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.