Frankie C's excellent adventure: the voyage home

By Frankie C. 

Cold Hard Football Facts Homesick Hombre

 

The Voyage Home

6:15 am.  5 more minutes, Ma! 6:15 comes early in the morning after a week like I just had. I hustle downstairs for a coffee and a smoke. I'm honestly phyched to go home. I haven't partied like this in years and I'm worn out.

 

6:45 am.  I'm cleaned up, packed and ready to go. Kerry's at his computer. He's still working on some stuff.  7 o'clock is looking like a long shot. I start to tense up. I need to make this flight. There's still plenty of time but when I have to fly, I'm nervous until I'm on the plane. It's just my thing.

 

7:40 am.  Kerry has finished his work and packed his stuff and we're in the car. 40 minutes behind schedule but hey, at least we're on our way. We have to drive around the hotel to catch the highway we need and we're ¾'s of the way around when Nature taps Kerry on the shoulder. We have to stop and he's got to run back into the hotel. I tell myself it's going to be okay and admit that Nature isn't a call you can let go to voicemail. I still manage to ratchet up the anxiety.

 

8:05 am.  Kerry's back in the car. Thank God. Now we can go. Nope. Untrue. Kerry can't envision a drive to the airport without stopping for coffee. I'm irritated, but what can I say? I wouldn't even be here if not for the big guy. He jumps out of the car, asking if I need anything. No, nothing besides a lift to the airport.

 

8:10 am.  Kerry still not back.

 

8:15 am.  Kerry still not back.

 

8:20 am.  Kerry still not back. I'm twitching. 

 

8:25 am.  Kerry returns. He's on the phone. He's talking outside the car. It feels like a thousand degrees in the car. I'm suddenly itchy and in the visor mirror, I can see a vein on my neck sticking out. I might be having a stroke.

 

8:30 am.  Kerry's back behind the wheel and off we go. Not a second too soon. I know this moment will earn me an aneurysm at some point. Could be today, could be 10 years from now. Whenever it happens, it will be Kerrys fault.

 

9:00 am.  We arrive at the terminal. We're here and I can relax. Over a beer in the airport bar, I tell the bartender, a knockout named Shellie, that if we could hear God speak he'd have a Boston accent. Even I think that's a stretch.

 

10:00 am.  We're on the plane! I notice some primo seats are open in the first row behind first class. Tons of leg room. The flight attendant gives me the green light to move. Life is sweet. 

 

10:05 am.  We're moving! Much like a victim of a violent attack that gets nervous in a dark alley, I was petrified we'd be trapped on the plane and sprayed with deicer again. We taxi to the runway and we're off. My time in Dallas officially over.

 

10:40 am.  The fasten seat belt light is still lit. But, Shellies beers are telling me to leave my seat. I shimmy down the aisle and one of the flight attendants reminds me that I'm not supposed to be out of my seat. I try to explain the emergency nature of the situation but she's on her way down the aisle.

 

1:40 pm.  Eastern time.  I have to make my way to the bathroom again. Again the fasten seat belt light is on. Again the same flight attendant lectures me and bolts before the explanation. I'm not a fan of this lady at all. I'm also no fan of wetting my pants. Sorry Lady.

 

2:10 pm.  Eastern time.  We touch down at Logan with no complications. I'm in the first row of coach and off the plane in no time. This flight is the exact opposite of the flight down with the exception of the seat belt nazi. I'm back home though and all is forgiven. I hope on her next flight no one leaves their seat.

 

10:12 pm.  Eastern time.  I've just finished my last entry on the Frankie C.'s excellent adventure blog. We partied with Gene Simmons and half naked girls. We tore up radio row. We met Miss America. We ate tons of great Texas food. We covered the Super Bowl like a fun suntan-spray mist of wisdom. We partied with hard-core Packers and Steelers fans and we saw tons of great sites.

 

I loved Dallas and I loved sharing my stories with you fine people. Thanks for reading.

 

By Frankie C.

Cold Hard Football Facts Terrible Jowl

 

Day 7 Last night in town Part 2

6:00 pm.  Bounced around the hotel for awhile waiting on the big guy to finish up the stuff he's working on. It's our last night in town and what I want more than anything is some legitimate Texas barbeque.

 

It's really the only Texas tradition I haven't experienced besides face death by lethal injection. In our travels through my new favorite American neighborhood, Deep Ellum, we've notice several worthy candidates for our farewell dinner. One placed called Cowboy Chow promises "Texas comfort food" such as chili brisket tacos, Kerry's new favorite. Kerry knows tacos much like a preacher knows the Bible. But even he had never seen brisket tacos outside of Dallas. We're going to head over there and randomly choose the place. 

 

8:00 pm.  Driving down Commerce St. takes us back by Adairs saloon. We decide to stop in for a beer and hopefully Beautiful Sherri will be working and we can all have a laugh over our, ahem, misunderstanding.

 

8:01 pm.  As soon as we park and jump out of the car, we're greeted by the smell of barbeque smoke from a joint called Bakers Ribs. The smoke is billowing from a stack above the building, which is just across an empty parking lot from Adairs. Jackpot. Barbeque nirvana, just steps from where we opted to park. I can take solace from the fact that the search ends before it begins. 

