A wise person once told me that all pro athletes want to be rock stars and all rock stars want to be pro athletes.

So, where does that leave the humble journalist?

Truth be told, it would take most of us a nanosecond to trade jobs (not to mention paychecks, groupies and other accoutrements) with an athlete or a rock star. Lacking the genetic and creative necessities to make that swap, we happily settle for the alternative: watching great performances from either the press box or a seat in the center of the seventh row.

Being an observer -- a proverbial "fly on the wall" -- at a special event is a privilege that reporters should never take for granted. I was reminded of that last weekend in Boston, where I attended the 10th anniversary of Hot Stove Cool Music, the annual charity event staged by two of my baseball-writing buddies, Jeff Horrigan and Peter Gammons, and a group of their friends.

If you've followed baseball at any point in the past two or three decades, well, then you already know all about about Gammons. He's a Hall of Fame writer (Boston Globe, Sports Illustrated) and a trailblazing TV analyst (ESPN and currently the MLB Network). He's also one the smartest, classiest and most passionate and people I've encountered. (Click here to see what his co-workers said about him when he left ESPN to go to a competitor.)

I don't purport to know Gammons as well as others in the sports industry do. Though he's incredibly generous with his time, particularly with young writers, the Brewers were pretty low on the baseball food chain during my tenure as a beat hack so I didn't want to take up too much of time in Peter's busy schedule.

From talking to him over the years, I know that three of his favorite things are baseball, music and the city of Boston. With help from Horrigan and others, he has combined those interests with the "rock and jock" event every January for the past decade. By gathering talented musicians and jamming with the "Gammons All-Stars," he has raised roughly $3 million for worthy causes.

Horrigan, a former Cincinnati Reds and Boston Red Sox beat writer, grew up in Boston and now lives in the Milwaukee area and works for a local marketing company. While may not be as famous as his co-founder, they share some of the same traits.

Imagine that you need to move a sofa from one house to another on a cold Saturday in January. When you call some friends to ask for help, they'll often respond with the expected questions:

"How big is it?"

"Is it a sleeper?"

"How long will it take?"

"Can't you find someone else?"

"Can we do it another day?"

If you call Horrigan with a similar query, well, you better be ready for a completely different line of questioning:

"What time do you need me there?"

"Do you want me to bring pizza or beer?"

"I know a couple guys who are big weightlifters. Should I see if they can help?"

That attitude is pretty much the essence of Hot Stove Cool Music. For the first four or five years of the show's existence, Horrigan told me how cool the event was and tried to convince me to visit. Three years ago, I took him up on his offer along with our mutual friend, Kevin Brandt, known to many as "K.B.," the wise-cracking sidekick on the "Dave and Carole Morning Show" on WKLH and occasional OnMilwaukee.com blogger.

Horrigan asked us to help out as guitar techs/stagehands and acted like we were doing him a favor. We paid our own airfare and he set us up with an awesome deal on a room at the Hotel Commonwealth, an incredible property overlooking Fenway Park. Over the course of two memorable nights we "worked" backstage and in the wings at a venerable rock venue known as The Paradise.

We watched incredible music, mingled with interesting people and quickly realized that Jeff really wasn't interested in our guitar-tuning, amplifier rolling skills. He just wanted us, his Milwaukee buddies, to share in the wonderful vibe that his Boston friends had created around Hot Stove Cool Music.

Last weekend, three years after our initial visit, we returned to Boston along with Brian Murphy. "Murf," who works as Pat McCurdy's manager, wanted to experience the Hot Stove Cool Music atmosphere that he'd heard us rave about.

Here is an account of our experience:

WEDNESDAY
4 p.m. -- We originally planned on leaving for Boston shortly after 7 p.m. Thursday night, but the forecast called for a winter storm on Thursday. When the airline sent an e-mail advising travelers to move their flights back a day -- without financial penalty -- K.B. wonders if we should take them up on it.

