Frankie C's Excellent Super Bowl Adventure Day 4

Frankie C’s Excellent Adventure Day 4

For Frankie C's Adventure Day 1 click here.
For Day 2 click here.
For Day 3 click here.

6:30 a.m.  I’m up at the crack of dark. Because Indianapolis is in the Eastern Time zone, but is a thousand miles away, the sun is up and shining back home but it still looks like midnight here. I pop down for a smoke. We’ve got a lot to do.

6:45 a.m.  I make a stop at the hotel Starbucks for some gas. Peter King is there. I say nothing.

7 a.m.  Back in the room, Kerry is hammering out the stats. He’s still chowing on sausage parts he got at Dietrich’s on Sunday. He’s a better man than I. I’m all sausaged out. I start blogging it up.

8 a.m.  Bill arrives in the room. He crashed in his car last night. We tried to push the hotel beds apart to get his air mattress in, but wound up abandoning the idea. It’s probably for the best, I’m a restless sleeper and I’d feel awful if I swung my feet over and stepped on Bill. Oh, I’d probably get over it, but there’d be a good 10 minutes there where I’d be inconsolable.

9 a.m.  Bill grabs a shower and we agree to go get some breakfast. We head down to the lobby and go to the Italian restaurant, Osteria Pronto, for a little buffet action. Kurt Warner walks past on his way to the omelette station. If you don’t sit with or speak to someone famous, but you’re in the same restaurant, can you still claim to have eaten with them? I vote yes. We meet our server Kami who’s clearly in love with me. She’s bringing me coffee and silverware and stuff. Who does that? I’ll tell you who. A woman in love. I explain this to Bill. He doesn’t buy it. I appreciate the great service and promise to immortalize Kami in this blog today. Done and done. Bill shovels down 2 full plates of food then goes up and orders an egg white omelette. He must be watching his weight.

10 a.m.  I’m back to slaving over the blog here at my desk in the room, which consists of the ironing board from the closet. Kerry’s got the desk. Bill’s down in the media workroom doing his thing. Kerry decides I should cover the Prilosec Best Offensive Line Award Ceremony at 1:15 pm. No problem. I got this. I just have to fly through my stuff and then I’ll put on my “Ace Reporter” hat. 

11 a.m.  I’m plowing through the blog when it occurs to me I could use a smoke. I make my way downstairs and out to the curb. The hotel is starting to get packed now. It’s a beautiful day and the place is filled with the beautiful people. I get back indoors and figure, while I’m in the bar area, I should help support the local bartender and grab a shot and a beer. Sitting 4 stools away are Chris Carter and Tom Jackson. So, I’m sitting there and thinking of something, anything to get a conversation going so I can blog it. I got nothing. Ron Jaworski pops his head in and tells Carter and Jackson to “Give it a break.” To which, Carter responds, “It’s always about the quarterback.” I laugh noticeably so that Carter and Jackson know that I’m in on the joke. Yes, Mr. Carter, we agree. Those damned quarterbacks always make it about them. We’re sympatico. Mr.’s Carter and Jackson don’t buy it and return to their lives as if we didn’t just have a bonding moment. Moments later, the elevator doors open and a tall blonde beauty in knee-high boots walks out. I look back over my shoulder to follow her stride down the lobby corridor. After she’s out of my line of sight, I return my glance to the front and see that Carter and Jackson are still watching her walk away. Finally I have my opening. Chris Carter looks and me and I say “This is going to be a good week.” He nods and says “They’re back, the boots…” I counter with “They never left.” And so endeth the lesson. Any two hetero guys, no matter the differences in skin color, upbringing, social or economic standing, can always find common ground in eye-f*cking a hottie in boots.

12:00 p.m.  I’m back in the room putting the finishing touches on the blogging opus I call “Day 3”.  I grab a shower. I have to find a battery for the hand-held video camera, so I mosey down to the fed-ex store in the lobby. Unfortunately they don’t have them there but the woman behind the counter is super helpful. She suggests that I visit the Circle Center Mall downtown. It’s only a few blocks away and I can get there through a maze of hamster habitat walkways that snake above the downtown streets. I thank her for her time and start across the nearest walkway.

12:10 p.m. I’m walking through these pedestrian overpasses and realize 3 things. Number 1, the unseasonably warm weather has caught everyone off guard. The heat is still turned up for typical February 1^st weather. Number 2, the air in the glass enclosed hamster trail heats when the sun hits it through the glass. And, lastly number 3, I’m sweating in sheets. I keep on walking.

12:20 p.m.  I’m still walking to the mall. I think I’d have been better served if I’d taken the more direct on-the-street route, and just maybe I wouldn’t be drenched through my clothes.

12:30 p.m.  I’ve arrived at the only mall in North America that doesn’t have any electronics stores.  I ask several people if they can help. One woman directs me to a place called Robert’s on Meridian St. Time is growing short and I need to get back for that press conference. I find my way out to the street and I’m lost. I don’t know where Meridian is and I don’t know how to get there. I start to walk in the direction I “think” the woman told me to go. 

12:40 p.m.  Kerry called.  He’s nervous I won’t make it back in time. I have to scrap the search for the battery. Kerry says that Bill can show me how to use the more professional camera he has with him.  I make for the hotel. It turns out that even on the street it’s no easy feat to get back.

1:00 p.m.  I make it back to the hotel.  Kerry’s certain I won’t make the award presentation. I briefly try to calm him down while I call Bill to find out where he’s at.

1:05 p.m.  I find Bill in the media workroom. He wants to know what I’m doing here. I can’t believe Kerry hasn’t told Bill I’m supposed to use the camera. Bill says the camera is in his car below the hotel. This is starting to become a giant pain the *ss. We hustle down to Bill’s car and grab the camera. He gives me a brief tutorial on the way up the elevator.