 

8:05 pm.  We enter the bar. Mondays don't appear to be the busiest night in Adairs. The band is on stage playing to a crowd of 2 or 3 die hards. The singer strums through "Can't you see" by the Marshall Tucker band. We're greeted at the bar by Amy. Beautiful Sherri's not in tonight. Probably busy filing a restraining order against me and my portly friend. No problem. Amy's beautiful too. So, she sets us up with a couple beers and some brown liquor. We rap about our last vist to Adairs, Beautiful Sherris infatuation with me, the intoxicating smell from the joint across the parking lot and whether Beautiful Amy thinks I'm awesome. She thinks not, but she doesn't even know me. A regular Ms. Quick to judge, she is.

 

9:00 pm.  A couple beers, some shots, and a healthy dose of humility- courtesy of Beautiful Amy and we're ready to take off. I've got ribs on my mind.

 

9:01 pm.  Out into the Dallas night, that smoke still heavy and delicious in the street. I can already taste those ribs. 

 

9:03 pm.  Kerry throws something in the car, and then tries to walk through the fence separating the sidewalk from the parking lot. He's graceful like a car accident. This trip is awesome.

 

9:06 pm.  We arrive at Bakers. There's something weird going on. It must be one of those new agey types of restaurants where the patrons eat in the dark. I have the rib fever. I can eat in the dark. Hell, complete darkness is my favorite lighting. It really makes me look good.

 

9:08 pm.  I'm at the door. It's locked. They're closed. Maybe this is a karma thing. I apologize to Kerry for laughing so hard when he almost knocked down the little fence. I try the door again. It's still locked. I rescind my apology. 

 

9:10 pm.  Next door to Bakers is a restaurant called The Angry Dog. Maybe, just maybe that stack is connected not to Bakers but to The Angry Dog. We stroll right in and I bolt to the bar and ask the guy behind it if, by some miracle, that's their smoke stack. The Mexican gentleman explains to me that I can smoke outside. I try to get my question translated while gesturing like someone trying to battle a swarm of Africanized honey bees. Finally an English speaking member of the wait staff says no, Bakers smokes the meat round the clock.

 

The Angry Dog doesn't do barbeque. He introduces himself as Eric and he says that while they don't do barbeque, they DO hot wings. Sold American. Eric even offers to give us directions to his favorite barbeque joint. Dallas people are solid. We order some wings to take the edge off while he writes them out.

 

9:30 pm.  Wings are out and directions are done. The wings are the real deal. They're really small, meat-wise but the sauce is out of this world. I'd put it up against any recipe. Just awesome. 

 

A couple down the bar has seen my nervous breakdown and heard my accent. It's a hell of an icebreaker, Bostonian. We start chatting. They are Robert and Katherine. They're familiar with Erics favorite barbeque place, unfortunately they think that we're going to show up to a locked door there too.

 

A flurry of activity begins to take place. Robert, Katherine and Eric all pull out their mobile web devices and start searching for a place we can get a rib jones fixed up. Looks like we're out of luck. We make the call to stick around at The Angry Dog and have some more hot wings. Fair enough, they really are amazing.

I am again struck by the friendly and generous nature of the people of Dallas.

 

10:00 pm.  We get our new orders of wings and begin to devour them. Eric decides we haven't had enough to eat and insists we try the burgers, the house specialty, free of charge. I may have neglected to mention how awesome the people of Dallas are. It's a different world down there. Here in Boston, you don't get free food. You probably get overcharged for having the misfortune of being born outside city limits.

 

11:00 pm.  We can't even finish all the food, and that's saying something with guys like Kerry and I. We drink what seems like a hundred beers with Robert and Katherine, and say our goodbyes. I might have to move to Deep Ellum one day.

 

11:20 pm.  Back in the hotel. It's been a long trip. I'm calling it a night. Tomorrow morning I have to pack and get back to the hub of the universe, or as I like to call it, the cradle of civilization. The plan is to get out of the hotel at 7 and be at the airport around 8 for a 10:05 flight.

 

By Frankie C

Cold Hard Football Facts Government Scapegoat

 

Day 7 - Last night in town

7:30 am.  I wake up to the sound of Kerrys phone letting him know he's got a message. It feels WAY too early for messaging. I make a mental note to steal his phone and destroy it.

 

We head down to the coffee shop for some caffeine. The lobby is bananas. The line to check out is about 50 deep. Although, I'm just about Dallas'd out, I'm glad I don't have to join the herd.

 

I step outside for a smoke. It's chilly but I can manage without a coat.

 

Cars are whipping up and down the streets, I'm shocked I haven't seen an accident. This is the heart of the city with pedestrians making their way across intersections and the drivers look like they're doing around 60 mph. Crazy.

 

 

8:00 am.  Back to the room to settle up on my gameday blog. What a day. The plan is to catch up on all my writing and then clean up and head to Dealey Plaza and return to the SMU bookstore to return one of my new hats. Apparently when I was in the store, I didn't factor in my enormous head. 

 

10:00 am.  All caught up with my postings. Time to get cleaned up and get out on the roads. We'll try to remember to leave the garage at 60 mph. Catch you on the other side.

 

2:58 pm.  Just back from all the errands. First we hit the SMU bookstore again to swap the child size hat for one more suitable to my dimensions. I'm lucky, "Freakishly Large" is in stock.

 

Driving back through town, while in the Deep Ellum section we see a place called The Taco Lounge. I've always wanted to lie down with tacos. So we stop for lunch. The bartender introduces herself as Candy (life is a circle, friends... See Day 1, 2am. and Day 4 part 1, 8:15 am), but with a little digging we find that her real name is Dulce.

