t was so cold inside the University of Massachusetts gym Tuesday night that the only thing that warmed me up was thinking how easy it was to secure a ticket to the presidential debate. That and the fact that when Christie Brinkley spotted me in the crowd, she threw her arms around my neck and hugged me like she never wanted to let go.
''I love your way with predicates,'' she cooed.
''Oh, Christie, you have some great nouns,'' I replied.
(Editor's note: Brian McGrory was not at the debate,but he tried so hard to get a ticket over the past two weeks that he worked himself into an exhaustion-induced delirium. His doctor has informed us that he must gradually work himself out of it. We apologize for this column.)
That's when Al Franken stopped by to give me a high five and ask a few questions about what it's like to be tall. George Stephanopoulos was next, leaning in to say, ''Hey, great head of hair. Who's your stylist?'' Bob Kraft, bless him, grabbed me to say I had a linebacker's shoulders and might I be available to rescue the team this season?
This is where I belong, among all the important people in this wonderful city amid the most pivotal event of the 2000 presidential campaign. Friends, all, and I'm sure they'd say the same about me.
Who's that over there? Didn't that used to be Mike Dukakis? Hah, such fun! He doubled over in laughter when I asked him if he was one of Gore's debate advisers, in charge of instilling the vice president with empathy. We were both laughing so hard we didn't even hear the commotion when they pulled my close friend, the ever-personable Ralph Nader, right off the campus.
''Ah, Teddy, you look terrific as always,'' I said as our senior senator took his place a few rows behind me.
So the candidates come out and there's that witty Mr. Gore firing a little finger pistol at mefrom behind his podium, obviously glad that I was there. And then that smart Mr. Bush gave me a little fraternity signal. Karl Rove took the seat behind me and whispered, ''I assumed you'd be here.''
(Editor's note: McGrory doesn't know Al Franken or Karl Rove or anyone else of note. We apologize again and hope that he snaps out of his delirium by next week.)
The nice Secret Service agent, the one in the navy blue suit - hah again! - was kind enough to slip a note from me to Gore that said, ''Hey, wipe that embalming fluid off your chin.'' From my front-row seat, I could see Gore crack up.
That worked well, so I sent Bush a note telling him to keep hammering away on that ''fuzzy math.'' And there he went. The man is nothing short of brilliant.
My God, wasn't that debate fascinating? These guys looked so capable, so relaxed, and so unfailingly intelligent that I was just proud to be part of the wonderful democracy we call America. And Jim Lehrer's quite a cut-up, no?
No sooner was the debate over than I spotted Bobby DeNiro on the other side of the hall. I stepped in to ask for his autograph, and he signed it ''Governor Paul Cellucci.'' Good one. Boy, did we both have a good laugh at that.
Afterwards, I tried to give Doris Kearns Goodwin some bunny ears as she rhapsodized on the network news. ''Churchillian,'' I called out to her, and was sure I heard her giggling as I made my way toward the mayor.
Mr. Menino's analysis was as precise as always. ''Those men speak real good,'' he said. They do. They do.
(Editor's note: We are profoundly sorry for this. It will never happen again.)
On my way out of the hall, I compared social schedules with Bill Bulger and found we both had St. Patrick's Day open for breakfast. ''Bring Whitey along,'' I said. He thought that was hilarious. Then William Kennedy Smith asked if I wanted to go out for a late-night beer. Whoa there, Willie.
No, I had to head home to pack my bags. I was scheduled to sit with the mayor of Danville, Ky., at the vice presidential debate, and I was sure it was going to be another magical night.
