Well, my week is done. This was exhausting. I'll be sure to remember the next time I cover a Super Bowl to:

a) Get a hotel room;
b) Possibly get a Super Bowl ticket;
c) learn how to work both a digital camera and a video camera;
d) make more friends in the media.

Overall, the experience has been a good one. Thanks to those PR fellas who did their damndest to help me out. Special thanks to Ilowski Sausagem Jaimie at AOL Sports Bloggers and the Coen family for their hospitality and Grape Nuts. No thanks to those who didn't. I'm sorry I failed to secure a salami football toss with Mitch Albom, Jessica Alba or Chuck Klosterman. I assure you I asked.

Anyway, after the jump, another cell phone number for you and all your friends to pass around. Until next year's XLI madness ...

Oscar Winner Jamie Foxx's cellphone number:

818-371-1136

Heyyyyy. Hoooo.

So, it came and went, and I'm, thankfully, still alive and didn't break any expensive equipment. The Pittsburgh Steelers, on the backs of their 40 million fans in Detroit this weekend, won that boring-ass Super Bowl yesterday. I'd hoped that some kind soul aware of my situation would possibly get me a ticket, but that's wishful thinking. I mean, I got a football-shaped salami and was invited to many of the parties downtown. I got to sit next to Tom Arnold, and I got a chance to almost lose a rental car. An actual ticket to the game would've been pushing it, or, even worse, come close to actual real journalism. Everybody knows that wasn't the point of this endeavor.

More round-up after the jump.

In downtown Detroit yesterday, it was a decidedly more controlled atmosphere than it was from the beginning of the week. Woodward Avenue - the road that leads directly to downtown Detroit off of I-75 - was closed off to vehicles at least a mile from the stadium.

I had to park at Wayne State University, which still charged $20. Walking downtown from this point of view, you can really see the "other" Detroit - the one of the burned out buildings and dilapidated housing projects that have been hidden from viewpoint the most of this week.

Outside of Hockeytown, Chelio s Bar, it was all black and gold. People were standing in line outside of Hockeytown for up to three hours just to get a seat inside. There were easily 50 Steelers fans to every Seahawk fan, and Steelers fans were decidedly more drunk and uppity. But, I m pretty sure if I were trapped in a Super Bowl city with my hometown playing with no tickets, I d probably be drunk as well. It was amazing, still , how many people were actually outside trying to buy tickets. Is this not a mugger s paradise? You can pretty much guarantee that everyone looking for extra tickets is carrying at least $3,000 on their person - as one Seahawks fan admitted he had.

And if you don t get the tickets, then what do you do with all of that money for the rest of the day? Hopefully, they found a safe deposit box before midnight and escaped downtown before all of the homeless shelters emptied out. It was probably like Dawn of the Dead in Detroit come midnight, once all of these people cooped up for a week were finally released.

As you inched closer to the Ford Field area, it felt like you were walking further and further away from it. Every area a half mile away from the stadium was gated off. Those people who had tickets were corralled into the stadium area at a very leisurely pace. There was only one person visibly throwing up outside of a bar at around 3 p.m. and, sadly, no fights.

It was a very collegial attitude, even when some brave Seahawks fans would attempt to break into the Steeler s pep rallies - which were seemingly everywhere. If Seahawks fans taunted them, most of the time they were either greeted with gentle shoulder taps or guffaws. "Oh, that s cute!" was the overriding attitude of Steelers fans faced with Seattle trash talk. And Seattle fans knew this was unfamiliar territory for them. It s hard to taunt somebody while you re wearing pacific blue as your primary color.

But congratulations to the city of Detroit for a fantastic job hosting the Super Bowl. There were plenty of opportunities to blow this thing, and the city held its ground throughout a very hectic week. It was nice to see many locals walking around the city that they ve lived in close proximity to their whole lives, but were always afraid to enter. And there were only two murders! That s a pretty healthy number considering the amount of extra people they had to look after. But they should really invest in something along the lines of a mass transit system if they want to do this again. That sissy little People Mover just won t cut it.

Good afternoon. Congratulations Pittsburgh Steelers. I ve discovered a few things this weekend. One: It s just as tough to get into a Detroit homeless shelter without press credentials as it is, oh, the ESPN or Maxim party. And two, celebrities, in some cases, are more important during Super Bowl weekend than the actual players. And, also, that PR people are friendly to you as long as you play by their rules. If you don t, well, you re pretty much guaranteed a freeze-out — even if they acted like your friends for a little while.

