Mike Fisher graced the halls of our very own radio station yesterday! I was not here, which is good news/bad news. Bad because I didn't get to meet him, 'good' because I was able to avoid the inevitable tongue-tripping, blotchy neck and red face that would have ensued should I have been in his presence. However, here is BOB FM's very own Mo Cluff, who is still glowing from yesterday's imprompu photo shoot. Eat your heart out, Carrie!Thursday, February 26, 2009
Mo and Mike
Mike Fisher graced the halls of our very own radio station yesterday! I was not here, which is good news/bad news. Bad because I didn't get to meet him, 'good' because I was able to avoid the inevitable tongue-tripping, blotchy neck and red face that would have ensued should I have been in his presence. However, here is BOB FM's very own Mo Cluff, who is still glowing from yesterday's imprompu photo shoot. Eat your heart out, Carrie!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Do I Look Fat in This?
Why do cats like to sit in bags? Why do they like to go inside boxes? Why do they run really fast across a room then jump up on a table then dive off and land on the dog's head? This is my cat named 'Kitty', who clearly has a much better imagination than I do. Moments after this picture was taken, Kitty batted a pen cap around the entire house. Then he went to sleep, as he had fulfilled his entire 'to do' list for the day.
-
Tomorrow is the start of Lent, which is always a big topic around the BOB studio. Because you are supposed to give up something that you LOVE for 40 days. Last year, JR and I had a Lent-Off. I was to give up chocolate for 40 days, he would give up beer for 40 days. JR lasted 3 days. I, however, went the entire 40 days without one bite of chocolate. It was incredibly hard but I did it!
This year, I can't possibly do the 'chocolate sacrifice' again, as I am now the owner of a chocolate fountain. But I will give up SOMETHING. So far, the possibilities are: Chunky soup, peanut butter, and pogos. I love those 3 things more than anything. Or maybe I'll give up one of my day-time tv shows. I could probably use a 40-day break from Judge Judy.
-
The Humane Society Fur Ball is coming up soon, March 28th at the National Gallery of Canada. This is truly a spectacular event. The closest we get to a glitzy Hollywood party, right here in town, a night out for all the movers and shakers in Ottawa. And I will be there too. This year's theme is 'Casablanca', with the Gallery decorated a la 'Rick's Cafe' from the 1940's. The wonderful Laureen Harper will once again be the honourary chair, and there will be some very unique auction items. One of my favourite highlights from last year: dogs from the 'Brightening Lives' Program at the Humane Society strolled through the Gallery after dinner, to meet all the guests. It didn't matter that people were wearing their finest gowns and tuxes, these dogs were hugged beyond belief. It may be the first event of this level of prestige where the guests arrived back home covered in dog hair, by their own choice! The Brightening Lives dogs are ambassadors for the society, visiting schools and the elderly to encourage the wonderful relationship we can all have with animals.
For Fur Ball tickets and information, go to www.ottawahumane.ca
Oh yeah...and...one more thing. Here's the 2009 Fur Ball Menu!
White Albacore Tuna Loin
Canadian Sturgeon Caviar, Miso Emulsion
East Coast Lobster & Mascarpone Risotto
Lobster Cognac Cappuccino
Lightly Smoked Chateaubriand
Dill Buttered Potato & Golden Beet, Horseradish Jus
Valrhona Chocolate TerrineVanilla Bean Crème Anglaise
Friday, February 20, 2009
Obama-Rama!!
Can you believe the excitement in Ottawa yesterday?
Not only did President Obama come to town to meet with Prime Minister Harper to discuss issues that impact our world, most importantly, he bought a BEAVERTAIL!!!
Here he is with 17 year old Beavertail employee Jessica Millien, who was thrilled to be asked by the 'Secret Service' to offer the baked goodie to President Obama.
President Obama also bought some cookies for his daughters and a silk scarf for his wife Michelle.
What an unbelievable day!