"If they bang our flight on Thursday night and the Friday flights are full, we're gonna be screwed," he says.

My instinct is to go for it, but I cave.

We end up sliding our itinerary back 12 hours.

THURSDAY
10 p.m. -- For once, the weather men were right. It does snow. A lot. But, our original flight would have gotten us to Boston. Basically, we choked/panicked. Instead of enjoying chowder and pints of Guinness, I spend Thursday night working and shoveling snow. By the time I pack and crawl into bed, it's nearly 2 a.m. Murf is picking me up at 5.

FRIDAY
5 a.m. -- There are still some flurries falling as we head to the airport, but the roads are generally clear and traffic is light. Murf and I are heading in one car and KB and Horrigan, who live less than a mile apart, are driving in to meet us at the airport. We're halfway to the airport when I get a call from KB, who has misplaced his wallet and doesn't have the necessary ID to get on the plane.

"I'm going to check my office," he says. "If it's not there, I might be stuck at home."

It's not there. KB drops Horrigan off at the airport and leaves to look for his wallet and a later flight. "If I don't find it, I'll have to go the the DMV and get a new one," he says.

6:30 a.m. -- After discovering his wallet (which had been hiding in his office), KB reports that he is booked on a 2 p.m. flight. He expects to meet us at the hotel at around 6:30 p.m.

10:45 a.m. -- As our plane approaches Logan International, the pilot mentions that there has been an incident at the airport. It seems a Delta connector was ready for takeoff and had to be evacuated. The other runways were shut down temporarily, so we were forced to circle for about 20 minutes.

Given the attempted bombing of a plane near Detroit on Christmas Day, the first thought we had was "Uh-oh." Things got pretty quiet on the plane and remained eerily quiet after we landed and saw emergency vehicles around.

It turned out that the Delta plane was barreling down the runway for takeoff when the cabin filled with smoke as a result of de-icing fluid that found its way to an inlet.

11 a.m. -- Rather than ponying up $30 for a cab, we take a train into town. We catch a free shuttle bus to the "T" line, then pay $2 apiece for the trip to the hotel, which is located in Kenmore Square. The train adds to my notion that Boston is a very European city. People walk and take trains, which is what happens when traffic is brutal and parking is ghastly expensive.

11:35 a.m. -- We emerge from the train station, turn right and realize that the Hotel Commonwealth, 500 Commonwealth Ave., is about 50 yards away. I turn to Horrigan and ask, "Couldn't you get us any closer?" The canopy in front of the hotel features an overhead heater that automatically turns on when you walk on the red carpet. It's a nice touch on a brisk morning.

11:40 a.m. -- The Hotel Commonwealth is five-story boutique hotel that combines old-school charm of Milwaukee's venerable Pfister with modern amenities like free wi-fi, 24-hour room service, a fitness center. Our room overlooks the Mass. Pike and is a fungo away from Fenway Park and the House of Blues, which will be the venue for the concert. The restaurant / bar, The Eastern Standard, adjacent to the hotel, is a popular, upscale spot the afterwork and pre-game crowd.

12:15 p.m. -- After stashing our bags in our room, Murf and I head out to find some lunch near Fenway. Horrigan has to work on some concert logistics and procure our tickets for the evening entertainment -- a college hockey game between Boston College and Boston University at Fenway.

12:30 p.m. -- We stroll toward Fenway and stop at Boston Beer Works, 61 Brookline Ave., one of several bars around the famous ballpark, for a sandwich. Though it's not much different than your typical "we make our own beer" pub, the food is good and the prices -- by Boston standards -- are low. They brew a blueberry beer and put real blueberries in the glass or pitcher. How can you not like that?

1:15 p.m. -- Murf wants to explore around the Faneuil Hall/Quincy Market area, but I've made that trip several times during my baseball-writing days, so I opt for a workout and a nap. I know Saturday will be a long day. Murf returns, raving about the skewer of bacon-wrapped scallops he found ($8) and the salami he bought at the market.

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