 

According to Dulce, her name means "Sweet" in "Espanish", as she calls it. It's fitting, really. She said that Kerry was muy caliente, if that's not sweet I don't know what is. I wonder what the translation for Mother Theresa is in "Espanish".

 

From there we make our way to the Cotton Bowl for a photo session. Another lucky break, they left the gate unlocked. Kerry and I break numerous laws and enter to get some snaps of the field. It's a great little stadium, which according to Kerry no longer holds football games. That's a shame, and a waste of some great history.

 

Next stop, Dealey plaza. The site of the Kennedy assassination. I'm not the biggest Kennedy family devotee, but there's an unspoken gravity and a reverence to the area. You feel a shiver when you're looking at the street from the spot where the Zapruder film was shot. That gravity was somewhat diminished when I was told to "Look out for that pile of shit.", I was grateful. I almost stepped in it.

 

Funny story, true story. Walking toward the plaza, Kerry and I saw a panhandler on the sidewalk. The guy looks up at us and without any hesitation says "You got 5 dollars?", I quickly said no, but I was struck by his ambition. No asking for spare change for that guy. He doesn't have time to dick around. That stoop ain't gonna soil itself.

 

We see the sights and jump back in the car to come back to the hotel and blog it up. Along the way, we see a fascinating looking building with exotic plantings, and water features in front and intricate carvings on the walls. It's the aquarium. We have a badass aquarium in Boston that I've been to many times, so I didn't want to waste time there. Interesting though, spitting distance from the front door is a sushi bar. Coincidence, or efficient use of dead fish? Discuss.

 

3:28 pm.  All caught up, blog-wise. I'll catch up with you guys later when there's more to tell.

 

Gameday Conclusion

10:00 pm.  Down at the hotel bar I grab a cocktail and try to decompress. I've never live blogged anything before.  I was stressed out through the whole game. I also faced some mechanical issues with my laptop. I can't imagine what was running through the minds of anyone who happened to walk by our hotel room published headquarters. It must have sounded like walking by a dinner hosted by famous Green Bay Packers fan, Jeffrey Dahmer    

 

10:30 pm.  The fans that attended the game begin to flood the lobby.  They are happy and sad.  They hail from parts unknown.  They're separated by socio-economic differences, but they all have 2 things in common.  They are drunk and they are assholes. I am going back to my room.

 

10:45 pm.  I've been in this room just about all day, but after the stress I was telling you about I just don't think I can bear the outside world. I'm going to bed.

 

1:00 am.  Kerry returns from the Big Game.  He is not quiet.  I'm up again.  I have to rally down to the bar again. I get myself back together and head down. Kerry's already there and talking to another media type.  I summon all my will and order a beer.  Behind us one of the drunk assholes is whistling loudly every few seconds.  When it happens everyone turns around looking for the asshole.  He's sneaky though, hiding among other drunk assholes (they all look alike). It keeps happening until people start yelling about it.  I heard someone yell "Dickhead!" and that seemed to sink in.  Dickhead finally stops whistling.

 

1:30 pm.  I tried to rally but it's no use.  I would rather be skinned alive and rolled in salt than remain in this bar.  I say my goodbyes and grab a smoke outside. I'm totally drained. 

 

1:45 pm. Back in the room. Kerrys back.  We trade game stories. Stress aside, it really is the biggest sporting event in the world.

 

2:30pm.  I finally manage to get back to sleep.  I'll check in with you guys in the morning.

 

9:46 pm.  Just finished blogging so hard my fingers bled at on "Live from Dallas! The CHFF Super Bowl XLV Blog". I'm going to grab a drink and see what kind of trouble I can happen into.

 

5:30 pm.  Down at the bar, Baby and I said our goodbyes.  She's leaving for the day and she's off tomorrow.  I got the brisket lettuce and tomato sandwich.  It was awesome.  I'm fueled up and ready to blog my ass off.

 

5:52 pm.  Get over to our live Superbowl blog for up to the second reaction from the team of CHFF hall of famers.

 

Day 6 - Super Bowl Sunday!

7:00 am.  Up with the sun on Gameday! I feel totally recharged. Ready to get my blog on. I need to recap all the adventures from yesterday but first, COFFEE.

 

7:10 am.  The hotel is quiet. The calm before the storm. I'm reminded of the story of Tom Brady taking a nap before Superbowl XXXVI. Yup, that's me. Totally chill before blogging my first bowl. Will that make me a champion? Only time will tell.

 

7:30 am.  I'm slaving over my laptop, tickling the keys like Liberace. Bam. You're welcome.

 

9:30 am.  Time for a break, I trek down to see Baby at the hotel bar. I get some of that nutrient rich vodka and sprite with lemon action. Baby's having a career week at the bar. It's been 4 deep to get a drink during business hours for 4 days. I try to convince Baby to spend her new wealth on me. She's reluctant. Time to get back to bringing you the news you need.

 

11:30 am.  Day 5, finished and posted. Fellow CHFF writer Jonathan "Colonel" Comey arrives to meet us for lunch. After a brief tour of our hotel room publishing headquarters, we head down to Draft sports bar.

 

12:00 pm.  I've never met the Colonel in person before. We soon learn that he's recently lost 130 pounds. He and I take the opportunity to mock Kerry for being fatter than us. A lousy Caeser salad and 4 beers later it's time.

