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Mumford & Sons vs. Superbowl XLVI

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Backtrack two months ago. TPO, KP and I were planning a trip to Boston to see Mumford & Sons, because there’s nothing smarter than going to Boston in February.

I’ve never been to Boston but I will forever remember the smell getting off of the plane.¬†Fishsticks.

We dropped our crap at the Omni¬†and headed out to watch Superbowl. Next to our hotel was a little pub, and through the window we saw an empty table. How a pub had any tables open Superbowl Sunday is beyond me, but I guess the disappointed Patriot fans had the I don’t give a shits that night. Our server Shay asked what the hell we were doing visiting Boston in February and we told her. Then she told us a secret.

“They’re eating in the back of the bar.”

And they were. Tricia stalked scoped them out first. She slinked off to the back, was gone about 2 minutes and came back WITH A PICTURE. That dirty bitch. Then I pouted like a 2 yr old for while before she took me back to say hi. I know it’s hard to believe, but I felt awkward as I interrupted this intimate moment where Marcus and Ted are hovered over giant pastrami sandwiches and guzzling a beer, and Winston & gang were laughing and chatting like real people. Tricia introduced me like they were old chums, and we chatted with some of their entourage, telling them all about how Showtime was airing their Road To Red Rocks Special and it was amazing and OMG….

They had NO idea what the hell I was talking about. So we left them to their food. For a few minutes.

Then we told Shay we wanted to buy them all a drink. Because I don’t care how famous you are, free drinks are awesome. She promptly came back and told us we could go back to see them, but the guys would not allow us to buy them drinks (gentlemen, obviously.) You’ve never seen 4 people move so fast. They had a chat with us, and we sat next to them and watched the rest of the game (while staring like freaks). Then I felt bad as they started to get “recognized”, people in the bar noticed the 4 weirdos stalking a group of dudes sitting in the back that had English accents, smoked like chimneys and were all wearing skinny jeans.

Kismet. What were the odds? This was the BEST Superbowl I never watched.

 

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