s “Ditka” this and “Ditka” that. I’m curious to see what the breakdown is inside the stadium.

- Two rookies are going to play a major role in this evening’s game: Joseph Addai and Devin Hester. Don’t be shocked if either win the game’s MVP Award.

Time to hop on the shuttle to the stadium ... More to come.

Barrett Robbins. Eugene Robinson. Stanley Wilson.

As we've seen in previous years, the night before the Super Bowl hasn't always worked out so well. Trips to Tijuana, mysterious arrests, dangerous all-nighters in Miami hotel rooms -- they're as much a part of Super Bowl history as the NFL Films theme music.

When I woke up early Sunday morning, I was happy to see that there were no such incidents involving any Bears or Colts players Saturday evening. Curfews were met, game plans were discussed. Everyone stayed out of trouble.

It's good to know someone was in bed at a normal hour in Miami last night. Everyone else and their mother were out and about going insane.

After a wonderful dinner at the Capital Grille in which my party sat at a table wedged between Commissioner Goodell's and ESPN's Mark Jones', I headed down to the nightclub Mansion. If you're not familiar with Mansion, it's one of those places you always read about in "Page Six" or see on "Entertainment Tonight". It's the kind of joint where someone reports "Paris Hilton spit in Lindsay Lohan's drink, and then Colin Farrell ate a live worm out of Jared Leto's ear, and then Wilmer Valderama made out with Kate Hudson -- all the while, Tommy Lee was on stage playing piano naked." Like Marquee in New York or Sky Bar in Los Angeles, it's one of those spots.

Well, I don't usually go to "those spots".

I made the exception (or they actually let me in, depends on who you ask) Saturday night for the Penthouse Super Bowl Party.

Awesome event. Scouring the place for celebrities, I see a face I recognize. White guy, shaved head, very serious looking. And then I place it -- it's Buccaneers quarterback, Bruce Gradkowski.

Now here's the best part. Whereas other celebrities at these parties roll with 15 guys, spend thousands of dollars on VIP tables, and drink Cristal like it's Crystal Light, Gradkowski seemed to come with just one friend. Where do I spot him? Not behind a velvet rope or hanging from a chandelier. But rather, in the corner amongst the masses, surveying a buffet-style spread of food, eating mini cheeseburgers.

I approach him and introduce myself.

He's ecstatic when I tell him how much I appreciate the MAC quarterbacks.

We finish our conversation, and I retreat back to my crew. I look back over, and Gradkowski's going for seconds on the mini cheeseburgers.

Love that guy.

Jets center Nick Mangold was in the house, too. Really nice kid. When you're at a porn magazine's party on South Beach on a Saturday night in the off-season, the last thing you want to talk about is Xs and Os. But Mangold was all about it. We talked for a few minutes about the job he and D'Brickshaw Ferguson did as rookies on the New York O-line before a wobbly Jets fan came running over, doing the "J-E-T-S, JETS, JETS, JETS" chant, pointing in Mangold's face. It was actually pretty funny. Mangold loved it and posed for pictures with the guy.

Matt Geiger was there, too. Rony Seikaly and Bimbo Coles, however, were not.

I saw Kevin Federline. He was just chilling in the corner. About 30 of the most beautiful women I've ever seen come up to him and ask for pictures. He declines all of them. Just dismisses them. Not interested. This blew my mind.

What a life this guy must lead. Two years ago, he's a back-up dancer buying baseball caps at Lids in the mall -- and now, he's a multi-millionaire something (I'm not sure what he does), in the VIP section of a huge Super Bowl party, TURNING AWAY women.

Incredible.

Just as I began to hit the wall (I had one too many of the Gradkowski-approved mini cheeseburgers), the lights dim and the bass starts going. I look to the front of the club, and Snoop Dogg's on stage.

What?! Was this for real?

It was.

Snoop then goes on to play an incredible hour and a half long set, filled with every one of his hits. Wearing a Franco Harris throwback, he just ripped through his catalogue, one by one, with the place going nuts. He got his uncle up on the stage dancing to "Gin and Juice", and Arch Bishop Don "Magic" Juan did his thing dressed in glasses and a top hat.