 

1:00 pm.  Kerry and the Colonel grab the bus to the stadium. I designate myself to give the pregame speech before they go. "60 minutes. All I want is everything you got for 60 minutes. Let's write ourselves into history." Nothing else needs to be said.

 

1:20 pm.  Back to the room for a nap before the biggest moment of my blogging life. Me and Brady, we do it cool.

 

3:45 pm.  I'm up and ready to write. I do some hand flexing and shaking to warm up. Go in cold and tweak a carpal tunnel and see where that gets you.

 

4:23 pm.  Caught up with blogging the events of the morning and early afternoon. I'm ready for the pregame meal. I'll go see Baby and get a brisket sandwich to go. Be back on the other side.

 

By Frankie C.  Cold Hard Football Facts Underachiever Extraordinaire

 

Day 5  - An Old Man Hits The Wall

7:00 am.  I am awake and surprisingly undamaged from the events of last night. Today the plan is to rent a car and check out some party that a Pittsburgh radio station is having and if there's time go to Southern Methodist University to buy a t-shirt. Going to get some coffee and post some of yesterdays tremendousness.

 

10:00 am.  Got part one of day 4 up on the site and showered. I went downstairs to have a smoke and was greeted by the sun! The hotel is en fuego. People are flying through the lobby. The commotion is dizzying. I swing up to the room and find that the chief isn't ready yet. I'm going to the bar. 

 

10:05 am.  I see Don Banks of Sports Illustrated in the elevator. I consider telling him I like his work, but the Peter King episode is still too fresh in my mind. I think better of the idea.

 

10:30 am.  I'm sitting at Draft Sports Bar. My 1^st drink of the day is a Ketel One Citreon with sprite and a lemon. I'm feeling good about the choice. That lemon on the rim of my glass is the first appearance of vitamins in my diet since I've been here, unless olives have vitamins. I'm not a nutritionist.

 

11:00 am.  I can feel those vitamins pumping through my blood stream. I do it again. If one lemon is good, then let's lemonize this action.

 

11:16 am.  Well look who's here! Mr. Big Apple just sidled up next to me at the bar. He greets me, which tells me I wasted a business card on him. He definitely didn't know I wanted to see him savaged by wild dogs.

 

11:30 am.  Kerry just made it to the bar. In typical Kerry fashion, he starts chatting up the group of guys next to us, opposite Mr. Big Apple. This time it works out okay. The guys actually grew up in Quincy, our hometown. Our inner douches see themselves in these guys. We have a drink with them and now it's off to pick up the rental car.

 

12:00 pm.  In the cab on the way to the rental place, Kerry does a radio interview on the phone.  This is the strangest interview/cab ride ever. Our cab arrives in the area our destination while he's talking. Not AT our destination. The cabby missed our turn and we have to dick around with paying the guy and jump out onto the dirty, sandy mush of the street while a ninja cop shows up out of nowhere to see what's going on. Meanwhile a very patient radio station in Brockton, MA listens in.

 

12:30 pm.  We've picked up our car from Amanda at the rental place. Within the first 30 seconds of meeting she mentions her boyfriend. I think she's reminding herself she has one. She wants me. We're off to Addison, TX for a Steeler fan party with ex-player Deshea Townsend.

 

1:00 pm.  We arrive at Malarkey's tavern for the party. It's pandemonium. These Steeler fans are passionate... or clinically insane. It's a sea of black and gold, and the sea is angry, my friend. It's like downtown Cairo without the rock throwing.

 

1:30 pm.  Deshea Townsend and Ken Laird are doing their radio show from the party. Kerry whores himself out for a 10 minute segment with them.

 

1:45 pm.  The interview is over. I get a couple beers and mingle with the revelers. These are my people, drunken animals.

 

2:00 pm.  The radio program is over. Deshea gets up on stage and sings Mustang Sally with the band.  The crowd and the band seem pleased. I feel like Simon Cowell, "If I'm being honest, I think it was atrocious.". I'm a mustang sally snob.

 

2:30 pm.  The Pittsburgh fans are awesome. They definitely know how to par-tay. My buzz is back!

 

3:15 pm.  Time to split. Kerry's got another show to do back in the downtown area. Back on the road.

 

3:45 pm.  Dallas is a confusing city to drive, Man. It's all overlapping highways and one ways. They have a cartoon Jetsons feel. Everyone's moving 100 miles an hour. I'm glad I'm not the one driving. Thank God for the laws against operating under the influence.

 

3:55 pm.  We arrive at the Packer fan party. It's being hosted at the 6 day old bar owned by former packer Brian Williams. ESPN Milwaukee's Homer True is hosting a live broadcast from there. He's been good to CHFF so Kerry's going to get on for a segment.

 

4:00 pm.  The bar itself can't contain all these fans. The parking lot has a stage with a band and hundreds of green and yellow clad yahoos. Men outnumber the women like 10-1. No wonder Wisconsin is known for sausage. Advantage Pittsburgh.

 

4:10 pm.  Kerry does his segment on the radio. Kerry knows that picking Pittsburgh in front of this crowd might be hazardous to his health, so he panders and tells them what a great party they throw. I'd be more critical of this move if my own safety wasn't on the line. Pander on, my friend. Pander on.