But this post is mainly about celebrities and their almighty hold over the weekend. Why else would about 100 media members slog through the nasty weather to Michigan State Fairgrounds Field House on Saturday to watch people like Ludacris, Dylan McDermott and Jessica Alba race each other in go karts? Oh, right— for charity. However, I have no idea what the Cadillac Grand Prix go-kart race is even supporting for a charity. Maybe it s for homeless people? Or AIDS? I hoped it was an elaborate intervention set up for Pat O Brien, who they actually let race in the go-karts. In person, the man looks like a walking sexual harassment suit. He has that creepy uncle disposition nailed. And you can t not look at him without thinking of that horrifying cell phone message playing in a loop throughout your head.

Overall, the most interesting aspect of the celebrity go kart race was the media hierarchy in its absolute glory. There were two separate sections for media. On one side, in the VIP area, were the important ones — E! Entertainment Tonight, Extra!. Then there was the middle section, where I was, with outfits like Entertainment Tonight Canada, local Detroit Fox affiliates, Univision, Token Black network, etc. This was the Scrub Media center. While the VIP media were actually able to interact with the celebrities as soon as they came out of the tunnel, scrub media was set in the middle of the track behind bails of hay and a metal crowd gate. We were allowed to interview the celebrities as they walked passed us, just like any other red carpet event. And I was definitely the biggest scrub in Scrub Media. While everybody else had microphones, giant cameras with overhead lights and semi-attractive correspondents asking probing questions like "How do you like Detroit?" " What does this event mean to you?" and, my personal favorite, "Do you like riding in go-karts?" I stood between them with a refurbished JVC handheld video camera and JoJo, the salami football.

Read about the rest of the day after the jump, and enjoy this video.

It was amazing how serious Pat O Brien was taking this event. Before his race, he gave some of his co-racers the sideways handshake-one-armed-chest-bump-hug-combo that you see NBA players do right before tip-off. Actually, "Entourage" s Adrian Grenier spun his way out of the O Brien handshake. Brilliant, career-saving move by Grenier, in my opinion.

There were there different races with three different sets of celebrities; I d list all of them, but you know, check out Pete McEntegart s blog for all the rundowns of it. He was there. He even "reported" on it. I was more interested in trying to get as many photos/film footage of JoJo enjoying the race. These are my priorities.

Actually, here's a sports angle. Two football players were involved in the race: Kansas City Chiefs mammoth tight end Tony Gonzalez and New England Patriots defensive tackle Richard Seymour. They were both struggling to fit into their respective cars. And then there was Alba. Even though I d been promised a salami football toss with her just two short days ago, it was apparent that I wasn t getting anywhere near anybody on this day. (The Jimmy Kimmel green room hi-jinx pretty much put the kabosh on any one-on-one camera time with her or other "selected" celebrities, so I was told.) Once Alba came out, it was easy to see that most of the people there were angling for her; she was, I guess, the biggest star. The amazing thing was, she wasn t as stunning in person as I d imagined. In fact, she looked disappointingly normal. Still hot, obviously, but not the type of woman you bump into walls, or , in this case, bails of hay over.

But "My Name Is Earl" s Jamie Pressley? Well, holy salami footballs. Pressley was also suffering from some sort of throat malfunction which made her voice much raspier and shot her stock up six more points. She was the flag girl for two of the races. I watched her most of those two races. Interestingly enough, the other flag person for the race was Heisman winner Reggie Bush. I yelled "Go Texans!" to him while he was on stage, but he ignored me. He seemed very comfortable just to wave a flag. And then when the race started he waved the flag, spun around and attempted to lateral the flag away back to Jamie Pressley. It failed and killed all the momentum for the next race.

Sadly, the only acknowledgement of the salami came from Tony Gonzalez, whom I asked what he thought about the football salami right in the middle of the Scrub Media melee. He seemed a little confused by the question, as did the rest of Scrub Media. Thankfully, I have video of this — and it s well lit. Progress.

Yes, it's invigorating reporting from Detroit with absolutely no agenda, limited press passes or knowledge of the city. Some things turn out better when there s no real planning or thought involved. However, as I found out yesterday, it s best to take a little bit of time to familiarize myself with surroundings in a strange city. After running around in a harried, unkempt pace for the three days I ve been here, it finally caught up to me.