1:13 p.m.  I’ve got the camera. I’m in the room. I made it! I even found a cool spot to shoot from with a place I can sit and everything. The room comes to life as a T.V. with John Madden comes to life.  Anthony Munoz welcomes us to the Prilosec OTC Madden Protectors Award Presentation. I’m so ready to make this happen. This is my big break. I point the camera up and hit record. I am immediately informed that the camera doesn’t have a tape in in.

1:15 p.m.  I’m apoplectic. I call Bill and explain the situation. I run up to get a tape. This is off to a bad start. After meeting with Bill I have the tape loaded and I run back down to the ballroom where the presentation is.

1:20 p.m.  My primo spot is gone. I find a new less awesome spot and start shooting. The New Orleans Saints offensive linemen have already been named the winners. I have a good wide angle shot but I can’t focus when I zoom in. I’m flooded with anger, self loathing and helplessness. Larry the Cable Guy walks into the room and I’m desperate for anything I can use. Kerry gets a kick out of Larry the Cable Guy so I try to open up a conversation in the hopes that he’ll say something about CHFF on camera. I lead with “Hey Larry, I’m a big fan.” He says “thanks man.” And before I can beg him for a minute he struts off. I’m furious with myself for telling him I’m a fan. I, honestly, don’t care for his stuff at all. I’m formally tendering my resignation as “Ace Reporter”, I’m not cut out for this. I need a drink to wash down the taste of failure. On my way out of the room a pretty young girl asks me who I’m with and gives me a folder with some info about the presentation. Turns out, Larry is appearing after the award to tell some jokes. Maybe it’s best I didn’t get a chance to embarrass myself further by begging for a minute.

1:40 p.m.  I shoot back up to the media workroom and find Bill. I give him the camera and tell him my video days are done. I’ll have to focus on being the company Bon Vivant. At that moment Jim Irsay strolls into the media workroom and sits down.  30 cameras descend on him and questions start getting thrown out.  To paraphrase all the answers: “Blah blah blah, give you media folks NOTHING, blah blah, I love Peyton. Blah blah blah.”

2 p.m.  I’ve had enough of trying to be a journalist. I’m back at the bar doing what I do best, nurturing my buzz.

3 p.m.  I’m 3 shots and 3 beers deep, I order a pizza to soak up some of the booze. It is awful. I hate to say that because the hotel is sweet but damn. If I buy a 15 dollar pizza, I expect to enjoy it.

3:30 p.m.  I retreat to the room with 3/4ths of a pizza left and find Kerry still huddled over the computer. This poor kid hasn’t left the room at all.  He tells us we’re supposed to join Andrew Benoit of CBSSports for dinner, which is great because I want to make this pizza a distant memory.

4 p.m.  I’m back down having a smoke.  I run into a guy from a Miami sports radio station who’s out there smoking that I recognize from the smoking section in Dallas last year. We make small talk and I give him a card and tell him that he needs to have Kerry on with his station. I’m psyched, I just found a new way to make myself valuable.

4:15 p.m. I’m back to the room explaining to Kerry that I’m going to pimp him out to the stations on radio row tomorrow. I’m feeling awesome again. The whole Protector press conference is a thing of the past.

4:30 p.m.  I’m back to the bar.  Kerry and I are going out to dinner soon and I’m going to be good and sauced for it. I have several shots and beers to get ready.

6:00 p.m.  I meet Kerry, Bill, and Andrew in the bar.  We decide to hit the town and wing it and find a place to have dinner. We walk up Ohio St.. We cross back and forth to find a place to eat. Kerry spots Morton’s Steak House and we all agree to go there.  As we jog across the street my ankle decides it’s had enough of this whole “walking without pain” business and I Gronk the sh*t out of it running out of the way of traffic. I feel a sickening pop as my foot folds underneath me. It was so grizzly that even people on the other side of the street screamed out “OH!” I suck it up and continue on into Morton’s.  Once inside the memory of my injury is replaced by the excitement of eating in my favorite restaurant in the world.  I have the iceberg salad with bacon and blue cheese, then the double filet mignon and a side of grilled asparagus. For desert I order the key lime pie. Over dinner I horrify our new friend Andrew by screaming a number of times over the table at Bill, who thinks that the Giants 3-1 super bowl record trumps the Patriots 3-3 record. He honestly thinks that. Oh, okay Bill. Winning the conference means nothing. Alright, that’s not ridiculous.

7:45 p.m.  We’re finished with dinner. I’m beyond stuffed. I can’t even breathe. I’m tempted to loosen the top button on my pants. It’s that serious. I decide that’s not the way to go and suffer the tight waistband. On the way home, Kerry suggests a beer at some local dive. I can’t help myself. I join him.

8:25 p.m.  I’ve had this beer sitting in front of me for 25 minutes. I’ve tried over and over to choke it down. It’s no use. I can’t do it. I’m just too full. In fact, I feel awful. Bill shows up at the bar and I seize my opportunity. I’m out. I can’t stick it out any longer. I say my goodbyes, leave a full beer on the table and head back to the hotel.

1:25 a.m.  I awake from my gluttonous slumber and head down to the bar for a middle-of-the-night cap.  I have a shot and a bud. Artie Lange from the Howard Stern show is here. I’m afraid to talk to him, for fear he likes me and we end up dead in the ghetto.

1:45 a.m. Back in the room, I get back to sleep. We’ll try not to be so old and decrepit tomorrow. Catch you guys then.

For Day 5 of Frankie C's Excellent Super Bowl Adventure click here.

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Read more: Cold Hard Football Facts, Frankie C., Indianapolis, NFL, Superbowl 46