The search for Jay Cutler

NASHVILLE, Tenn. — Jay Cutler’s story continues to swell with intrigue. Can his trust in Broncos owner Pat Bowlen and new head coach Josh McDaniels be repaired, if not restored? Is his right arm strong enough to force a trade?

Where will he land, and what compensation would the Broncos receive in return?

Plenty of questions. I came here searching for answers — fishing in the dark, if you will, for Cutler to hear the words come directly from his mouth.

Cutler has an offseason home in Nashville. I had no address or phone number to reach him. Shoot, I had no idea if he was even in town. His agent, James “Bus” Cook ignored my calls. It seems ol’ Bus only recognizes the letters E-S-P-N on his caller ID.

So I went to the streets of Honky Tonk U.S.A. looking high and low for Jay Cutler. The campus of Vanderbilt University, his alma mater. Golf courses. Gas stations. Restaurants and bars. Drug stores and strip malls.

No strip clubs.

The neon lights shine bright on 4th Avenue and Broadway in downtown Nashville. Notepad and recorder in tow, I’m looking to shed more light on Cutler’s situation.

The Stage is a popular local spot for live music. Heck, every bar on Broadway is a popular spot for live music. I stopped through nearly all of them.

Time it just right and I might catch Cutler. Or get about 26 different versions of “Sweet Home Alabama.”

There was no Cutler sighting at The Stage Wednesday night. But a few doors down at Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge I bumped into Tommy Tutone.

You know Tommy. You should know his famous song — ‘867-5309′. He popped in, hopped on stage and sang the song. He appeared to be hammered, then again, I don’t know Tommy Tutone. He could’ve been bone-dry sober. But he wasn’t.

Tommy walked around taking photos and collecting tips for the band.

All the bands play for tips. I needed tips, too — on where to find Jay Cutler.

The bars close at 3 a.m. I gave up at 1 a.m., sleepy and full of Coca-Cola.

The search for Cutler resumed late Thursday morning near Vandy’s campus, at Sam’s Sports Bar and Grill. It’s probably the most popular sports bar in town.

Finally, I spot Cutler. OK, his picture on the wall, anyway, in a white Vandy jersey throwing a pass against the University of Tennessee.

The place was packed at noon. I wolfed down a 12-inch expense-lover’s pizza. The menu called it a meat-lover’s pizza. I called it a expense-lover’s — four inches for breakfast, four inches for lunch and four inches for dinner.

This type of trip is called bargain stalking.

For three hours I watched NCAA tournament basketball games while eyeing the entrance in hopes Cutler might stroll in. He didn’t. So I moved on.

Next stop, the Tin Roof. Another spot that Cutler is known to frequent late at night — or so said Two-Step, one of my informants Wednesday night at The Stage.

I called the dude Two-Step, because every two steps he stopped for a swig of brew.

I got “the eyes’ from regulars at Tin Roof. They recognized a stranger in their midst. Didn’t see Cutler, but there was an interesting sign hanging near the entrance.

It read: “No bitchin’ or whinin’ beyond this point.” Cutler’s been whinin’ ever since trade talks began, so maybe he took that message to heart.

I waited, downed about a 60-ounce sized cup of Coke and left the scene. After stopping by a few other restaurants on Demonbreun Street, I zipped onto 21st Avenue South, continuing search of Jay. Fruitless. Back to Broadway.

First stop, The Palm. Didn’t see Cutler — or his likeness on the wall. Back to The Stage. More talk with Two-Step. Apparently he’s a regular. He still hadn’t seen Cutler.

For the record, Two-Step is not for a trade that would bring Cutler to the hometown Tennessee Titans. He is blocking my view of the door, a possible entrance of Cutler — and the ladies.

It’s 1 a.m. again. My ears are ringing from a rendition of Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition” that featured a stirring fiddle solo. My belly’s full of Coke. I move on.