I dashed out the door at 4 p.m. to run over to Cobo Hall to participate in an AOL Sports Bloggers Live radio broadcast at 5 p.m. I sped down I-75 toward Detroit - a route I ve become a comfortable with in the past three days - and after detouring from my usual exit, found the first $20 parking "lot" I could, to get away from traffic. The parking lot was more non-descript than the previous places I d found in the now heavily congested downtown area, but I was in a rush. I took a quick mental picture of the surrounding area and figured I'd worry about the exact location later.

At 6 p.m. I left Cobo Hall, exhausted, looking forward to a night off of party crashing since I d been here. By 6:55 p.m., after walking through the streets of Detroit and the whole area of where I thought I parked my pseudo-SUV, the Mitsubishi Endeavor, for close to an hour, it slowly dawned on me that I had no idea where I parked my car.

Rest of the story after the jump.

I remembered a few cross streets I thought I had seen while sprinting to Cobo, but they were scattered —- at best. I had no ticket for from the lot because I had no time for such matters. I walked up to every police officer and parking lot attendant I could find, and they did the best they could, based on my scatterbrained information ("No, I don t remember the cross streets ... no, I don t have a parking stub ... no, I don t remember what landmarks I parked near ... um, I think I remember it being near a street called Grand-something."). They all responded with the same exasperated apologies and wished me luck.

Then one officer laid it out for me: You re trying to find a needle in a haystack, man."

I walked through the WinterFest on Woodward Street 12 times. I passed by Comerica Park and Ford Field another 20 times. I walked up and down Congress Street, retracing my frantic steps from Cobo. I saw my old friend the RenCen, and I remembered how hopeful I was, just three short days ago. Now, I hated the city. All of the newly lit streets with their Super Bowl XL banners became taunting symbols of failure. The streets were completely packed with Steelers jerseys, Lions jerseys and groups of people wearing company windbreakers (Comcast, Pontiac, AOL, so on), all of which I contemplated punching at varying points.

"Detroit Rock City" was blaring from every outdoor speaker at Winter Fest. I was going to lose my shit. Spending a night in jail was much more appealing than having to walk around downtown anymore.

I became desperate. I paid two homeless people to help me find the car. Basically, they just ran 10 feet ahead of me and pointed at every parking lot they came across and yelled "Here! Here it is!" But even they gave up after 20 minutes. Plus, I was carrying thousands of dollars worth of video equipment in downtown Detroit. Even though the city is active and heavily policed this week, it is still not the best idea to walk around with two guys wearing beat-up trench coats, slippers and urine.

Then I found a well-lit area and decided to go over my videotape; I thought I remembered taking some footage as soon as I ran out of the car to show where Cobo Hall was. I scanned the footage and, yes, indeed I had taken some shots on my walk over. But, as we all know, my videotaping skills are somewhat suspect, so according to my tape, I had much started my journey at the corner of a "Half-Curb-Sidewalk" and "Jacket Sleeve."

At 9 p.m., after traversing the area and much further for another hour, I finally had to call for a ride. My legs were exhausted, and I was becoming delirious. I started following a family dressed in Steelers jerseys because they seemed so happy and content, far from my exhaustion and defeat. I got picked up, drove around for another couple hours and then took a break. I spent the rest of the night trying to figure out exactly what to tell the rental car company the next day. What could you say? I lost the car? I misplaced it? Should I fax them over a map of the general area and just leave it at that?

Finally, at 2:30 a.m., with the assistance of friends more knowledgeable of the downtown area, I finally found the car. The lot was completely different than I d remembered it. The city is so busy closing off streets to keep up with the surging crowds that it completely cloistered off my parking area. Sure, if I d remembered the street it was on (Randolph), I could ve found it, oh, seven hours earlier. But the city should be cognizant of the people covering the Super Bowl who pay not attention to things such as "street signs" and "landmarks." It s just not fair to me, or you, the readers. I plan on sending Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick a strongly worded letter this afternoon.

Here's JoJo. He's the salami football from Ilowski's Sausage that I picked up this morning; he will be accompanying me on the rest of my not-so-exciting adventures. JoJo is a strapping 1 1/4 pound salami made of the Midwest's finest dead farm animals. He's a local, so he'll be very beneficial in helping me navigate through downtown Detroit at night and also in perfecting the dialect. Plus — and you'll be happy to hear this — he's a former videographer, well-versed in appropriate lighting and how to hold the JVC camera steady.