Leaving the club after the Snoop set, I look towards Gradkowski's buffet table. He's nowhere to be found.

But they are handing out egg and cheese croissants. Don't mind if I do!

And with that, my night was done. Started with burgers, ended with eggs. And in the middle, there were NFL quarterbacks, Snoop Dogg and Penthouse Pets.

Eh, typical Saturday night.

 

 

Checked out the Commissioner’s Address yesterday. Commissioner Roger Goodell’s story is a fascinating one.

If you haven’t done any extensive reading on him, you really should. How Monster.com or Careerbuilder.com haven’t used his life story as a commercial is beyond me. His first job out of law school?

A public relations intern with the Jets. Apparently, he sent the NFL thousands of handwritten letters throughout his twenties, expressing how much he’d like to work for the league. Some would go answered; some wouldn’t.

The kicker of the story is that when he finally rose through the ranks, and became Commissioner Tagliabue’s right hand man, he was handed a massive file by one of the NFL’s longtime employees. Just a massive manila folder. He takes it, skims through, and finds all his letters. Every last one.

Now he’s the Commissioner of the league.

I liked the way he handled the press conference. It wasn’t some pre-written speech with bullet points and stops for applause. There were no mentions of Iraq, either.

Rather, he just introduced himself, welcomed everyone to the Super Bowl, and then opened up the floor to the media for questions.

Rachel Nichols from ESPN asked about the Ted Johnson stuff; Chris Mortensen probed about the NFL veterans’ pensions; and a Japanese pop star inquired as to whether there’d be more Japanese players participating in the Super Bowl. The Commissioner handled each one with the same calm, patient demeanor, and gave a solid answer to each. He fielded roughly 20 questions on the day -- didn’t dodge any, and even peppered in some humor when asked about the Favre retirement.

The league’s in good hands.

Then it was off to South Beach for another walk and people watching sequence. The respective fan bases have fully taken over Ocean Drive. Everywhere you look, it’s either blue ... or blue.

I’m not sure if George Wendt, John Goodman, and Mike Myers are aware of it -- but still, in 2007, roughly 15 years since the first time the skit ran on Saturday Night Live -- Bears fans still spend every waking second muttering "Da Bears" or "Ditka" to each other. It’s become their greeting of choice here in South Beach.

Black, white, male, female -- it doesn’t matter. Two Bears fans will pass each other in the street, just nod, and mutter, “Ditka” as an accepted and acknowledged greeting.

Think about that.

They’ve substituted "Hello" for "Ditka." What a fabulous evolution.

I’m realizing now that there are several things I didn’t prepare myself for on this trip beforehand:

1. Latina supermodels everywhere you turn. Whereas in New York every other person is a bald 40-year-old man with a Blackberry talking about himself, South Beach has perfect 10’s just roaming the streets at all hours of the day. Seeing the Bears and Colts fans -- these 300 pound men in tight Peyton Manning jerseys tucked into their tapered jeans -- just stare at them is quite enjoyable. It’s like these guys have just been blindsided by a truck. And how about the poor wives of these men? Just standing there, dressed in horseshoe-related clothing, as their husbands nearly keel over from the sight of a pair of real life human breasts that don’t end below the waistline.
2. The heat. It hasn’t even been really sunny yet. But every time I go out, I sweat like Patrick Ewing at the free throw line. Huge beads of sweat just cascading off my brow. Attractive visual, right? Who’s bringing sexy back? This guy.
3. Public drinking. This is the most fascinating one to me. It’s like Mardi Gras out there, only with football instead of beads, and 120 degree heat instead of topless women. People are drinking out of those six foot plastic tubes tied around their necks, doing beer funnels, and my personal favorite -- the Styrofoam cup margarita. Now take all that heavy drinking, add it to the middle-aged, obese male football fans -- and then tickle in the unbearable heat, the perfect women, and the biggest sporting event of the year -- and you have quite a scene.

You’ve got guys in Urlacher jerseys, just stumbling around, yelling “Da Bears”, and giving each other wet willies in each other’s ears. Just falling all over each other in the middle of the afternoon. It’s like Girls Gone Wild, if you’re fetish is Midwestern men with guts and mustaches, and not 18-year old college co-eds.

