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.