JoJo is basically doing this work for free; like everyone else in this part of town, he's most excited at being on the list for the Maxim Rock City party on Saturday night.

Read about what else JoJo and I have planned, after the jiggity jump.

In addition to the rest of the parties, JoJo is slated to be photographed being tossed around, handled, kissed, caressed, fondled by as many people as possible. I've e-mailed Mitch Albom about setting up a salami football toss between us, but he has yet to get back to me. I'm not surprised, considering that he basically ripped off my story idea about visiting Detroit homeless shelters this morning. Even though he only stands approximately four-feet-tall, it's obvious that Mr. Albom is not easily intimidated and will do anything to get a leg-up on competing journalists, especially during Super Bowl week.

And, just in case JoJo has an unfortunate accident, like being squished, eaten or apprehended by unamused bouncers or bodyguards, I have secured reinforcements.

Just like Gremlins, if you dump water on the football salami, it multiplies. But all of these extra salamis will still be referred to as JoJo. It keeps things simple that way. Just ask George Foreman.

JoJo and I will soon be heading to the AOL Sports Bloggers radio program with Tom Arnold at the NFL Experience. Hopefully, somebody will let me toss JoJo through a moving tire or, at the very least, let me punt him. I just hope that Tom Arnold doesn't eat him before then.

Before I left last night to attend Jimmy Kimmel's green room after-party show, I was instructed that it was "time to let loose a little bit" by some of my, ahem, superiors over there at Gawker Media. I wasn t quite sure if they meant me in this case, or Deadspin, considering drunk Ben Roethlisberger has pretty much taken care of any thoughts that matters were getting stuffy around these parts.

After two days filled with nothing but fleeting hopes of doing something productive or blogworthy during my stay here in Detroit, I finally did something last night which would hopefully satisfy many of my job requirements which were, if I remember correctly, "find some interesting places where athletes and sports journalists will hang out." Then attack them on film and let them beat the crap out of me. Or something. Well, it didn't quite turn out that way.

Last night s Jimmy Kimmel green room after-party was, sadly, kind of lame. It s a shame that I m saying this. It completely proves how jaded I am. I bitch about not being invited to places, and now I m complaining about a place that offered up free top shelf booze, phylo-wrapped appetizers and the chance to see Bobcat Goldthwait in person. What have I become?

However, there are some amusing anecdotes to pass along, plus scintillating pictures of David Alan Grier dancing with a harem of women, a close-up shot of some cake and further explanation of the following short film, after the mighty jump.

Deadspin Video: Bobcat And Company ...

The after-party was at the Detroit Athletic Club, which I m told is a very haughty-taughty country club in downtown Detroit. "WASP-y" was the word most often thrown around.

However, in the Jimmy Kimmel green room, well-heeled elitism is left behind; the stuffy whiteguy sponsors from Pontiac were having a great time having a group of black women climb all over them. (Apparently, automotive executives are like rock stars in D-town. So we re told.) And David Alan Grier seemed to have no problem getting various, midriff-baring blond women come over and throw themselves at him. (Apparently, David Alan Grier is like a rock star in D-town as well.)

So, I was optimistic about this evening. After a challenging two days of uneventful blogging, I finally attended an event that has the possibility for something extraordinary to happen. Some of the PR people were getting me excited. I heard rumblings — even though, at 8:35 p.m., the party was a little light on notable guests —- there was a possibility of a second wave of superstar athlete celebrities coming in around 11 p.m., after they left Magic Johnson s event. Yes, yes, I was told — Chad Johnson, Michael Irvin and a few other high-profile stars were said to be stopping by. (Man, do you think Magic s pissed that his career trajectory has left his parties as pop-in stops during Super Bowl week? You can almost see him begging Irvin to call him later as he and C.J. slide out the door.)

Regardless, I was going to stay put, based on the off-off chance that there were actually some notable sports people arriving. But as time lurched by and the not-so-bustling party began to get thinner and thinner, it was obvious that Wednesday night was not the night to be at the Jimmy Kimmel green room after-party. Maybe it was because everybody was saving their energy for the rest of the week - or maybe it s that, well, these are the only types of parties I can get into because I m completely fucking lame.

