(Editor’s note: in part 1, we began this tale at its end, with yours truly collapsing in his bed. Then we rewound to the beginning to try to chronicle a fun-filled weekend in Nashville with a large contingent of Platte Countians. Our mission: to watch the Missouri Tigers take on Vanderbilt and the Kansas City Chiefs slug it out with the Tennessee Titans the next day, all while having as much as fun as possible. As you could probably tell throughout the continuation of the saga in part 2, and will no doubt conclude after reading this final installment, that was no problem. The names have been omitted to protect the innocent — and the guilty.) When last we talked, yours truly, my wife Patty and several others from our group had arrived back at the hotel about 10 p.m. Saturday after watching Mizzou (that would be this week’s fifth-ranked Tigers, thank you) crush the Vanderbilt Commodores. Expecting to see some of our group who had arrived Saturday evening while we at the game, we learned that they had ditched us for the bright lights of Honky Tonk Row. So, we were faced with this decision: take our weary bodies to bed or jump in a taxi, head downtown and see how bad we could feel Sunday morning. Fireball! Remember, this is an interactive column — let’s pop those Hot Tamales and chase it with rubbing alcohol, shall we? Anyway, the narrative of day 2 is over — I retired to my hotel room. SUNDAY I was happy to see the aforementioned late arrivals Sunday morning, but I’m not so sure they were as happy to see me, especially when I had enjoyed a nice night of sleep and they had... well, enjoyed a nice night. Anyway, off to downtown we hustled, where we gathered at the famous Coyote Ugly bar for what sounded like a great $5 buffet breakfast. Memo to self: never eat a $5 breakfast buffet again and certainly don’t eat it at an establishment staffed by waitresses with scratch and sniff tattoos. That’s all I’m going to say about that. Remember how I talked about Bloody Marys in part 2? That was a prelude to this episode, which found many of our group leaving the Coyote Ugly because they did not have any Bloody Mary mix. What? Dancing on the bar, $1 PBR, but no Bloodies? We hopped a few doors down and had no problem getting a BM. At least, we had no problem getting one. By the time we got ready to order a second, the bartender informed us that he too was out of mix. Bewildered and wondering what kind of Twilight Zone episode we had stumbled into, we walked out the door and noticed a large sign on the sidewalk about three feet from the door we had both entered and just exited. WORLD’S BEST AND BIGGEST BLOODY MARY BAR, read the sign. Sigh. Fireball! Gotcha. I must admit, however, Fireball really doesn’t mix well with tomato juice. Soon, we began the walk to Titans Stadium, which sits nestled on the banks of the Cumberland River (you were right, Steve) and is accessed from the downtown area by two pedestrian bridges that span the River. Eventually, we made our way into the stadium and, again, I was amazed by the number of red-clad Chiefs fans. I’ve been told by friends who were watching on TV that you could clearly hear “Home of the Chiefs,” at the conclusion of the National Anthem. The stadium itself was pretty cool with a great view of the Nashville skyline (did Johnny Cash write a song by that name?) and two of the biggest HD screens at either end of the field I’ve ever seen. The other guys and I couldn’t help but notice the crystal clear detail on the Nashville cheerleaders’ special pink attire. Moving right along, the game started with a bang when the Chiefs recovered a muffed punt in the end zone for the games’ first score. This, of course, prompted the Tomahawk Chop, which had me looking around for the Politically Incorrect Police. You watched the game and know how it ended — Chiefs win! — so let’s get to the more interesting part of the story: after the game. Some of our group had left early because of a few light rain showers, but many of us stayed until the end and found ourselves at Honky Tonk Central, a three-story bar that had live music on each floor. We hung around on the first floor and were treated to 9-year-old singer Marissa McKay. Remember that name — you may see her on American Idol some day. Anyway, I’m not sure how this next part happened, but the next thing I knew I was on what is called a pedal bar. It’s just what it says — a bar that is motored by happy people sitting on bar stools and pedaling. Now, I’m not sure what genius came up with that idea — there were no seatbelts — but by some stroke of luck nobody fell off as we pedaled through downtown Nashville in the rain, doing that silly Tomahawk Chop. I’m told that eventually we got off the pedal bar and then things started getting really crazy. So, I think it’s time to end this tale. No, there’s not going to be a part 4 — at least not in this family publication. All you need to know is that Sunday turned into Monday, nobody was injured or jailed and we all made it home in one piece. Thanks for reading.