To Nashville and back, in one piece — part 2

(Editor’s note: last week we began this tale at its end, with yours truly collapsing in his bed. Then we rewound to the beginning to try to chronicle a fun-filled weekend in Nashville with a large contingent of Platte Countians. Our mission: to watch the Missouri Tigers take on Vanderbilt Saturday and the Kansas City Chiefs slug it out with the Tennessee Titans Sunday, all while having as much as fun as possible. We accomplished that mission and much more and even lived to tell about it. The names have been omitted to protect the innocent — and the guilty.) When last we talked, after our group had conquered our hunger with a fine Mexican feast at Chuy’s, Patty and I and a few other couples decided to eschew the bright lights of downtown Nashville for a recreational option a little closer to our hotel. And we had no problem finding plenty of entertainment — Nashville’s moniker is Music City, ya know. In just a few short minutes, we were center stage at a venue called Soulshine listening to The Jimmy Hall Band. Now, if you’re like me, you’re probably going Jimmy who? I found out pretty quick. Hall is the former lead singer, harmonica and sax player for the classic rock band Wet Willie and has shared stages with artists such as The Allman Brothers, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Jeff Beck Group, Grand Funk Railroad, Hank Williams Jr. and Kid Rock. The guy was amazing – one of the best soul/blues/southern rock singers I’ve heard — and was fairly indicative of the live music scene in Nashville — it’s everywhere. Every bar, every restaurant, just about every public place you can think of featured at the very least a man — or woman — and a guitar. And we’re not talking talent show at the Fairgrounds here (no offense, Platte County Fair). There are plenty of awesome musicians in Nashville, all trying to get in front of the right person at the right time. Anyway, the Soulshine is important to note not only for the great music, but also for our discovery of Fireball, which is one of the key words for part 2 that I left you with last week. Fireball shall be an important part of this tale moving forward and is an integral part of making this column interactive. Whenever you read the word Fireball from this point forward, I want you to imagine that you are tossing a few red hots or Hot Tamale candies down your gullet. Along with some rubbing alcohol. Got the picture? Let’s move on. Some will say that Fireball was the grease that lubed our wheels in Nashville. Others may have a different recollection. Either way, it facilitated a good night’s rest after day one for most of our group. Of course, that slumber began a little later for some than others, if you know what I mean. SATURDAY Yours truly woke up bright-eyed (underneath my sunglasses) and bushy-tailed (as bushy as a follicly-challenged guy can be) and ready to commence another day of consumption. First came a fantabulous breakfast at the hotel cafe, then a good chunk of our group was off to a nearby sports bar to begin the day’s festivities in earnest. Fireball! Just checking. Time for another key word: Bloody Mary. Now, I’m assuming that most of you know what a Bloody Mary is — I mean, it’s a famous, hangover-killing cocktail enjoyed by tomato lovers the world over, right? And, while we got a very tasty BM at the afore-mentioned sports bar with no problems, that was not the case later in the weekend, so file that away if you will for future reference. Moving right along, pretty quickly a bunch of us decided we had to get downtown to check out Honky Tonk Row. This was accomplished by a short taxi trip that ended with us hopping out right in front of a little joint called The Second Fiddle. Naturally, we went in. And we had our first encounter with Johnny Cash, Elvis Presley, Merle Haggard and Willie Nelson. Of course, we didn’t actually see any of them (or their ghosts), but in the short time we received sustenance in the Second Fiddle, we heard the band cover each artist. This is also fairly indicative of the live music in Nashville. I heard “Folsom Prison Blues” so many times I had a dream I shot a man in Reno — just to watch him die. Anyway, we spent a few more hours on the main drag, where I have to tell you I was astounded by the number of Mizzou and Chiefs fans I saw. Of course, Vandy’s colors are the same as MU’s, so I suppose some of the black and gold could have been Commodores fans, but I’m guessing not — I’ve been told all those law school students spend Saturday afternoon studying. And there were no mistaking Chiefs fans — it’s surprising we didn’t spark a local Native American protest with all the tomahawk chopping going on. Fireball! Burns so good, doesn’t it? Eventually, we made our way out of downtown and back to the hotel, where I had to get some fresh gear on — it was a hot and muggy day. That accomplished, we grabbed a quick dinner and began the trek to Vanderbilt’s football stadium. We didn’t really know where we were going other than one of our group was told to hang a right at the Ben and Jerry’s, cut across campus and you can’t miss it. He neglected to tell us that we also couldn’t miss Vanderbilt’s version of fraternity/sorority row, Vanderville. Did I mention that it was Vandy’s Homecoming? I’m not sure, but I think we lost a few of our group right then and there. Word is they haven’t made it back to KC yet. Flash forward to the football stadium, where MU fans numbered around 8,000 or so of the 40,000 in attendance. MU Nation was loud — say it with me now: M-I-Z — from start to finish. Of course, we had a lot to be loud about as MU throttled the Commodores from the opening kickoff to the final play of the game. And while the stadium was nice and the fans were accommodating, I have one word of advice: lose the annoying tugboat horn after every Vandy score. Puh-lease. Anyway, with the specter of walking back through what had to be an insane Vanderville by now looming large, many of us reasoned we would save our legs (translation: we’re too old for frat parties) and hailed a taxi back to the hotel, where we were surprised to learn that... bummer, I’m out of space again. Greg, you were right — this calls for a part 3. TO BE CONTINUED