Thanks to my co-worker, Jeremy Braverman, for taking this photo. It was nice of the President to make his surprise visit two doors down from BOB FM!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
A Treat for Bruce Springsteen Fans
THE FOLLOWING IS A 'SUPERBOWL DIARY' WRITTEN BY BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN FOR HIS FANS, CHRONICLING HIS EXPERIENCE ON THE DAY OF ONE OF THE BIGGEST SHOWS THAT HE AND THE E STREET BAND EVER PLAYED: THE SUPERBOWL HALF-TIME SHOW
IN BRUCE'S WORDS:
I. Six Air Force Thunderbirds have just roared overhead at what felt like inches above our backstage area, giving myself and the entire E Street Band a brush cut. With 20 minutes to go, I'm sitting in my trailer trying to decide what boots to wear. I've got a nice pair of cowboy boots my feet look really good in, but I'm concerned about their stability. Two days ago we rehearsed in full rain on the field and the stage became as slick as an ice pond. It was almost impossible to stand on. It was so slick I crashed into Mike Colucci, our cameraman, coming off my knee slide, his camera the only thing that kept me from launching out onto the soggy turf. When Jerry the umpire in "Glory Days" did his bit, he came running out, couldn't stop himself and executed one of the most painfully perfect "man slips on a banana peel" falls I've ever seen. This sent Steve, myself and the entire band into one of the biggest stress-induced laughters of our lives that lasted all the way back to our trailers. (A few Advil and Jerry was okay.)
I better go with the combat boots I always carry. The round toes will give me better braking power than the pointy-toed cowboy boots when I hit the deck. I stuff my boots with two innersoles to make them as fitted as possible, zip them up snuggly around my ankles, stomp around in my trailer a bit and feel pretty grounded. Fifteen minutes…oh, by the way, I'm somewhat nervous. It's not the usual pre-show jitters, not "butterflies," it's not wardrobe malfunction anticipation anxiety, I'm talking about five minutes to beach landing, "Right Stuff" "Lord Don't Let Me Screw the Pooch in Front of 100 Million People" one of the biggest television audiences since dinosaurs first screwed on earth kind of semi-terror. It only lasts for a minute…I check my hair, spray it with something that turns it into concrete and I'm out the door.
I catch sight of Patti smiling. She's been my rock all week. I put my arm around her and away we go. They take us by golf cart to a holding tunnel right off the field. The problem is there are a thousand people there, tv cameras, media of all kinds and general chaos. Suddenly, hundreds of people rush by us in a column shouting, cheering…our fans! And tonight also our stage builders. These are "the volunteers". They've been here for two weeks on their own dime in a field day after day, putting together and pulling apart pieces of our stage over and over again, theoretically achieving military precision. Now it's for real. I hope they've got it down because as we're escorted onto the field, lights in the stadium fully up, the banshee wail of 70,000 screaming football fanatics rising in our ears, there's nothing there. Nothing…no sound, no lights, no instruments, no stage, nothing but brightly lit unwelcoming green turf. Suddenly an army of ants come from all sides of what seems like nowhere. Each rolling a piece of our lifeline, our earth onto the field. The cavalry has arrived. What takes us on a concert day 8 hours to do is done in five minutes. Unbelieveable. Everything in our world is there…we hope. We gather a few feet off the stage, form a circle of hands, I say a few words drowned out by the crowd and it's smiles all around. I've been in a lot of high stakes situations like this, though not exactly like this, with these people before. It's stressful, but our band is made for it…and it's about to begin…so happy warriors we bound up onto the stage.
II. The NFL stage manager gives me the three minute sign…two minutes…one…there's a guy jumping up and down on sections of the stage to get them to sit evenly on the grass field…30 seconds…they're still testing all the speakers and equipment…that's cutting it close! The lights in the stadium go down. The crowd erupts and Max's drumbeat opens "10th Avenue." I feel a white light silhouette Clarence and I for a moment. I hear Roy's piano. I give "C"'s hand a pat. I'm on the move tossing my guitar in a high arc for Kevin, my guitar tech, to catch and it's…"ladies and gentlemen, for the next 12 minutes we will be bringing the righteous and mighty power of the E Street Band into your beautiful home. So…step back from the guacamole dip. Put the chicken fingers down! And turn the TV ALL the way up!" Because, of course, there is just ONE thing I've got to know: "IS THERE ANYBODY ALIVE OUT THERE?!"
