Columbia, Mo. — It is not everyday when a man has the opportunity to meet one of his heroes, so when Vanilla Ice’s manager confirmed my interview a week ago, you can imagine my excitement.

“So did you meet Vanilla or did you hang with Vanilla?” a friend of mine asked me Sunday morning, hours after the Ice Man’s performance at The Blue Note in Columbia, Mo.

“Oh, I definitely hung,” I said.

“How do you know?” he asked.

I guess I don’t really know how, but I do know that Vanilla Ice’s friends call him Rob.

I know he picked Kentucky to win the NCAA tournament (must be because Miami didn’t make it in).

I know Vanilla does things his way or no way.

I know he drives the rental car from the club to the hotel, while his crew rides in the back seat.

And most importantly, I know Vanilla Ice remembers my name.

The plan was to be at The Blue Note by 5 p.m. to watch the sound check and sit down with Vanilla for a 30-minute interview.

I arrived in Columbia at 4. At 4:30, I had a beer to calm my nerves and at 4:32, I had another.

It was the day I had been dreaming about since I was 13. In the last week, I had run through interview questions in my mind hundreds of times and by Friday, had 25 of the most polished questions of my journalism career.

I arrived at the club at precisely 5 only to find that Vanilla and his crew were not in town yet. Already, my interview was looking shaky.

Josh, the promoter of the show who looked no older than me, was nervous. I felt his pain.

I picked up a copy of The Maneater, the University of Missouri’s school paper, to pass time. What the hell is a maneater, I remember thinking. Maybe I’ll ask Vanilla after I ask him what a roni is.

At 6:15, the Vanilla Ice Posse (yep, yep, that’s what V.I.P. stands for) pulled up to the club. The soundcheck, minus Ice, took almost 30 minutes.

“Someone get Rob,” Vanilla’s manager said.

“The game is still on,” DJ Zero said. “I guarantee Ice ain’t comin’ out until it’s over.”

So, there is less than two hours before the show is supposed to start, and the only thing coming between me and Vanilla Ice is a basketball game.

It could be worse. Like if the game were to go into overtime — which of course — it did.

Vanilla finally made it to the stage, where he picked up a microphone, rapped two verses, set it down and completely rearranged the mix the sound guy just spent 30 minutes on.

“We’re running out of time and we still have to get Ice back to the hotel to get ready for the show,” his manager said. “The TV station is doing a quick interview with him in a few minutes, you can ask him a few questions then or we can do something after the show.”

I opted for the post-show interview.

After a casual conversation with the Ice Man, which I think went something like, “What’s up? Not much, man,” Vanilla sat down for the TV interview.

Mr. TV guy, a complete and utter tool, shot his first question, the obvious: “What can people expect tonight?”

The second question was a rewording of the first, and the third question a rewording of the second. Twice during the interview, Vanilla said the words “like I said.”

During question three, Ice glanced at me as I rolled my eyes at Mr. TV guy. He chuckled and answered the question. I was in.

After question four and another short answer from Vanilla, Mr. TV guy desperately turned around to me and another newspaper guy and actually asked if we had any questions for him. (And Missouri is supposed to be one of the best journalism schools in the country?)

I shook my head with a grin on my face that said “there is no way in hell I am letting you steal one of my pro questions.”

After TV guy was finished making a fool out of himself, Ice and his posse headed for their hotel.

An hour later, to a monstrous chant of “Ice Ice Baby” by a sold out crowd of over 1,000 fans, Vanilla took the stage.

Ironically, Ice opened with “Fame,” a song from his 1994 record “Mind Blowin'” about how the media ruined his life.

In between freestyle chants like “show me the money,” “down with o.p.p.,” and “this is how we do it” (no “can’t touch this”), Vanilla rapped through several “Mind Blowin'” tunes, including the pot-promoting “Roll ‘Em Up.”

Ice “kicked it old school” with an extended version of “Havin’ A Roni” in which he amazingly simulated scratching a record with his voice.

Portions of “Play That Funky Music” and “Stop That Train” were used to tease the crowd, but the only other “To The Extreme” song Vanilla played was a phenomenal 10-minute version of “Ice Ice Baby.”

The show ended years too early, and with my adrenaline at an all-time high, I headed backstage for my interview.

Vanilla’s manager had set up a table behind the back curtain and my hero was standing next to it. This was the big moment.

As I walked over to the table with questions in hand, the stage curtain began to go up. Vanilla’s bodyguards, who stood onstage the entire show, noticed the curtain raising and raced Ice out the door.

I followed and the manager assured me we would figure out a way to do the interview.

While small-talking with Ice in the alley behind the club about the dumb-ass who brought the curtain up, a mob of fans spotted him and rushed to his car.

Adding a strange but flattering twist to the night, a group of high school girls standing nearby pointed at me and asked each other “is that him?” Another approached me and asked “are you Vanilla Ice’s brother?”

Vanilla kept with the words he declared so boldly in his 1991 book by “keeping it all about the fans.” He signed over 40 autographs as his manager and I came to the conclusion that a phone interview would be our only solution.

After making a few arrangements, the posse loaded into the car. Ice looked at me standing close by and said “Later, Corey.” He stepped down into the car and before I could start breathing again, he was gone.

“Later, Corey.” Two simple words. Yet, by far the coolest thing anyone has ever said to me.

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Corey Moss is a junior in journalism and mass communication from Urbandale.