For serious. But let’s not talk about that, or I really will start punching things at the memory of that black and gold buffalo-winged madness.
I’d rather focus on the game, which, what in the hell was that?
I mean, last week’s game was so boring that Princess Aurora took a 30-minute nap during it and didn’t miss a single thing. She woke up, saw the same score, looked around the room to see that we were all pretty much in a state of catatonia (whoa. Just made that word up, and it’s really a word. Go, me! Let me try another. Abysmalania. Damn.) and then went back to sleep.
Yesterday, if you fell asleep for 30 minutes, you could have missed two touchdowns, four turnovers, the rings being tossed into the fires of Mordor, and Roc landing on the field and taking off with Casey Big Snack Hampton. It was that nuts.
This was a game all about defense.
And turnovers. Turnovers everywhere.
Simmer down, fat boys. Not those kind of turnovers. This kind.
As I tweeted, “Troysus saves.”
Let’s talk about the game.
1. The first thing I noticed when I turned my TV on at 1:00 was all the white towels being waved so hard you’d think the Titan fans were trying to generate electricity. Waving towels is a Pittsburgh thing, and to me, a sort of sacred thing, not to be imitated. But these days, every team is handing out towels to their fans and sometimes it seems like a desperate attempt to mask the sight of the Terrible Towels in the stands.
Luckily, it is hella easy to spot one lone gold towel in a sea of white, and the Steelers don’t have to hand out free Terrible Towels. We show up armed and we value the Towel enough to spend our own money on it.
In light of this practice, I’m thinking of stealing the Tomahawk Chop for the Pirates next year to indicate that we would like to see heads roll. I’ll let you know if it catches on. Or if there even is a Pirates team next year.
2. Game opening kickoff return for a touchdown. I was officially stunned. As in, I stood in front of my TV and my mouth was hanging open and I was just waiting for a flag. This is the Steelers special teams. Surely there’s a flag bringing this back, right? Right? NO FLAG! STUNNED. I looked like this:
Then I started dancing all over the place and rewinding to watch it again and dancing some more and I looked like this:
But with way more cowbell.
3. Then somebody threw the turnovers in the oven because that’s all we saw and smelled the rest of the game. Turnover after turnover after turnover. They couldn’t give it up fast enough.
Cue The Princess Bride:
Give us the ball.
I have no ball.
Troysus, tear his legs off.
Oh, you mean this ball? *toss*
4. Dennis Dixon. Meh.
And then he got hurt and he’s out three to five weeks and I can’t help but wonder if somewhere Ben Roethlisberger sits stabbing the knees and ankles of voodoo dolls dressed as Steelers quarterbacks. Leftwich is out. Dixon is out. We’re down to Charlie Batch, and “We can win without Ben!” has become “How much longer til the Duke comes back?!” I can just hear those number 7 jerseys being dug out of the compost pile.
5. Offensively, we sucked, so it’s a good thing the defense showed up and showed up big. Huge. I can’t imagine how many points the Steelers D won some people in their fantasy football leagues.
6. The game got a bit scary for me at the end when suddenly Kerry Collins, in for a benched Vince Young who coughed the ball up like he took a dozen Mucinex, drove the Titans down to the one-yard line or so. And that of course means a quarterback sneak kind of deal. You know, the whole O-line just shoves forward with all their blubber-gutted might and the quarterback attaches his face to their butts and hopes that by the time he falls down from their poo-poo stench, he’ll be over the goal line.
We knew it was coming, but somehow, Troysus knew WHEN it was coming. To the exact millisecond. Like an angel whispered in his ear, “and let’s pretend like we’re walking this way and three, two, one, POUNCE.”
And then Kerry Collins got up close and personal with one million dollars worth of hair in the form of Troysus Polamalu. Our Superman.
Watch. Watch it in slow motion. Watch it in slow motion with opera blasting through your house. Worship. Adore. Lick.
7. Jeff Reed, once again putting a whole bunch of points on the board for us, because for all his faults and his skeeve and his general malaise as a human being, he is super accurate and deserving of sluts in droves this week.
Get that boy his slut.
8. Now there was a lot more to this game, such as how close the Titans actually got to being within reach of tying the game, but it’s late, I’ve been fighting with my image uploading, and I’m two palomas tipsy.
I’m worried about Charlie Batch and about what happens if he gets hurt. Randle-El?
Charlie better just sit in his freaking house all week and try to avoid the hex. No practicing only to have some giant-assed lineman step on his ankle. No going out and tripping on a Pittsburgh pothole. Just sit and watch game shows until next week and whatever you do, Charlie, don’t open any packages from Ben Roethlisberger.
Now I want turnovers. And sausages.