 

4:30 pm.  Interview complete. We grab an undercooked bratwurst and decide to hit the Southern Methodist University bookstore for some shwag. I pay 70 dollars for a t-shirt and 2 hats. Shopping drunk is a mistake.

 

5:00 pm.  The bookstore is closing. Kerry's trying to convince the staff that double XL is a perfectly normal size for a college student to wear and that they must carry that size somewhere in the back room.

 

5:45 pm.  We're back in the room. We hit traffic and then the greatest football mind of our generation had trouble navigating a parking garage. 

 

6:00 pm.  Finally back in the room. I'm utterly exhausted. We're supposed to get ready for the Pro Football Writers of America dinner. The first shuttle leaves at 6:45. I simply cannot do it. I need a nap.

 

7:00 pm.  I'm awake and feeling just good enough to get this dinner banged out. The good part about getting older is knowing my limits. The bad part is my limits are so damned limited.

 

7:45 pm.  We board the shuttle bus to the dinner. The writers are talking about the newly inducted hall of fame class. For the 4^th year in a row, a record amount of defensive players are inducted. More kudos to Cold Hard Football Facts.

 

8:00 pm.  We sit down to dinner with John Ingoldsby of IIRsports.com Paul Domowitch of Philly.com. We have dinner together and I'm not sure if Kerry or John or Paul found it as interesting as I did, but I had a blast listening to 3 football historians rap about football. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

 

9:00 pm.  I look across the room and see John Clayton and his wife sitting at a table near us. I'm starting to feel bad about tearing Clayton up on Wednesday. It's not his fault he's no Frankie C. That day on the bus was awful, I was surly. Sorry John.

 

10:00 pm.  Back on the shuttle to the hotel. I can't wait to call it a night.  I'm so old. The Frankie of as recently as 5 years ago would've stolen the bus and driven everyone to Mexico. I'm shadow of myself.

 

11:00 pm.  Back in the room. I get a text from Beautiful Sherri. She has my number from calling back to pay the bill the night before. I spelled her name wrong. Of course I did. Day 5 in Dallas ends with spelling correction from a bartender at a honky tonk. Talk to you fine people tomorrow.

 

By Frankie C

Cold Hard Football Facts Shit Kickin' Honky Tonk Bedonka-donker

 

Day 4 Part 2 (Friday). Show Sergio Your Hoo Hoo

7:00 pm. Change of plans. Instead of the Pamela Anderson party, we've decided to spend tonight at a shit-kicking honky-tonk bar. We've even picked out the place, Adair's saloon 2624 Commerce St. in the Deep Ellum section of Dallas. I'm not a country music fan by any stretch, but I figure when in Rome...

 

7:30 pm.  We arrive at Adair's. It's deserted like most joints in town. I'm not optimistic about the evening. I'm beginning to wonder what the hell was wrong with rubbing elbows with the likes of Pam Anderson.

 

7:45 pm.  We get some beers and get to know the bartender, Sherry. She's from Virginia Beach, Virginia and foolishly followed some sailor to Dallas. As in all stories where someone follows someone else somewhere else for love, it didn't end well. 

 

Sherry assures us that while beautiful, she could certainly be a crazy bitch and therefore responsible for the failure in the relationship. I've been drinking on and off all day and she's really pretty. I know better. It's the fault of that filthy sailor. Either way, her willingness to be responsible is endearing.

 

8:00 pm.  I'm still nervous this night is going to suck. I calm my nerves with 2 shots of Crown Royal. Things are looking up. I start to wonder why that bastard sailor broke Beautiful Sherrys heart.

 

8:10 pm.  Kerry decides to put some money in the jukebox. I'm chatting with beautiful Sherry. We're getting along famously and Kerry, the world's foremost authority on all things football, decides he needs help figuring out the complexities of a machine he's managed to use his whole life. He calls beautiful Sherry over, removing her from my presence. I start to think about gluing his nutsack to his leg while he sleeps.

 

8:11 pm.  Looking around this shithole while Kerry spoils my fun, I notice that the bar is covered floor to ceiling in graffiti. Just peoples names and notes everywhere. Directly in front of me written on a refrigerator door are the words "Show Sergio your hoo hoo." Never in my life have I felt such a kinship with anyone named Sergio.

 

8:30 pm.  I'm buzzing now. I think maybe Adair's is awesome. Beautiful Sherry is growing more beautiful by the second and she recommends the cheeseburgers. I now believe everything Sherry tells me. We order the burgers.

 

9:00 pm.  The burgers are out and I was wise to trust beautiful Sherry. This might be all the booze and beers talking but this is unquestionably one of the best burgers I've ever had. It's just a cheeseburger with lettuce, tomato, and onion but the hook is the pickled jalepeno toothpicked on top. I'm floored. REALLY good stuff. What's even better is that that jalepeno burns just enough to make the beers even more delicious. This place gets better and better.

 

9:15 pm.  The bar begins to fill with people. Including one native Texan guy, Keith, who Kerry starts talking to.  I go out of my way not to chat with anyone with a penis. Kerry is an everybody guy. He makes more friends that way, but I don't have to talk to anyone with a penis. I'll take my strategy. 

 

9:30 pm.  Keith seems like a cool guy. Thankfully, I'm not the one sitting next to him. I'm enjoying my beers and reading the walls. I'm content. The band is setting up. Looking around Kerry and I notice one guy in a Boston Bruins cap. Into the bar walk two more guys, one in a Celtics cap, another in Red Sox hat. Turns out they're from Massachusetts. The guy in the Celtics hat introduces himself as Sully. As if his name could've been anything else.