All I know is if you were standing next to me, you would be. I feel like I've just taken a syringe of adrenalin straight to the heart. Before we came out, I had two major concerns. One, something might go wrong beyond my control. That completely disappeared before we hit the stage. Tonight our fate is in the hands of many, so no sense for useless worry. Two, I was worried that I would find myself 'out' of myself and not in the moment. My old friend Peter Wolf once said 'the strangest thing you can do on stage is think about what you're doing." This is true. To observe oneself from afar while struggling to bring the moment to life is an unpleasant experience. I've had it more than once. It's an existential problem. Unfortunately, right in my wheel house. It doesn't mean it's going to be a bad show. It may be a great one. It just means it might take time, something we don't have much of tonight. When that happens, I do anything to break it. Tear up the set list, call an audible, make a mistake, anything to get "IN." That's what you get paid for, TO BE HERE NOW! The power, potential and volume of your present-ness is a basic rock and roll promise. It's the essential element that holds the attention of your audience, that gives force, shape and authority to the evening's events. And however you get there on any given night, that's the road you take. "IS THERE ANYBODY ALIVE IN HERE?!"…there better be.
I'm on top of the piano (good old boots). I'm down. One…two…three, knee drop in front of the microphone and I'm bending back almost flat on the stage. I close my eyes for a moment and when I open them, I see nothing but blue night sky. No band, no crowd, no stadium. I hear and feel all of it in the form of a great siren like din surrounding me but with my back nearly flat against the stage I see nothing but beautiful night sky with a halo of a thousand stadium suns at its edges. I take several deep breaths and a calm comes over me. I feel myself deeply and happily "IN."
Since the inception of our band it was our ambition to play for everyone. We've achieved a lot but we haven't achieved that. Our audience remains tribal…that is predominantly white. On occasion, the Inaugural Concert, during a political campaign, touring through Africa in '88, particularly in Cleveland with President Obama, I looked out and sang "Promised Land" to the audience I intended it for, young people, old people, black, white, brown, cutting across religious and class lines. That's who I'm singing to today. Today we play for everyone. I pull myself upright with the mike stand back into the world, this world, my world, the one with everybody in it and the stadium, the crowd, my band, my best friends, my wife come rushing into view and it's "teardrops on the city…"
III. During "Tenth Avenue" I tell the story of my band…and other things "when the change was made uptown"…. It goes rushing by, then the knee slide. Too much adrenalin, a late drop, too much speed, here I come Mike…BOOM! And I'm onto his camera, the lens implanted into my chest with one leg off the stage. I use his camera to push myself back up and…say it, say it, say it, say it…BLAM! BORN TO RUN…my story…Something bright and hot blows up behind me. I heard there were fireworks. I never saw any. Just the ones going off in my head. I'm out of breath. I try to slow it down. That ain't gonna happen. I already hear the crowd singing the last eight bars of "Born to Run" oh, oh, oh, oh…then it's straight into "Working on a Dream"…your story…and mine I hope. Steve is on my right, Patti on my left. I catch a smile and the wonderful choir, The Joyce Garrett Singers, that backed me in Washington during the Inaugural concert is behind us. I turn to see their faces and listen to the sound of their voices…"working on a dream". Done. Moments later, we're ripping straight into "Glory Days"…the end of the story. A last party steeped in merry fatalism and some laughs with my old pal, Steve. Jerry the Ump doesn't fall on his ass tonight. He just throws the yellow penalty flag for the precious 40 seconds we've gone overtime…home stretch. Everyone is out front now forming that great line. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the horns raising their instruments high, my guitar is wheeling around my neck and on the seventh beat, I'm going to Disneyland. I'm already someplace a lot farther and more fun than that. I look around, we're alive, it's over, we link arms and take a bow as the stage comes apart beneath our feet. It's chaos again all the way back to the trailer. A toast…our families, friends, Jon, George, Brendan, Barbara, with Don Mischer, Ricky Kirshner, Glenn Weiss, Charles Coplin, and Dick Ebersol, the great team that put it altogether and the end of a good football game.
IV. The theory of relativity holds. On stage your exhilaration is in direct proportion to the void you're dancing over. A gig I always looked a little askance at and was a little wary of turned out to have surprising emotional power and resonance for me and my band. It was a high point, a marker of some sort and went up with the biggest shows of our work life. The NFL threw us an anniversary party the likes of which we'd never throw for ourselves (we're too fussy) with fireworks and everything! In the middle of their football game, they let us hammer out a little part of our story. I love playing long and hard but it was the 35 years in 12 minutes…that was the trick. You start here, you end there, that's it. That's the time you've got to give it everything you have…12 minutes…give or take a few seconds. The Super Bowl is going to help me sell a few new records, that's what I wanted because I want people to hear where we are today. It'll probably put a few extra fannies in the seats and that's fine. We live high around here and I like to do good business for my record company and concert promoters. But what it's really about is my band remains one of the mightiest in the land and I want you to know it, we want to show you…because we can.