 

Mix the intoxicated tourist football fan with the models, and it’s really the perfect social experiment.

 

I actually saw a 40-something year old Colts fan approach one of these women on the street. The result was an absolutely apocalyptic scene.

 

Colts fan: "Look at you (shaking head) ... There is a God!”

Woman: (smiles, keeps walking) Colts fan: "I’m a married, man. But my friend, here (puts arm around friend in a Ken Dilger jersey) thinks you’re beautiful. Take a picture with him."

(Shoving camera in her face) Supermodel: (Politely) "No thank you." (Keeps on walking.)

Colts fan: (Not fazed whatsoever, stumbling, with arm around mortified friend) "Plenty of fish in the sea, man. Plenty of fish in the sea. She wasn’t even that hot any way."

 

Yep, he’ll get ‘em next time.

Party all the time. Party all the time.

I felt like Lindsay and Paris leading up to Friday night’s festivities. I weaseled my way onto lists for the Maxim, Hawaiian Tropic, Star Island, ESPN the Magazine, and Commissioner’s Party. In truth, I only wanted to be where Perez Hilton was going. I had heard he was out on the town this week, and yet, I still didn’t have a picture of me on his site white mark on my lip, and the word "SKANK" written in Microsoft Paint across my chest. Someday. Someday.

My friend Schub and I headed over to the ESPN the Magazine "NEXT" party where there was chili being eaten and skateboarders going off ramps. Alas, everyone else at the party had a VIP badge around their neck. I didn’t. What’d that mean? No open bar. No free chili. No fun. No girls paying attention to me. I tried getting into the VIP by telling them I loved Tom Friend’s writing each issue, but was told no dice.

Then it was off to South Beach, where the rest of the bashes were being held. FOXSports.com video guru Nick Neves, far cooler than me, was already entrenched at the Maxim party. With a line winding around the corner and the bouncers wanting NOTHING to do with me, I give Neves a call. No answer. Text. No answer. Awesome.

So that wasn’t happening.

Hawaiian Tropic? We get to the club fairly early in the evening. No line. We ask what the deal is. The promoter dude gives us some wry smile. "You can get in, no problem."

Schub and I begin to enter beyond the velvet ropes.

"1500 dollars each, man."

Kerplunk.

That one hurt. It wasn’t enough that this guy knew he wasn’t letting us into his party. But he had to tease us, too? Poor sportsmanship. I think I muttered the line Mr. Romance gave when New York asked him to leave the house on VH1’s I Love New York, "Just unprofessional ... unprofessional."

At this point, I get a hold of Neves. Here’s the list of people he’d seen at the Maxim party.

- Warren Moon
- Brady Quinn
- Jay Fiedler
- Julius Jones
- Tony Romo
- A. J. Adande
- SimeonRice
- Jason Witten
- David ####

And the one that killed me the most -- Perez Hilton. That was my chance!

Schub and I end up on a random rooftop party with an Emory friend of ours livng in Miami for law school, Rebecca. We get to the top of the StarLight Hotel and it’s as if we’re at a Ford Models casting call. Just beautiful, olive skin women everywhere you turned. Naturally, none wanted anything to do with two bumbling fools wearing jeans and sneakers.

After several attempts to strike up conversations, we realize we’re way over our head and decide to just people watch. Or gawk. Or stare. Or whatever you call it.

I ask one where she’s from, and she looks me right back in the eye, doesn’t say a word, and briskly walks RIGHT by me. Saying I was shot down would be a gross understatement. I'd never seen anything like it.

Awesome!

Neves and his fiancé Nicole join us on the roof top for a few minutes, tell us how great the Maxim bash was (thanks for answering your texts!), and then we head to the Clevelander. It’s a 40-year-old Spring Break party filled with everything you could possibly imagine at a 40-year-old Spring Break party. We decide it’s too much for us at this point, get some pizza, and start looking for a cab.

As we hail one down, a pair of Bears fans embrace right in front of us.

Simultaneously, they both hug and shout "Da Bears!"

Fitting way to end the night.