Bar-hopping along Broadway, I see Elvis — at least a miniature statute of him in the street. An Elvis sighting, but no Jay Cutler. Back to the hotel. No more Coke.

“Find Jay-or-bust Friday” began early with a ride to the McGugin Center, located across the street from Vandy’s football stadium. The facility is home for the school’s athletics department. It was Pro Day, with NFL scouts in town to put Commodores players through workouts on the practice fields.

Hey, maybe Cutler shows up, I thought. Maybe the Broncos send a scout. Maybe there’s dialogue.

Maybe not. I didn’t see Cutler. But I did run into former Broncos player Melvin Bratton. Bratton is a sports agent based in Atlanta, Georgia. I also saw Corey Chavous — a former Vandy player, current NFL player and nephew of former Broncos player Barney Chavous.

After the workout I approached one player, wanting to know if Cutler was inside the facility. The kid bent over and threw up before I got close enough to ask. No kidding. Sort of summed up the whole Cutler-McDaniels episode.

Earlier in the week I was reminded by an athletics department official that Vanderbilt still is very protective of Cutler — and that the private university doesn’t take too kindly to reporters “stalking” on the campus.

“It’s a town that does stars easily, sees names bigger than Cutler on a frequent basis and lets them be themselves,” the official said. “And if you know Cutler, that’s very important to him. In Nashville, Vanderbilt is far from the biggest thing in town.

“Here, Cutler can go anywhere and not be bothered.”

Forget anywhere, Cutler. Just show up at The Stage Friday night.

The late-night bar-hopping was taking a toll on my throat. I stopped at a Walgreen’s for some medicine. OK, with hopes Cutler might happen to drop in, you know, to pick up a prescription.

I put the checkout clerk on the spot.

“Have you seen Jay Cutler?” I asked. “I’m sorry, sir,” he replied.

“Do you think the Titans are going to trade for Cutler,” I asked. “Oh no, sir. We don’t let people get tackled at the last second,” he replied.

Huh?

Friday night was all about a full-court press to locate Cutler. It would require a nap, so I could hang out ’til the crack of dawn if necessary. Before hitting the streets I stopped inside the hotel lounge for a club soda. Karaoke Night. Great.

Wouldn’t you know it — someone’s on stage singing “Sweet Home Alabama.”

Time to hit the streets. Country bars. Blues clubs. Hip-hop clubs. Any place to find Jay Cutler.
Any place except the strip clubs — although the one advertising “hundreds of beautiful girls and three ugly ones” was tempting.

The thought of searching for Cutler in a hip-hop club might sound funny. But I know Jay likes his music and it would be worth the cover charge and some to catch him on the dance floor doing the “Stanky Leg.”

What, you don’t know the “Stanky Leg” dance? Check out YouTube. All I know is, you can lean with it, drop with it and if you’re on beat and in the groove, you can break into the Booty-Doo without a hitch.

No Stanky Leg. No Booty-Doo. No Jay Cutler.

If Cutler stopped in B.B. King’s joint, I overlooked him. He might’ve left Big Bang Dueling Piano Bar before I arrived — or slipped into Second Fiddle after I exited.

When in doubt, go back to The Stage. They know me now. Security let me in through the back door because the entry wait line was long in front of the bar.

Apparently it was Jay Cutler Haircut Night. A bunch guys had that look, but none of them were Cutler. It was so crowded I couldn’t even find Two-Step. But I made several rounds through the mob, listened to songs about fishing in the dark and barbecue stains on T-shirts — and heard “Sweet Home Alabama” for the about the 132nd time in the week.

At 2:32 a.m. Saturday morning, the search for Jay Cutler officially was called off.

I stopped at a convenience store for an expense-lover’s snack — honey bun and milk — returned to the hotel, packed my bag, caught some shut-eye and then shuffled off to Nashville International Airport.
If I’m lucky, I catch Cutler walking through a concourse at NIA. I’m not lucky.

But I am headed back to Sweet Home Colorado.