By 3 am, I am back home, everyone in the house fast asleep and tucked in bed. I am sitting in the yard over an open fire, staring up again into that black night sky, my ears still ringing…"Oh yeah, it's alright."
February, 2009
IN BRUCE'S WORDS:
I. Six Air Force Thunderbirds have just roared overhead at what felt like inches above our backstage area, giving myself and the entire E Street Band a brush cut. With 20 minutes to go, I'm sitting in my trailer trying to decide what boots to wear. I've got a nice pair of cowboy boots my feet look really good in, but I'm concerned about their stability. Two days ago we rehearsed in full rain on the field and the stage became as slick as an ice pond. It was almost impossible to stand on. It was so slick I crashed into Mike Colucci, our cameraman, coming off my knee slide, his camera the only thing that kept me from launching out onto the soggy turf. When Jerry the umpire in "Glory Days" did his bit, he came running out, couldn't stop himself and executed one of the most painfully perfect "man slips on a banana peel" falls I've ever seen. This sent Steve, myself and the entire band into one of the biggest stress-induced laughters of our lives that lasted all the way back to our trailers. (A few Advil and Jerry was okay.)
I better go with the combat boots I always carry. The round toes will give me better braking power than the pointy-toed cowboy boots when I hit the deck. I stuff my boots with two innersoles to make them as fitted as possible, zip them up snuggly around my ankles, stomp around in my trailer a bit and feel pretty grounded. Fifteen minutes…oh, by the way, I'm somewhat nervous. It's not the usual pre-show jitters, not "butterflies," it's not wardrobe malfunction anticipation anxiety, I'm talking about five minutes to beach landing, "Right Stuff" "Lord Don't Let Me Screw the Pooch in Front of 100 Million People" one of the biggest television audiences since dinosaurs first screwed on earth kind of semi-terror. It only lasts for a minute…I check my hair, spray it with something that turns it into concrete and I'm out the door.
I catch sight of Patti smiling. She's been my rock all week. I put my arm around her and away we go. They take us by golf cart to a holding tunnel right off the field. The problem is there are a thousand people there, tv cameras, media of all kinds and general chaos. Suddenly, hundreds of people rush by us in a column shouting, cheering…our fans! And tonight also our stage builders. These are "the volunteers". They've been here for two weeks on their own dime in a field day after day, putting together and pulling apart pieces of our stage over and over again, theoretically achieving military precision. Now it's for real. I hope they've got it down because as we're escorted onto the field, lights in the stadium fully up, the banshee wail of 70,000 screaming football fanatics rising in our ears, there's nothing there. Nothing…no sound, no lights, no instruments, no stage, nothing but brightly lit unwelcoming green turf. Suddenly an army of ants come from all sides of what seems like nowhere. Each rolling a piece of our lifeline, our earth onto the field. The cavalry has arrived. What takes us on a concert day 8 hours to do is done in five minutes. Unbelieveable. Everything in our world is there…we hope. We gather a few feet off the stage, form a circle of hands, I say a few words drowned out by the crowd and it's smiles all around. I've been in a lot of high stakes situations like this, though not exactly like this, with these people before. It's stressful, but our band is made for it…and it's about to begin…so happy warriors we bound up onto the stage.
II. The NFL stage manager gives me the three minute sign…two minutes…one…there's a guy jumping up and down on sections of the stage to get them to sit evenly on the grass field…30 seconds…they're still testing all the speakers and equipment…that's cutting it close! The lights in the stadium go down. The crowd erupts and Max's drumbeat opens "10th Avenue." I feel a white light silhouette Clarence and I for a moment. I hear Roy's piano. I give "C"'s hand a pat. I'm on the move tossing my guitar in a high arc for Kevin, my guitar tech, to catch and it's…"ladies and gentlemen, for the next 12 minutes we will be bringing the righteous and mighty power of the E Street Band into your beautiful home. So…step back from the guacamole dip. Put the chicken fingers down! And turn the TV ALL the way up!" Because, of course, there is just ONE thing I've got to know: "IS THERE ANYBODY ALIVE OUT THERE?!"