However, we did get the opportunity to actually see the Jimmy Kimmel stage set-up at the Gem Theater. (Yeah, I know this is not a huge deal, but, dude, I had to find something to do or else I would ve stood there and gotten bombed on Jimmy Kimmel Live Bacardi Limon Mojitos — which were on the menu — all night. That would be a really shitty post.) I asked several people who seemed like they had something to do with the show if it would be okay to get on stage and take a quick video of me doing a cartwheel, but apparently, ABC has strict legal policies about such activities.

After that failed experiment, it was back outside to the various levels of the DAC watching the crowd dissipate even more. Pretty soon it was just a couple of us and Bobcat Goldthwait trying to cobble together an interesting thing to get him to say into the JVC. I took a moment to look at Bobcat, dressed in a Russian hat, thinking to myself, "Well, this is ... something." That dawned on me, anyway, as I stood there practically bullying him to "Say something in the Police Academy voice."

Sadly, I have a feeling Bobcat Goldthwait did not read a lot of Jacque Derrida while developing the vocal calisthenics required to perfect the voice of Zed.

By 10:30 it was pretty much official - there were not going to be any athletes attending the after-party this evening. However, Friday night, there should be a ton of people around because, well, that s when evvvvverybody rolls into D-town. I was told I would be allowed back any night for the rest of the week.

Well, I ll come back - with a salami football, no less - and see if Mr. Kimmel s after party could turn out to be everything you and I - we - would hope.

With Detroit spinning from all of the Super Bowl spazzing this week, there are plenty of news broadcasts trying to find the local angle: Dearborn Steelers' fans with dogs dressed in Bettis jerseys, Port Huron grandmothers knitting Seattle Seahawks caps, game predictions from Carver Elementary School children, Terrible Towels found at Jimmy John s, etc. However, one local angle I could not ignore. It features three of my favorite things: Football, salami and Polish people (not necessarily in that order).

Meet Joe Ilowski., proprietor of Ilowski Sausage Company in East China, Mic. In commemoration of the Super Bowl, he has made football-shaped salamis. Yes, he has. The full psychiatric interrogation after the jump.

(Oh, and to remind you, all your Roethlisberger drunk picture-related goodies can be found here and here.)

Joe Ilowski was trying to think of someway to capitalize on the Super Bowl. He has a lovely sausage store ... but lots of people have sausage stores. He had to do something different.

So Joe decided that he would try to make some football-shaped salamis. He found a sausage-case maker who could give him the casings — replete with laces, seams, and all — and he went to work. For the past three weeks, Joe has been stuffing salami meat into football-shaped casings in anticipation of the Super Bowl rush.

It has worked so far. Most of the Farmer Jack's (a Michigan supermarket-type place) have already sold out of salami footballs. There are two sizes of salami footballs: a 1 1/4 pounder, which costs $10, and a two-pound one at $14.

"I tried to make a life-size NFL one, but they kept falling apart on me," Ilowski said. He insists he's still trying to complete one, which will weigh about seven pounds. He has tried to throw the salamis. No spiral, yet, but he insists it's possible. "I just can't throw them that well. But I'm sure other people can."

Joe was absolutely delighted that I called him. In fact, he invited me to his store tomorrow to film him creating salamis. Who wouldn't want to do that? I will be there, and he has also promised me a couple of salamis to take with me. I plan on them accompanying me for the rest of my adventures this week. Football salamis at the Jenna Jameson party? Football salami three-on-three at the homeless shelter? Perhaps a filmed salami football toss with Mitch Albom? The possibilities are infinite.

And ... guess what?! You too can have football salamis overnighted to you before your Super Bowl party. Just e-mail Salami Joe at
jjilowski at netzero dot com.

It s not that surprising that press credentials for media day are at such a premium, but getting the opportunity to mingle with celebrities at night during parties is just as selective, if not more so. I just want some free booze, for cripes sake; what else did I come here for? It's those bastard PR people that have made all the coverage less interesting so far — and my life extremely complicated. Yes, they do want media coverage of their Super Bowl events, but it must be good coverage. Vapid fashion magazines like Life and Style with limited reach to a sports audience are good; sports sites such as this one are not invited though they'd inevitably get more exposure letting idiots like me into the event. Dumbasses.

