Good morning, Burghers!
Did you grab your morning edition of the Post-Gazette off of your porch like me?
If you did, here are some of the stories you would NOT have found on page A1.
- “Fleury, 3 mates voted All-Stars”: In which you would learn that the Pittsburgh Penguins have four of the six All-Star starters.
- “Security lapses cited at Leland”
- “Bill would allow voter input on city tax increases.”
- “State report details longwall mining damage.”
Instead, what you will find on page A1 of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette is the story about how Ben Roethlisberger may or may not be engaged, entitled “Big Ben’s big secret gets out, but who is she?”
You’ll then open up to page A2 to find the continuing saga under “Steelers Nation agog over engagement” and it will end with this line, “Mrs. Harlan is said to have introduced Mrs. Roethlisberger to an acquaintance as the mother of her daughter’s boyfriend.”
And now I’m going to smash my forehead against my desk a number of times. Let’s count them out.
[headdesk] [headdesk] [headdesk] [headdesk] [headdesk]
1. Someone go tell the Post-Gazette that it’s “Steeler Nation” not “Steelers Nation.” Thanks.
2. Agog? Really? Are we going to buy commemorative plates to mark this auspicious occasion? Little figurines for sale in the Strip of Ben being dragged away by a woman in a wedding dress and a Steelers helmet? Will they televise the wedding and sell DVDs of it called The Jagoff Takes a Bride? Will she be all, “I, Ashley Harlan, take thee Benjamin Todd William Wendy Fitzworth Buckinghamshire Spaulding Roethlisberger …”
3. Are we making a big deal out of this because we’re THAT obsessed with the Steelers, or because a mere eight months after he drunkenly had sex with a random girl in a gross bathroom stall in Georgia, Ben is apparently ready to keep it in his pants for everyone but his wife? I don’t ever recall caring or hearing about any other pro athlete getting engaged here in the Burgh. Ever.
4. If I told my father I was marrying Ben Roethlisberger, he would say the following to me, “Okay. Let me sit down here for a minute and just do some calming deep breathing.” Then he’d pray. Then a few minutes later: “Here’s the number of a doctor to talk to about a half-dozen potential STDs. Here’s the number of a store where you can buy a taser powerful enough to immobilize a roid-raging gorilla, no questions asked. Here’s the number of a lawyer to help you with the prenup. Here’s the number for 911. Here’s the number of a self-defense expert who will teach you how to collapse his trachea should the situation ever warrant the forceful collapsing of the son of a bitch’s trachea. Also, pumpkin, was Jeff Read unavailable?”
5. I can’t wait until they attend their first formal function. “Ladies and Gentlemen, presenting The Duke and Duchess of Fug and the Earl and Countess of Gross.”
It just rings.