All I know is if you were standing next to me, you would be. I feel like I've just taken a syringe of adrenalin straight to the heart. Before we came out, I had two major concerns. One, something might go wrong beyond my control. That completely disappeared before we hit the stage. Tonight our fate is in the hands of many, so no sense for useless worry. Two, I was worried that I would find myself 'out' of myself and not in the moment. My old friend Peter Wolf once said 'the strangest thing you can do on stage is think about what you're doing." This is true. To observe oneself from afar while struggling to bring the moment to life is an unpleasant experience. I've had it more than once. It's an existential problem. Unfortunately, right in my wheel house. It doesn't mean it's going to be a bad show. It may be a great one. It just means it might take time, something we don't have much of tonight. When that happens, I do anything to break it. Tear up the set list, call an audible, make a mistake, anything to get "IN." That's what you get paid for, TO BE HERE NOW! The power, potential and volume of your present-ness is a basic rock and roll promise. It's the essential element that holds the attention of your audience, that gives force, shape and authority to the evening's events. And however you get there on any given night, that's the road you take. "IS THERE ANYBODY ALIVE IN HERE?!"…there better be.
I'm on top of the piano (good old boots). I'm down. One…two…three, knee drop in front of the microphone and I'm bending back almost flat on the stage. I close my eyes for a moment and when I open them, I see nothing but blue night sky. No band, no crowd, no stadium. I hear and feel all of it in the form of a great siren like din surrounding me but with my back nearly flat against the stage I see nothing but beautiful night sky with a halo of a thousand stadium suns at its edges. I take several deep breaths and a calm comes over me. I feel myself deeply and happily "IN."
Since the inception of our band it was our ambition to play for everyone. We've achieved a lot but we haven't achieved that. Our audience remains tribal…that is predominantly white. On occasion, the Inaugural Concert, during a political campaign, touring through Africa in '88, particularly in Cleveland with President Obama, I looked out and sang "Promised Land" to the audience I intended it for, young people, old people, black, white, brown, cutting across religious and class lines. That's who I'm singing to today. Today we play for everyone. I pull myself upright with the mike stand back into the world, this world, my world, the one with everybody in it and the stadium, the crowd, my band, my best friends, my wife come rushing into view and it's "teardrops on the city…"
III. During "Tenth Avenue" I tell the story of my band…and other things "when the change was made uptown"…. It goes rushing by, then the knee slide. Too much adrenalin, a late drop, too much speed, here I come Mike…BOOM! And I'm onto his camera, the lens implanted into my chest with one leg off the stage. I use his camera to push myself back up and…say it, say it, say it, say it…BLAM! BORN TO RUN…my story…Something bright and hot blows up behind me. I heard there were fireworks. I never saw any. Just the ones going off in my head. I'm out of breath. I try to slow it down. That ain't gonna happen. I already hear the crowd singing the last eight bars of "Born to Run" oh, oh, oh, oh…then it's straight into "Working on a Dream"…your story…and mine I hope. Steve is on my right, Patti on my left. I catch a smile and the wonderful choir, The Joyce Garrett Singers, that backed me in Washington during the Inaugural concert is behind us. I turn to see their faces and listen to the sound of their voices…"working on a dream". Done. Moments later, we're ripping straight into "Glory Days"…the end of the story. A last party steeped in merry fatalism and some laughs with my old pal, Steve. Jerry the Ump doesn't fall on his ass tonight. He just throws the yellow penalty flag for the precious 40 seconds we've gone overtime…home stretch. Everyone is out front now forming that great line. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the horns raising their instruments high, my guitar is wheeling around my neck and on the seventh beat, I'm going to Disneyland. I'm already someplace a lot farther and more fun than that. I look around, we're alive, it's over, we link arms and take a bow as the stage comes apart beneath our feet. It's chaos again all the way back to the trailer. A toast…our families, friends, Jon, George, Brendan, Barbara, with Don Mischer, Ricky Kirshner, Glenn Weiss, Charles Coplin, and Dick Ebersol, the great team that put it altogether and the end of a good football game.