This must explain why I have yet to receive my credentials for tonight s Cadillac MVP Dinner, with former Super Bowl MVPs like Roger Staubach, Terry Bradshaw and Steve Young, at my new favorite place, the RenCen. I really wanted to get a piggy back ride from Jim Plunkett. Instead, I ll be heading to the Jimmy Kimmel Green Room "after party" tonight. I can t get tickets to the show, however, because the shows for Jimmy Kimmel are sold out this week. Apparently, Detroit loves its Kimmel. Take that however you want.

I have been deemed worthy of attending some parties, for now ... and I've even grabbed a cellphone number who, while not inherently a "sports personality," is still fun to call. After the jump, the full list of Super Bowl Parties.

• The Miami Ink XL

Date: Friday, February 3.
Celebrities invited/attending:
Justin Chambers & Isaiah Washington (from ABC s "Grey s Anatomy"); Terry Crews (from UPN s "Everybody Hates Chris"); Former Heavyweight Champion Lennox Lewis; Outkast s BIG BOI; Detroit rap sensation HUSH; rap artist Obie Trice; Grammy-nominated recording artists GOO GOO DOLLS
Odds of me attending: 2/1
Odds of me interviewing the Goo Goo Dolls: 70/1

• Penthouse Super Bowl Party

Date: Saturday, February 4.
Celebrities: Snoop Dogg, Tommy Lee, Penthouse chicks
Odds of me attending: 5/1
Odds of me getting shot: 2/1

• Jenna Jameson s Super Bowl Party

Date: Friday, February 3.
Celebrities/Athletes: Jenna jameson, lots of rap stars and former athletes, lots of former heavy metal stars, porn stars, silicone boobs.
Odds of me attending: 10/1
Odds of me seeing Brokeback Mountain at the Main Art Theater with girlfriend and her family in Royal Oak instead: 1/10

• Cadillac Celebrity Go Kart Race:

Date: Saturday, 12 p.m.
: Jimmy Kimmel, Adrian Grenier, Sarah Silverman, Jessica fucking Alba
Odds of me attending: 1/1
Odds of me wasting full hour of JVC tape filming Jessica Alba: 1/3

• Maxim s Detroit Rock City Party

Date: Saturday, February 4.
Celebrities/Athletes: Oh, everybody.
Odds of me attending: 1/1
Odds of me getting drunk and breaking the JVC: 1:2
Odds of me being sober enough to post the following morning: 32/1

So, that s my itinerary the rest of the week. And some of these PR people are being real nasty pricks about letting me into these events. They know who they are. I realize I m not an important person, but must you make me feel such like a piece of shit for requesting access to your events? Must you? MUST YOU?

Some of their assistants realize this as well, so they re willing to make amends, all in the spirit of the little guy. Alas, we ve found a mole who understands some of our concerns. And they have come through. Here, for all the internet to see, is the newly single hotel heiress Nicky Hilton s cell phone number:

917-929-0223

There you go. Make life more complicated for the pricks of the world.

With press credentials, going to Super Bowl Media Day can be incredibly boring. Without them, well, it's pointless.

However, I am undeterred by the lack of credentials, because I have a notebook and the JVC, and I am completely unshaved, unshowered and have nothing better to do but roam aimlessly for hours. I m wearing two coats: one to hold the notebook, uncharged digital camera, JVC, and a tape recorder; another because I think it gives me a more distinguished look, which may be helpful to get me into some areas. Unfortunately, this is incredibly awkward, considering the 10 pounds of audio-video equipment I'm lugging around. Given that unkempt state, I'm certain I would not be allowed to walk through an airport for more than 10 minutes before being taken into a back room.

Luckily, I'm just going to Media Day.

Much of the afternoon was spent getting turned away on numerous occasions for access to some press events, leaving random messages at said events for Chuck Klosterman and watching Dan Patrick eat a sandwich in person. Some of those things, I was lucky enough to get on tape. Observe my second directorial debut in just under three minutes.

Deadspin Video: Tuesday Media Day Fun

(Full report after the jump.)

I have no plan of attack for actually getting into any media events, except to basically walk around and act like I know what I m doing until somebody stops me.

It took all of 20 feet from the back entrance of the media center until a security guard kindly informed me that, unless I have press credentials, I will not be able to film while inside the hotel. Preposterous. I slink by him and begin filming everything from waist level. There is no interesting footage from this whatsoever; I was just hoping somebody would stop me and kick me out. That's what I'm here for. But each time I'm stopped by a security person, I tell them I am a member of the press and am in search of credentials.