 

10:00 pm.  The band begins to play. It's country. I don't know the song but the band is tight. The girls in the room are swaying and all appears right with the world. Some girl refuses to look at me as she walks by me to the bathroom. I take this as proof she's into me. Keith seems to think I should move in. I think Keith should worry about his own game.

 

10:20 pm.  This band is actually really good. I'm having a blast. Keith is becoming a pain in the ass. Even Kerry is annoyed.

 

10:45 pm.  I go out for a smoke. The cold night air is refreshing. The band continues to jam inside the bar. I'm loving Dallas right now.

 

10:55 pm.  As soon as I get in, Kerry's ready to go. He's had enough of Keith and his mojo is gone. I'm tired anyway and we split. We decide to walk back to the hotel. It's still cold here. I have to tuck my arms up into my sleeves as we walk. Far down the street, I realize we forgot to pay the tab. There's NO WAY, I'm walking back in the cold to the bar.

 

11:15 pm.  Back to the room. I call the bar and speak to beautiful Sherry. She's bitching at me that she's going to have to pay for our tab. I try to explain that I'm calling so that won't happen. Eventually beautiful Sherry calms down and takes my info. Hmmm. Maybe that sailor was on to something.

 

12:10 am.  I'm all caught up and going to sleep. I guess we all learned a valuable lesson. I learned that I'm right about talking to people with penises and Sherry learned that not all people are douches that leave without paying. As for Kerry, well, his lesson comes tonight in the form of superglue...  

 

  

Day 4 Part 1 (Friday).  A New Hope

Day 4 8:15 am.  I decided to use last night to pass go and recharge my batteries completely. I slept for almost 12 hours. But, before you assume that the night was uneventful, assume again. I have a very important message for those of you who doubt the existence of God. He's real. He also works in mysterious ways.

 

Somewhere around 4 am, I woke up and trudged down to the sidewalk to have a cigarette and you'll never guess what I saw... It was Candy from the strip club! She looked a little um, weathered. Well I guess Candy heard God when he said to treat her well and she'd treat you well. Based on what I saw, my conclusion is I didn't treat her well enough. Someone in this hotel got some of that good old reciprocal treatment. God probably wanted me to understand how religious Candy was because she didn't recognize me, but she did ask me where she could find a cab. Bless her soul.

 

8:30 am.  Out the window I see that the city is covered in a fresh blanket of snow. It's still hard to believe this is Dallas, Texas. I can see miles of road from the room. Not one single plow. It's going to get messy out there. I'm going to get cleaned up and get over to the media center. I'll let you know the latest when I get there.

 

9:37 am.  In the immortal words of MC Lyte, I'm "funky fresh dressed to impress, ready to party." We're going to forego the media center for the time being. Kerry's due over there at 11 am for interviews on radio row so we'll head over then. I'm going to crack beer numero dos in the meantime. It's all about preparation in the media game. I can't go over there half assed. I intend to do everything fully assed.

 

10:00 am.  I realize I'm starving and head down to the hotel sports bar. I've still got an hour until I have to be at the media center. I order quesadillas and chat up a charming couple next to me at the bar. They're in from Kentucky. I soon learn they had no trouble with their flight. I now find them decidedly less charming. 

 

10:30 am.  The couple from Kentucky is gone. Probably to their room where they, unlike me, get to engage in Coitus Superbowlus, the hottest of all vacation sex. 

 

They're replaced by a guy who when I mention that I'm from Boston, says "I'm sorry." Turns out, he's from New York. I'd like to see him ripped apart by wild dogs. Lavar Arrington is in the bar. He's just a massive dude. I wish that Lavar would sack Mr. Big Apple.

 

11:00 am.  Kerry finds me at the bar and we arrive on Radio Row. Ray Rice of the Baltimore Ravens is in the house. In typical Frankie C fashion, I am ignored by him. 

 

11:15 am.  Kerry just taped an interview with Boston sports radio 98.5 FM. Good segment. Mike Felger and Tony Massarotti are actual pretty cool guys. It's interesting to meet the guys behind the voices on the radio. 

 

11:45 am.  Kerry did another segment on Jeff "Doc" Dockeray's tailgate radio show. There's got to be 200 shows going on at the same time. While I was filming the interview I notice a beautiful blonde wearing a tiara doing an interview across the way.

 

12:00 pm.  Yup, that's newly crowned Miss America, Teresa Scanlan, in the blue dress. She must have noticed how approachably douchey I am. She wants a photo with me. Oh well, needs of the business...

 

12:30 pm.  Had a really interesting conversation with Rick Gosselin of the Dallas Morning News. Many people aren't aware of this, but Kerry's played an integral part in raising awareness of the total lack of recognition for many hall of fame worthy defensive players. Rick is in the same camp. That's what we talked about. Rick's a hall of fame voter. I feel important because I'm nodding when he looks at me.

 

12:45 pm.  We stop at the bar so I can grab a picture with the girl that's been setting me up with my martinis all week.  Her name's Alisa (pronounced Ah-Lisa) but I call her Baby (pictured here after prepare my delectable martini). I had to give a shout out to her, she's a sweetheart, makes a great drink and has that irresistable Texas accent.

 

1:00 pm.  Back in the room to share my story with you fine people.

