Day 4 - The Boss Bowl

The time and date of 2.30pm on Thursday has been in many people's diaries since the beginning of the week (in fact, it has been highlighted since the official schedule was published about two weeks ago. Good planning, you see!).

It's all very well interviewing the players and seeing the shameless ligging going on in Radio Row and elsewhere in the Media Center (as various NFL ceklebrities come and go with the ebb and flow of an increasingly hectic program), but a genuine press conference Event is hard to find.

Yes, there is the annual address by The Commish, but that is pretty much expected these days, even if it was a relatively recent creation of previous incumbent Paul Tagliabue. And Media Day can be fun in a freeform, lunatic kind of way.

But the half-time show press conference has rapidly become one of THE must-attend moments of the whole week-long media frenzy. They can vary from anodyne to embarrassing, but there is usually a freak-show element to the occasion which has become compulsive viewing, especially as it also draws the full range of journalistic types.

The story of media Thursday is not all about one press conference, though, as much as we like to make it seem as if that is the case. No, there is real work involved (just in case anyone is under the impression this is one long football-themed party). Writing for the UK media (primarily The London Sun, News of the World and SkySports.com) involves several small stories during the week (the team arrivals, Hines Ward's famous knee, Darnell Dockett's 'I forgive my mom's killer' moment), plus three fairly lengthy pieces, one for each main media source. And Thursday is the key day for weekend copy.

Therefore, much of the morning is spent in a writing frenzy in the Working Room of the Media Center (once Nick and I have again been able to negotiate the increasingly baffling array of new daily traffic-flow restrictions in the surrounding streets; seriously, it's like the police are playing a game with motorists by saying each day, 'OK, what road shall we cordon off today to really throw the buggers off the trail?' Or something similar).

This is not helped by the WiFi service doing its own impression of The Vanishing. One minute it's there; the next, a whole bunch of journos are left staring dumbly at screens which read 'User ID not recognised. Fool.' I'm not kidding. Cyberspace is openly mocking us - the revenge of the IT nerds. There is metaphorical smoke coming out of various keyboards and repeatedly hitting the 'Return' key doesn't relieve the frustration much.

But I do eventually get a full preview filed for SkySports.com, a page lead sent over to The Sun (which inevitably gets crunched down to just a dozen pars or so) and rough out an idea for the News of the World (based on the Anquan Boldin facial injury he suffered earlier this season - you see, with the UK media, it's not so much a case of coming up with an unusual or original line so much as recapping the most gruesome or unlikely story of the season!).

That just leaves time for a bite of lunch (a bag of chips and an apple I remembered to bring with me - food tends to be a bit of an optional extra on busy days), and then it's off for the pre-Game and Half-Time Show press conferences.

The first is already in full swing, and John Legend and Faith Hill seem a bit non-plussed at trying to explain their involvement; John, it turns out, is a "big football fan" while Faith has "learned to enjoy it thanks to my husband." Both will be pulling for the Cardinals in a growing ground-swell of support for the underdogs.

This rather limp offering finally wraps up around 2.20pm, and the media throng visibly swells at the scheduled 2.30pm arrival of The Main Event, the man himself, The Boss, the leader of the E-Street Band, aka Bruce Frederick Joseph Springsteen, Esq.

The hubbub of anticipation is absolutely palpable; the media are not supposed to be starry-eyed at the prospect of a meeting with rock royalty, but this comes pretty close. Nick and I guess-timate the crowd at 500-plus and there is hardly an empty chair to be seen in this rather cavernous hall (a curtained-off area of one of the bigger exhibition halls at the Tampa Convention Center).

2.30 arrives and passes by; as does 2.40 and 2.45. Eventually, after a suitably-concert-late delay of 20-plus minutes, one corner of the hall becomes a mini-volcano of activity and Bruce and the 7 members of the band troop on. This is pure press conference drama, and it is excitement all the way with this one.

Bruce quips "If there are a lot of questions about football, this is going to be the shortest press conference on record!" And we are off and running for 30 minutes of wonderful theatre and good humor. Informed it will be a Q&A session with the media, the Boss also joked: "Is there anyone from New Jersey?" Of course, plenty of journos indicate in the affirmative. "Don't give them the microphone," is his instant comeback.

And so it continued, with Bruce holding center court but affording band members like Nils Lofgren, Steve Van Zandt and Clarence Clemons a turn with the mike. We learned Bruce is not a football fan; he loves their last three albums; he always considered the half-time show a "novelty event" in the past; and they have their "mercenary reasons" for finally agreeing to play the show this year ("Hey, we have a new album out, dummy!").

It is all good knockabout stuff; Bruce looks in prime form, with those famous vocal chords sounding as good as ever and ready to rock 'n roll once more. We weren't sure whether to applaud or hold up cigarette lighters.

The conclusion of the conference sends various assorted journos scurrying for their phones and lap-tops (including this one). To me, it sounds like a great little story for the entertainment pages of The Sun, and the sports desk agrees. I file 12 pars. None make the paper. Ho hum - a writer's lot can be a cruel one at times.

But there's no time to feel sorry for oneself. There is the nightly return drive to Orlando to be tackled (in pouring-down rain; somehow, the early-week forecast of 84 and sunny has turned into 68 and a mini-monsoon. We are not happy bunnies as the journey takes almost twice as long as normal).

And there is still work to tackle once home again; a 16-par story for the News of the World and another blog for SportsMania. Once again, it is gone midnight before I can turn in, and we have another 7am start tomorrow.

See, not ALL fun and games, is it?