Pew.

I rode in a golf cart beside Tony Dungy today. It was kind of surreal, not because of the Tony Dungy part, but because everyone was waving at us and hollerin' out stuff. I felt like a celeb, like VIP. It was fun, but I put on my "cool" face as we flew through the convention booths, and pretended like I do this kind of stuff all the time.

Oh, and, Dungy was cool. Nice, upstanding, quality guy. Even if he is associated with that pansy, Peyton.

So tell me this----why do I only get hit on by skeevy guys??? I was ushering Dungy around today, and I had an arsenal of convention security staff to help with crowd control. The staff manager, a 50-ish balding dude with a Magnum, P.I. stache, would not leave me alone. It was worse than the waiter at Old Spaghetti Factory last night. He said that he could get me on the field for a Colts game:

"I don't live in Indy (and you creep me out)."

"Well, my company contracts out for Titans games. Maybe I'll come for a visit to Nashville sometime. I could get you in."

"Oh, that wouldn't be necessary. I have season tickets (back-off buddy)."

"So maybe I should give you my number so that we can keep in touch..." (as he hands me one of my own business cards with his name, number and email address scrawled on the back).

And then, get this: dude tries to hug me!

Pew.