 

2:00 pm.   Back at the bar for a dirty martini. While I'm there I see two guys who don't dislike the Packers and then Sal Palantonio played the ignore Frankie C game. Damn you, Sal.

 

3:16 pm.  I'm all caught up with the blog. I'm going to hit the lobby and see what other famous people want to play ignore Frankie C.

 

4:30 pm.  Saw Michael Irvin in the lobby. He definitely wanted to play "Ignore Frankie C". Apparently this game is sweeping the nation. There's a reason they call Irvin "The Playmaker." He's awesome at this game.

 

5:00 pm.  Catching a pregame nap. I want to be at my best tonight.

 

Day 3 (Thursday) A Rock Star pays The Price

8:12 am.  Just got up and I'm taking coffee intravenously. I'm taking the shuttle over to the stadium today to get a look around and hopefully catch some press conferences. I'll shoot some video and share it with youse guys when I get back. Prepare your delicate senses. 

 

8:41 am.  Over at the media center. It's pretty quiet at the moment. I'm having trouble figuring out the actual time. It's an hour earlier than I thought. I pretty much surrendered an hour of sleep thinking I was going to miss the shuttle to the stadium. Classic Frankie C. I'll use this time to catch up on news and hopefully this awful vodka related stomach discomfort will vanish.

   

9:30 am.  I boarded the bus to the Pittsburgh Steeler press conference. As I got on the bus fueled by 3 hours of alcohol coma sleep, I was praying for the bus to roll over so I could rest in the sweet embrace of death. It was clear this was to be the worst several hours of my life since that one time I was kidnapped by that airline... 

 

9:50 am.  I was under the impression that the press conference was to be held at the new stadium, which was impressive from the highway. I don't remember being surprised when we sped right by.

 

10:15 am.  I realize that while I have no idea how long this dreaded ride will be, at least if I'm never heard from again I won't be alone. I'll have the company of ESPNs John Clayton. Note to self: hire John Claytons make-up artist. No offense to him, really, but as bad as that guy looks on TV, he's a thousand times worse in person. He must be 300 years old.  He sneezed and the bus filled with dust. Poor bastard.

 

10:45 am.  We arrive. We pull up and I see that there could be something redeeming about this after all.  We're at TCU. Texas Christian University. The alma mater of CHFF favorite "Slingin'" Sammy Baugh. I'm still queasy when we enter the building. The rest of the press swarm to the pastries and coffee like piranha on a cow carcass. I can barely stomach the thought of food. I wish there was a table with guns and bullets.

 

11:00 am.  Mike Tomlin press conference. I'm impressed with Tomlin. He's got a quiet charisma. There's a confidence and a surety. I can see why his players trust him. I shouldn't be surprised. He's been there before and won.

 

11:10 am.  James Farrior press conference. I'm wallowing in my own pain at this point. Just wishing this thing would end. Literally, I'm thinking about how comfortable the bed at the hotel is. One thing I pick up it that Farrior refers to himself and Larry Foote as Shake and Bake. He's a Talladega Nights fan. He's won me over. I'm easy...

 

11:30 am.  The rest of the Steelers file in and take their seats. The press is back in piranha mode. I've found a hot videographers ass to stare at. She catches me. I slink away, wishing I was man enough to be embarrassed. I find Troy Polamalus table. He's an incredible player and his commercials are hilarious, surely I'll get some good video to take back to the site. I get 3 feet away from his mouth and set up. I literally cannot hear a word he says. Strong man, VERY low talker. I've decided I'm done. I make my way up to the stands that surround the conference area and record a shaky video and call it a day. I get on the bus.

 

1:00 pm.  The ride home is uneventful with the exception of the pain in my stomach. I think I might be pregnant. God knows I look it.

 

1:15 pm.  Back in the hotel room, finally. The maid's been here. I couldn't care less. I would lie down in a pile of liposuction waste if that's what was here. 

 

3:00 pm.  Look whose back in the game! I wake up and grab a shower. I'm suddenly thirsty. Down to the bar. On my way, some dude wearing a Captain Morgan outfit makes a pass at me. I'm flattered but unin

terested. Sorry Buddy, with all the sea life I've harpooned, I run my own ship.

 

3:15 pm.  2 beers deep.  I'm a new man.  Ready to grab a much needed meal.  Kerry and I make our way to a Irish/Mexican joint downtown. 

 

7:00 pm.  Just had a terrific meal and several more drinks.  I'm so stuffed. I'm ready for another nap, or maybe I'll crash through the night.  At this point I have that full bellied glow of contentment.  Well, that brings us up to date.  I'm going to relax for a bit and check in with you fine people on the other side of some sleep.  

I thought my whole week was about to be spent in that chilly hotel bar. It's the hottest party in town tonight and we are in. He also mentioned Pamela Anderson's party on Friday that he'd like us to attend. Just showered and gussied up. I don't want to brag, but I might be the best looking guy in the history of the world. Now I

'm ready to go check it out. Stay tuned for further updates. This has the potential to be awesome.

My mission over the next six days is to get to know the myriad nuances of all things Superbowl XLV.  Well, all with the exception of the game itself. I'll leave that to the professionals... 

My story began ordinarily with an early morning trip to the airport. Excitement about the trip and visions of my inevitable fame and success adrenalized me as we got to Logan Airport in Boston and made our way through security. This was my first flight since they introduced full body scanners. 

