SPOILER ALERT: We lose.
If drinking Arbor Mist Sangria Zinfandel while writing What They’re Really Thinking at one o’clock in the afternoon the Monday after the Steelers lose the Super Bowl is wrong … I really don’t give a crap.
As a wise man once almost said, “Zero percent fruit juice, bitches.”
So, tell me, what did YOUR family do when the final seconds ticked down on yesterday’s game? Did they scream? Pout? Cry? Groan? Sit in stunned silence?
My family, with Terrible Towels over our faces, bellies full of wings and chipped chopped ham (srsly), watched the clock hit zero, at which time my nephew burst into tears and then the rest of stood up, looked at each other in silence, and began furiously cleaning the house like the President of the United States was stopping by for a visit.
Dishes were quickly carried away, tidy up this, tidy up that, scrub that, repaint that, reaarange that, hey, someone go in the bathrooms and clean the soap scum off the bars of soap.
I guess we’re stress cleaners. Or de-stress cleaners.
Either way, my sister’s house in Wexfordshire was president-ready by the time the couple dozen people left her house to go home and grief-puke.
Grief-puke. It’s totally a thing.
Let’s talk football?
1. The big news prior to kickoff was the fact that the Stadium basically oversold the game. I guess they took a hint from the airlines and hoped maybe 900 people would decide not to attend the Super Bowl?
Other things I heard:
- That 9,000 people were without seats.
- That the fire marshall declared seats unsafe.
- That Jerry Jones got into a fight with the contractor the morning of the game, and the contractor walked out, thus never completing the seats.
- That people began peeing upon each other.
Gotta love twitter.
Let’s see what Jerry Jones has to say about this debacle.
2. We interrupt this WTRT to inform you that the official caption on this Getty Images photo is “Atmosphere at Hooters during the broadcast of Super Bowl XLV on February 6, 2011 in New York City.”
Is “atmosphere” how the kids are saying “boobs” these days?
Check out the atmosphere on that babe.
Also, somewhere, the lady from Sit and Be Fit is looking at that girl’s pantyhose, socks, and shoes and is all, “Bitch stole my look!”
3. The game kicked off with Wexford’s own Christina Aguilera’s extra special rendition of The Star Spangled Banner: Now With More Cowbell.
Wait. That doesn’t sound right.
Let’s fast forward.
Hee. Couldn’t NOT take a dig at the former President of US Americans could I?
4. It was all downhill from there. Then it was a little uphill. Then the gates of hell opened up and swallowed a screaming Steeler Nation.
We’re going to keep this general, because I’d much rather not get into the grim specifics.
I mean, you get run over by a car and you don’t want the doctor to be all, “Your brain is damaged. Your throat collapsed. Your lungs did too. You broke some ribs. Some legs. You lost your big toe. You –” I’d much rather hear, “Girl. You screwed.”
So consider this a very general, “Ew. We sucked.” kinda recap.
5. The turnovers are what did us in. You can’t turn the ball over three times in the Super Bowl, and allow 21 points to be scored off of those turnovers, and expect to leave the stadium as winners.
That’s against the laws of Football, which state, “The team who turns over the ball zero times will always beat the team that turns over the ball three times.”
That’s in Amos. Where all the Football laws are.
6. Shaun Suisham missed a 52-yard-field goal.
Which is forgivable on account of how long that is and because it ended up not mattering in the end.
Had it mattered? Not even Hines would have found a way to smile about it.
7. How many times did you say it? I said it and tweeted it and prayed it.
Where is Troy?
It’s time for Troy.
Troy owes us.
Troy is going to come through for us.
Troysus will save us, Amen?
Except he didn’t. Again. Three or four games now where we haven’t seen any heroics from Troy, leaving us to ask, “What’s wrong with Troy? What medical condition is he suffering from?”
Bruised donkey omelets?
What Troysus?! What is your Kryptonite?!
I love you, but I miss you.
8. We interrupt this WTRT to gaze upon this Packers fan wearing a cheesehead, wearing a Packers fan, wearing a cheesehead, wearing a cheesehead.
9. Halftime show.
HOT MESS OF BLOVIATED SELF-IMPORTANT POOP.
I’d rather watch the Sit and Be Fit lady lead a bunch of the drooling elderly in chair exercises than listen to that poorly delivered seizure-inducing cornucopia of musical vomit and discordance.
Not that I’m bitter.
10. Down 21-3, we managed to go into the half only down 21-11, I think it was. I’m not going to confirm that because who gives a rat’s ass?
Not me. But that might be the zero percent fruit juice talking.
Thanks to some nice plays by Ward and maybe one by Heath? I think I saw Heath make a catch. And a few good catches by Randle-El and Wallace and a two-point conversion gift from the football gods, the Steelers managed to fight their way back to a 28-25 game after Coach used every trick in his Book of Badassitude.
Holding the Packers to a field goal late in the fourth quarter meant a 31-25 game with two minutes for Benny to march the team down the field to win it with a touchdown.
It has happened before; it can happen again.
Fourth and five just like that.
4th. And five.
First down or go home as losers.
Benny addresses Steeler Nation in this our hour of terror.
Wearing Canadiens gear to a football game in Dallas between the Steelers and the Packers? Kill them with fire, indeed.
An aside: Arbor Mist apparently makes me very violent and desirous of seeing people killed with fire.
Benny lets loose the ball heading toward Mike Wallace. Half of us in my sister’s house hold our breaths and the other half cover their eyes, planning to learn the outcome of the throw by either the screams of joy or the stunned silence of being sucked down into hell.
Hell it is.
Confetti hell raining down on the Steelers and Aaron Rodgers.
It’s just confetti, Aaron.
The thing is this. It wasn’t that we were terrible; we just weren’t good enough. The Packers took advantage of our mistakes and we couldn’t come up with the antidote to whatever disease of mojo it was that was causing us to play flat.
No hail Mary.
No Jedi magic.
No gift from the ghost of Myron Cope.
But playing like poop in the Super Bowl is better than not playing in the Super Bowl. Like poop.
Ah, screw it.