SIOC's Ultimate Road Trip: Day 18

By Matthew Waxman

"Which one of you is Batman and which one's Robin?" a man shouted at us as we cruised downtown St. Louis. Considering the circumstances, his question was not completely absurd.

We've pulled into the host city of the men's Final Four two full days ahead of the heavies. Hotels are still charging normal rates, that is, until the Madness begins Friday night when they'll jack the prices up 250 percent. Store owners are just beginning the process of decorating their window displays with NCAA swagwear for the fan that cannot hit the links without a 2005 Final Four St. Louis golf shirt. Carpenters are banging nails into makeshift outdoor bars.

But people around here haven't reached the cram stage. There's enough time before the masses arrive to still rationalize plopping down on the sofa for an E! True Hollywood Story on Tara Reid. And that's exactly what we're doing. "Tara attended high school in New Jersey..." Holy waste of a Wednesday, Batman! What are we doing?

Plan B: The Gang of Four jostles for position in front of the hotel bathroom mirror, primping and preening like a gaggle of sorority sisters before the big dance. Dawn, the lone female, dispenses makeup tips while she applies Spartan Green to her face. Us three hombres choose another Final Four team's color to apply to our mugs. If you listen closely you can hear the music:

We are family/ I got all my sisters with me

We saunter into the hotel lobby. Boston Globe sportswriter Bob Ryan is checking in, looking ruddy but nothing like our Joe who, with his orange hair and Louisville Cardinal red-face, appears ready to sprout devil horns. A local news crew sniffs our story and moves on. A punk 10-year-old in an Urlacher jersey tells Dawn she looks like "Daughter of the Mask" and calls Adam ( Illinois Orange) Oompa Loompa, while his punk lil' sis tells me ( Carolina Blue) that I look like a mime. When I beg to differ, she interrupts me saying, "Mimes aren't supposed to talk."

As we head to a spot for lunch we were berated with the aforementioned Batman question. Say no to crack, kids! "We'd like a table for four," we tell the host at the Morgan Street Brewery. "I'm sorry," he says, "but we don't serve colored people." Holy walking straight line, Batman! After high-fiving himself, the host seats us outside, but when a shower threatens to turn us into a troupe of crying clowns, we head inside, only to find something much more frightening. On the big screen, Jim Rome is monitoring a debate between Sports Illustrated staff writer/talking head Josh Elliott and Blind Date host Roger Lodge about whether Roy Williams will ever "win the big one." Rome is burning? Perhaps. Civilization seems to have, at least, taken a sharp jab.

Outside the restaurant window, horse-drawn carriages troll the arch waterfront for customers. The wax museum is charging $4 to view Prince William (as a baby) and Michael Jackson. Everything about the day feels slightly askew but then we read, in the paper, that Jose Canseco is set to join the cast of The Surreal Life and suddenly all is right again

? Just so the bet is officially on the table: First person in our foursome to plant a wet one on Pat Summitt wins $150.