I wondered whether the folks that work there really could see everything. Having said that, I'd like to thank the people with the TSA that had the sympathy to keep their reactions to snickers and giggles rather than belly laughs and knee slaps. 

In the days leading up to our departure, tales of the latest "Snowpocalypse" were rampant from every news outlet.  But the edge of the storm wasn't forecasted to hit the Boston area until after we were safely scheduled to leave. I naturally interpret this as further proof that this trip is some prewritten tale of gargantuan good fortune. This last statement is only further proof that I am not a smart man... 

So, we board American Airlines flight 1355 at roughly 6:30 a.m. We're scheduled to depart at 7:20 am. I find seat 28E and settle in as much as a fat man can in coach. Whatever pain or discomfort I felt was muted by the certain knowledge that in four short hours I'd be rubbing elbows with luminaries and dignitaries and plenty of sweet Texas ladies. We also had big plans for the evening including a seat in a luxury suite at the Dallas Stars game that night.

 The whole city of Dallas would open its loving arms and welcome me like a native son.

Around 7 a.m.: The Captain reported over the intercom that while Boston was still dry and safe to depart from, the same massive storm was at that moment raining ice down on the airport and runways of Dallas. Because Dallas is ill-equipped to handle ice from the sky we'd be forced to wait in Boston until we could be assured that the vessel could safely land at the end of the flight. 

Flash forward to 8:45 a.m. The new scheduled departure time. We're back aboard the plane and ready to go. My mind is back to lassoing steers and celebrating my awesomeness in my fictional Dallas. 

I'm interrupted by Captain Stubing over the intercom again. Now the airport in Dallas is ready for arrivals. Hooray!!! 

10:15 a.m. Can anyone define "Stockholm Syndrome"? We are informed by a voice from a speaker that I can only assume is God that the runway is clear but that we will have to wait for the plane to be de-iced. 

According to God, we are third in line. I fidget and shift in my seat. It's been 90 minutes since I moved my legs and I'm worried that I'll develop a severe blood clot before I can reenact the Zapruder film. Be that as it may, I'm confident that God and his angels will provide me the travel I desire.

11:00 a.m.  Hooray! The deicing truck has arrived and we're quickly becoming ice free. God is pleased.  He announces that when this small unpleasantness is done, we're still third in line to take off. 

Texas, here I come!

11:30 a.m.  The plane is ice free! It briefly occurs to me, that I should have landed in Dallas by now. In an effort to please God, I pray to the intercom. 

We are taxiing to the runway!!! God is pleased.

12:00 p.m.  We are sitting on a taxiway. We haven't moved for 15 minutes. I redouble my prayers to the intercom.  Part of me wonders if I should offer a blood sacrifice.

12:15 p.m.  Clear evidence I am riddled with sin and unworthy of my God's providence. Why? Why couldn't I have offered a sacrificial gift to my intercom? 

God is talking to us again. He mentions mechanical problems and something about air flow. I have no idea what it all means. My eyes sting from the tears as they taxi us back to the gate. We've been on the plane for almost six hours.  We've gone 100 yards. Well, twice that, if you consider the ride back to the gate.

12:30 p.m. God says that they're going to wait at the gate while the mechanics check the air intakes of the aircraft.  He says this should only take 20 minutes. Whew.

1:15 p.m.  According to God, the mechanics were stumped as to the reason we can't fly the aircraft. It's no mystery to me. 

It's my fault. I begin to fast ... a sacrifice made easy by the fact that there's no alcohol on the plane.

1:45 p.m. The Lord is pleased with my sacrifice. He sends one of his angels down the aisle of the plane with Honey Oat Granola bars. There are more mechanics coming to look at the engine. It's presumptuous to claim to understand the mood of the Lord, and this might be the hunger talking but I swear I heard optimism...

God says we're third in line for re-de-icing.

3 p.m.  The deicing truck is back. I notice and then immediately close my eyes. Lest I anger my vengeful God, I pray loudly, cut my wrist and beat myself with a leather strap.

4 p.m.  God is delighted with my new dedication! We taxi to the runway and we take off! The second deicing treatment means there are literally thousands of extra gallons of an antifreeze substance that have made their way through the air intakes and filtration system. 

As we ascend into the heart of the blizzard, God decides to show his love by spraying the entire ridership of the plane with a fog of extra deicer blown through the ventilators located above the seats. A golden shower of successful take-off, if you will.

4:20 pm-8:15 pm.  All my religious fervor has worn me out. I alternate naps with watching two women across the aisle argue with one another. One of them was so drugged up she was incapable feeding herself and spit her sandwich on the other lady. Even I was disgusted. The crew had to move her to another seat.

8:30 p.m. Saints be praised! I have touched down in Big D. I've been stuck in a too-small seat in that metal tube for roughly 14 hours. 

9:30 p.m. After picking up my luggage and finding a lift to the media hotel I'm finally checked in. Without question this is the most draining, exhausting flight I've ever taken anywhere. Down to the hotel bar for a steak and something intoxicating.

10:30 pm. I have a second wind. What better way to exploit it than a trip to the nudie bar?! That's right Dallas, it's on!

2 a.m. I'm so drunk. And I've somehow managed to spend several hundred dollars. I hear from God again. 

"Alright, now we want to welcome Candy to the main stage...  Fellas, remember to treat her well. The better you treat her, the better she'll treat you..." 

I think maybe I'm the only one that can hear God ... Candy clearly couldn't.