The "RenCen" (natch) is laid out like a giant, circular mall. Wherever you go, you're running into the same thing and the same people; most of the people with media credentials are wearing blue buttoned-down shirts with white T-shirts underneath, pleated pants and various incarnations of heavy-soled shoes in either brown or black. Sports journalists are, indeed, fashion mavens — from 1998.

Eventually, after circling three levels, I do find the media credential center. Given that it's past 12 p.m. and most of the press conferences are over, I'm the only one there. After greeting the person behind the desk and handing him my i.d., he asks me what my credentials are "under." I say "deadspin.com." He asks what that is. I tell him it's a Web site. He goes back into the computer, examines my i.d. once again for proper spelling and hands it back to me because I m not on the list. I then tell him to look under "gawker.com," which is once again a no-go. Then, I aggravate the crap out of him.

"When did you file for your credentials?" he asks.

"I thought I was doing that now," I said.

"No, you re picking up your credentials," he says. "You were supposed to have filed two months ago."

He then gives me a look that I've seen before; it's that condescending glare rental car salespeople give you when you attempt to rent a car without a non-debit credit card. I stupidly ask him if there's anything he can do for me. He scoffs.

"You ve got to be kidding."

I give him a look of shame and begin to walk away.

I turn back.

"Do you think anybody could give me their notes from the press conference?"

He says nothing and stares.

Luckily, I run into Steve Serby from the New York Post in the hallway. In person, Serby resembles a junior high wrestling coach, but he s affable enough when I ask him questions, considering he has no idea who I am.

I ask him where I can get some credentials; he suggests going to the NFL. I ask him how the press conference was.

"Incredible!" he says, eyes rolling. "It s the same shit ever year. You didn't miss anything."

So, be prepared for the best Steve Serby column ever.

But it's apparent that most of the journalists who are here probably feel that way. Even though this is the Super Bowl and these are sportswriters, Media Day absolutely sucks. For older journalists, this is probably one of the most annoying, frustrating and boring days ever. This event begins to feel about as important as covering a municipal bond convention for a financial trade publication. Which I have done. At least people there were wearing ties.

Greetings, Spinheads. I m glad to finally be touched down in fair Detroit for this fantastic Super Bowl bonanza. It s nice to see a city so alive, so amped, so dumbfounded by the national attention brought upon it. I ve been here approximately 10 hours and, in every aspect, I can tell I m poised to witness a spectacle unlike any other. As soon as I exited the gate, I was greeted by the overwhelming scent of burittos, which I have a sneaking suspicion may be a metaphor for this whole entire trip. However, it was refreshing to see a car and driver waiting for me — with my name spelled out in phonetic Indian "Ajay Dauleril," no less — plus a portly fellow, who had a striking resemblance to a young Bam Bam Bigelow holding up a sign simply stating "I need tickets." I wanted to speak with him, but he scampered away as soon as he saw a camera, which is a shame, because, alas, I need tickets as well.

Yes, sadly, there is no huge payoff for this press pass-less, ticketless adventure, other than the fact that I know at some point, I will be attending a Maxim party, interviewing a man who makes football-shaped salamis and, most likely, spending Super Bowl Sunday at a Detroit homeless shelter. Yeah, that s how I roll. I was planning to cover media day, but I m told it s happening right now. I should get on that. Whoops.

But there is one payoff, for you readers: I am equipped with a JVC handheld digital video camera which will enable me to document some short live-action films and send them along to Will. In other words, prepare for lots of shaky, indecipherable footage not having anything to do with the Super Bowl.

In fact, my first foray into "filmmaking" is available today, as I interviewed my driver and asked him probing questions about what he s preparing for this week. The film itself is extremely dark, but you can gather that we are driving in a car and, based on the audio, speaking to the driver. Take special note of the use of titles and Japanese lettering. As you will tell, I m not only teeming with creative energy, but racial sensitivity.

Anyway, it s time to get lost on the way to the Renaissance Center at the Marriot Hotel. What do you think Chuck Klosterman is listening to on his iPod right now? I m guessing Cat Power. Or Dokken.

Hopefully, I shall soon return with a full report, but most likely, I ll only return with a sandwich.