IV. The theory of relativity holds. On stage your exhilaration is in direct proportion to the void you're dancing over. A gig I always looked a little askance at and was a little wary of turned out to have surprising emotional power and resonance for me and my band. It was a high point, a marker of some sort and went up with the biggest shows of our work life. The NFL threw us an anniversary party the likes of which we'd never throw for ourselves (we're too fussy) with fireworks and everything! In the middle of their football game, they let us hammer out a little part of our story. I love playing long and hard but it was the 35 years in 12 minutes…that was the trick. You start here, you end there, that's it. That's the time you've got to give it everything you have…12 minutes…give or take a few seconds. The Super Bowl is going to help me sell a few new records, that's what I wanted because I want people to hear where we are today. It'll probably put a few extra fannies in the seats and that's fine. We live high around here and I like to do good business for my record company and concert promoters. But what it's really about is my band remains one of the mightiest in the land and I want you to know it, we want to show you…because we can.
By 3 am, I am back home, everyone in the house fast asleep and tucked in bed. I am sitting in the yard over an open fire, staring up again into that black night sky, my ears still ringing…"Oh yeah, it's alright."
February, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Winterlude - Before It Melts
Winterlude is here!
Better get out there, quick.
My friend Earl and I took our cameras along to Confederation Park last night to shoot some ice sculptures. They are spectacular but they are melting.
7 degrees Celcius forecast for tomorrow.
Uh oh.
Sunday, February 08, 2009
David Lee Roth Rocks Our Computers!
Our resident musicologist, Allan Wigney, star of 'Wigipedia Wednesdays' (now a 'Facebook' group, search 'Its Not Wednesday Unless its Wigipedia Wednesday), sent along a great afternoon-waster. Also fun at parties too! Its a 'David Lee Roth' sound-board. Follow this link:
then crank up your speakers and click on any one of several audio gems from David Lee Roth himself!
But make sure you clear your schedule. Safe at work.
Monday, February 02, 2009
What Bruce Can do in Twelve Minutes!!!
What an amazing event! Oh yeah- the Superbowl was pretty good too, congrats to the Pittsburgh Steelers. Bruce Springsteen rocked the world last night with an electrifying half time show, backed by the best band in rock 'n roll, the E Street Band (along with special guests from the 'Max Weinberg 7' and Tampa Bay gospel singers)! Earlier in the week the Boss promised to squeeze one of his marathon rock shows into 12 minutes! And he did it! Best Super Bowl halftime show of all time!!! (I know, I'm a bit of a fan, so to add a bit of credibility to my rave review, I've included another review here)Read what MTV.com has to say:
BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN LEADS HALFTIME PARTY AT SUPERBOWL!
By James Montgomery
MTV.com
James Harrison's 100-yard interception return for a touchdown may have got the crowd at Tampa, Florida's Raymond James Stadium buzzing, but Bruce Springsteen really put things over the top.
The Boss' much-hyped halftime show at Super Bowl XLIII more than lived up to the advance billing, with the ageless one (seriously, how does a 59-year-old man move like that?!?!) was part preacher, part gunslinger and all showman.
Backed by his airtight E Street Band, Springsteen strode onstage to thunderous cheers, tossed his guitar to a waiting tech, then launched into a fire-and-brimstone speech that had everyone in the stadium losing their collective minds.
"For the next 12 minutes, we're going to bring the righteous power of the E Street Band into your home!" Springsteen shouted before climbing atop a piano. "Is there anybody alive out there? Is there anybody alive out there?!?"
And hell yes, there was. Springsteen ripped into "10th Avenue Freezeout," bending backward over his microphone stand, pyro and giant video screens firing behind him. He slapped hands with fans in front of the stage and then slid across the stage — directly into a wayward cameraman — and cracked a smile.
That led right into his classic "Born to Run," which sent the crowd into even further hysterics, and then, backed by a full gospel choir (as he was at the "We Are One" concert last month), he performed a brief segment of "Working on a Dream," the title track of his just-released album.
Then, stretching his 12 minutes to the max, Bruce and the Band flew into "Glory Days," clearly reveling in the moment but aware of the time constraints.
"I think it's quittin' time, Steve," Springsteen laughed to guitarist Steve Van Zandt.
Steve argued a bit, but then a referee came out and jokingly flagged the band for delay-of-game penalty.
"Steve, what time is it?" Bruce asked.
"It's Boss time!" Van Zandt shouted.
And then, to huge applause, they wrapped up the set, and took a much-deserved bow. "I'm going to Disneyland!" Springsteen shouted before leaving the stage.
Of course, he looked like he'd rather suit up for the second half of the big game. Maybe next year ...
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