What They’re Really Thinking: Whose house?

The thing with Monday Night Games at my house what with me being a “Restaurant Widow” with small children is that I end up with two choices.

A.  Allow my seven-year-old son, who is just now starting to show a real interest in professional football, to stay up and watch the game with me, thus subjecting myself to,  “Is that Ben Roethlisberger?  Ben Roethlisberger is my favorite player.  Oh, look!  Is that Ben Roethlisberger again?  He’s my favorite.  I want to get his jersey!  Oh, look! There’s Ben –”


I’m a fantastic mom.  I guess it could be worse.  He could come to me one day next week all, “Is that Jeff Reed?  He’s my favorite.  I want to grow my hair like his.  Can I get his jersey?” That will also be the day I tweet, “WHY GOD, WHY?!!?” on twitter.

(Aside: Spell check suggests “Spitsbergen” to replace “Roethlisberger”.  I LIKE IT!)

B. Put the kids to bed at their normal time and watch the game myself, thus meaning I am jumping around my living room and celebrating all alone while trying to high-five the very confused and slightly scared dogs.

Last night, I wisely chose option #2 and watched what was at first a very sad-looking team wake up long enough to saddle up the Denver Broncos and tame them stupid.

1.  When I first turned my TV on to watch the game, ESPN was showing the Denver Broncos standing in a pre-game huddle psyching themselves up all, “OUR HOUSE! OUR HOUSE! OUR HOUSE!”

And I was all, “How nice and welcoming of them to decorate their house in black and gold for us.”


Steeler Nation cares not whose house you think it is.  We will take it over and make it our own and we’ll even put our feet up on your coffee table and drink your beer and take a poop in your bathroom and not give a darn how stinky we make the room.  THAT’S how comfortable we are in your house.

2.  Know who else didn’t give a rat’s patootie whose house he was in?  Rashard Mendenhall.  Ran all over their house with mud on his shoes and was very prepared to stink the bathroom up:

I’m pretty sure we’ve seen the last of Willie Parker, don’t you think?

3. Also, I wasn’t aware that the house pet for the Broncos was so hideous:

Oh, wait. Is that supposed to be a dolphin with ears?  Duck-billed platypus?  The kid from Mask?

I can’t believe I just went there, either.

4.  The first half was mighty mighty sucky.  No pass defense.  No offense.  Benny getting sacked.  Cici Donna sucking oxygen after one play like it was … oxygen.

HAHAH!  I just went to Google and searched “cici donna oxygen” and when it didn’t return any relevant results it took me like 15 seconds to realize that Google does not understand “Cici Donna”.

If you’re wondering, this is the first image under “cici donna oxygen” in Google images:


That is some seriously blinged out, bedazzled freaky awesomeness.

I’ve had a beer. In case you weren’t aware.  But it’s magazine column deadline day, and drinking is what I do on that day.

5.  After a half hour of playing football like blind horses, the Steelers finally answered this call:

Not with thunder, though, but with a lightning bolt up the asses of the Broncos by way of an interception returned for a touchdown by Carter.

Also, do you see what I see?  Is that a Pirates cap there?  That’s just sad.  Someone buy that kid a Steelers cap or anything else that doesn’t smell so much like decaying suck.

5. Hines Ward continues to amaze me.  I’m almost positive he’s drinking whatever magic elixir Demi Moore is drinking in order to bring about this backwards aging thing.  Or it could just be that Hines really does get better with age and Demi Moore really has had hundreds and hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of work done.

I was particularly trying hard to high-five the dogs when Hines leaped breezily over the Bronco for a touchdown, like it was no big thing.

Shine on, sunshine.

6.   After a questionable performance in the first half, Benny shut my whining butt up in the second half.  Of course, his interception was epic, but aside from that, I can’t complain.  Know who can complain? Santonio Holmes who had to listen to Benny recount his own “mile high” escapades:

We don’t need to hear it, Mr. Spitsbergen.

7.  How about that Super Bowl Champion Punter Mitch Berger, huh?!  Is he amazing or what?  Here he is doing what he does best:


How the heck did we ever win with him?

8.  I briefly considered that perhaps the reason the Steelers played so horribly was because they were blinded by the porn ‘stache of one Kyle Orton.

While hunting for a good picture of that porn ‘stache, I discovered that Kyle Orton has a book!

Amazing.  I’d buy this, but I already throw like a girl.

9.  The Steelers defense managed to snag THREE, yes THREE interceptions, one of which was picked off by our very own 9th dirtiest player in the NFL, Troysus Polamalu:

Here he is eating some guy’s knees.


And here he is thinking about killing people on the field:


Such a poor example he sets.

God help me the day my son asks me for a Troysus Polamalu jersey.

Now, I apologize for the lateness of this post because as I mentioned, today is deadline day and now I have to go write 800 words for the magazine.

Bottoms up!

Also, this might be the second beer talking, but we’re totally winning the Super Bowl again this year and God help me if Lukey rides shotgun in the parade.  I will sic that unicorn/dolphin/platypus thing on him.


  1. USCMike
    November 11, 2009 10:46 pm

    Awesome post Ginny!

    And I just knew, once I saw Cici Donna draining the entire oxygen tank, that you’d have a comment and you didn’t let me down! Given the man’s girth, maybe he’s got a third lung in that belly and that’s why the walls of the oxygen tank were bending inward when he inhaled?

    Kudos to all of the fans who took over Mile High!! Great job folks and it made me smile to see all of those Terrible Towels waving in Yonko-land!

  2. RJQ
    November 12, 2009 12:07 pm

    YAY! Lolcats: “I can haz Mitch Berger?”

  3. Steel Triangle
    November 12, 2009 4:51 pm

    I liked the guy in the Pirates cap. At least we know he’s not a fair-weather fan.