NEW ORLEANS -- The PR guy quietly escorted me away from the crowded hotel lobby, up two escalators, down a deserted hallway and then into an empty VIP lounge where I was told to wait. The star's things were already laid out: a plush couch, a TV, some fruit, a few peanut butter cookies and a small box of Huggies. I had heard stories -- you know, the usual: women, fame, money -- and wasn't exactly sure what to expect. He' a worldwide success, this guy, a star who has won awards, with a potential audience this Sunday of close to a billion people.

I mean, if Bono and the lads from U2 had made me wait a half-hour earlier in the day, how fashionably tardy would this guy be?

First came the PR guy. Then his three "handlers".

And finally, there he was (well, kinda) -- my nominee for NFL Nation mascot, a main attraction in the weeklong circus that is Super Bowl Nation:

Jonah, the E*TRADE chimp.

First he was on the couch, then over the couch, then through a fake bush, around the TV and back on the couch where, before I could flinch, he was sitting on my lap with his arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders and his cold nose stuck halfway in my ear.

A word to the wise, people. When you set up an exclusive with a chimpanzee, you might want to pass on the banana smoothie 10 minutes before the interview.

If the Super Bowl is all about star power, well then, it would be hard to swing your Q-rating higher than Jonah's (he's just Jo, to those of us in his inner circle). Jo is a 6-year-old chimp born in Oklahoma, with darting brown eyes, freckles, a curious nature, a sense of humor and a penchant for making bathroom noises with his mouth. He also has the kind of vise-grip strength that quickly made me wish I had worn a belt.

In other words, this dude is one primo primate.

"He can get hyper just like a child," said one of his trainers. "But I bet he's a lot better behaved than most celebrities."

Well why not? After all, Jo has lived something of a charmed life. Now, I don't want to come across as jealous or anything but, uh, besides his own rather large entourage and his luxury accommodations in New Orleans (which includes, I might add, carte blanche room service privileges for french fries, coffee and cookies), Jonah was still buzzing from his latest commercial, where he was surrounded by half-naked dancing girls.

In fact, Jo was so unimpressed by ESPN that he spent a good deal of our interview palming my rather large cranium, jumping from the eggplant-colored couch to a nearby chair and 'laxing with his legs crossed watching The Weather Channel on a big-screen TV.

Tuesday night I had dinner with Joe Theismann, the next morning I interviewed a dancer on Bourbon Street before dawn, then I yukked it up with U2 before heading to the Sheraton to hang with a famous chimp. Only in Super Bowl Nation folks, only in Super Bowl Nation.

Jonah is multitalented -- he waves, blows kisses, shakes hands, smiles, draws, uses keys and produces the aforementioned flatulence noises. And when pushed, I think he told me he likes the Rams and the points. That, or he was just nodding because of my banana breath. Patronized by a primate? Another career highlight!

Well, at least one of our careers is on the upswing. Winner of the prestigious Gold Lion Award at the 2000 Cannes Advertising Festival, Jonah has also starred in a recent Diet Dr. Pepper ad (and you thought that was Garth Brooks!) and in the Planet of the Apes remake (type-casting, plain and simple, type-casting).

This week he will make several guest appearances, including the NFL Charities Golf Classic. There is also talk of Jonah taping a segment with Jimmy Kimmel on Fox. (Please, feel free to insert your Tom Arnold jokes here.)

"There was some thought of bringing him to the U2 press conference," said one of Jonah's people. "But there were security issues and I, uh, don't think U2 really wanted to follow a monkey."

As big a star as he is, though, Jonah hasn't had any luck scoring Super Bowl tickets. So unless they can come up with some seats for him in a day or two, the big guy is jetting back to Cali on Friday. I'm not exactly proud of this, but when no one was looking I quietly mocked him about my sweet seat in the press box. "Mr. Hollywood's got an opposable thumb but no Super Bowl tickets? Can't score-ums any seat-ums to the big game-ums, huh, Mr. Big Shot? Why don't you hit up Jane Goodall on the cellie?"

Jo then reached over and pinched my nose between two of his toes. Don't worry, my eyes should stop watering sometime around April. Then he leaned back and gazed at The Weather Channel in an almost catatonic state. "It does that to you too, Jo?" I asked.

No reply.

Great, I had managed to alienate yet another subject.

"Who changes his diapers?" I asked, saving the hard-hitting query for last.

"Visiting media," came the reply.

Big Jo then munched on a peanut butter cookie for a bit before springing off the couch and heading for the door. He suddenly realized that Chris Berman wasn't actually showing up; after that, he was Audi. I put my pinky and thumb up to the side of my head and said, "Call me Jo, call me -- or have your people call my people -- and next time I'm in Cali, we'll do lunch."

Jo nodded. He waved. He blew me a kiss.

Then he pursed his lips and made one last farting noise -- the kind that's so filled with heartfelt sentiment and feeling that, you know, it just assures you that you really made a deep connection.

But he won't call.

I know he won't call.

David Fleming is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at flemfile@aol.com.