Category Archives: Ben Roethlisberger
- October 12, 2012
- filed under Ben Roethlisberger, Daniel Sepulveda, Mike Tomlin, Steelers
- 18 comments
RUN, PIGGY! RUNNNNNN!
You there. With the face.
Are you blaming Shaun Suisham? Have you said to yourself something like “stupid Shaun Swissmiss?”
Have you put any substantial weight for that loss on Shaun Suisham’s up-until-last-night-perfect shoulders?
(And now I’ve said that in my head with an English accent and went straight to my Princess Bride happy place where Westly is all, “… will echo in your pehr-fehct eee-ahs.”)
Did you say, “Man, bet Jeff Reed would’ve nailed that?”
Well, you stop it. Right now, you stop it.
The only thing Jeff Reed would have nailed yesterday would have been the slut with Jeff’s face tramp-stamped on her lower back, which would have gone along nicely with the picture of boobs Jeff probably has tramp-stamped on his.
1. If however, after the blocked punt that eventually led to a Titan touchdown you said, “Man. Bet Daniel Sepulveda never would have let that happen,” then to you I say, “That’s freaking church.”
First, it wouldn’t have been blocked.
Second, if by some power of Satan and a legion of pigeons it was blocked, Daniel would have DESTROYED the Titan who attempted to retrieve it, grabbed the ball from the ground, and wailed that mother to the end zone 98-yards away where Mike Wallace was, by some football miracle, standing there wide open, and that touchdown, that one right there and ONLY that one right there? Would have been worth 13 points.
YOU shut up.
2. I need to calm down. Let’s look at something beautiful.
Soothe me, Ed.
3. Ike Taylor enrages me sometimes. Like, real rage. Like choke a bitch rage.
First, when he successfully defends a pass near the end zone, why does he then get in the Titan’s face and knock helmets with him? Does he realize this is not MMA? That he’s not going in for the lights-out, Chuck Lidell punch?
I don’t care what that Titan said about “yo mama” or “yo sister” or hell, even Myron Cope. You shut up and get back to your team and stop taking the stupid, stupid penalties, you sack of –
I need to calm down again. Hang on.
All better. Thanks, Ed.
Probably I shouldn’t call Ike Taylor a sack of shit.
4. The big story of this game, other than the fact that we lost to the Titans (PUKE!), is the injuries. Everyone got injured yesterday.
Maurkice on the first play. Rashard who knows when. And down they went like toy soldiers being trampled upon by a T-Rex. It got so bad at one point that Ed Hochuli invoked the pee-wee football rules for borrowing players:
5. The Duke of Fug had a pretty good game, with over 300-yards passing, a beautiful long bomb to the waiting hands of Mike Wallace who suddenly remembered he could catch long balls, and the surpassing of Terry Bradshaw for the most yards thrown by a Steelers quarterback over the course of their time with the team.
But all of that of course overshadowed by the fact that we lost. To the Titans. By a field goal.
6. We interrupt this WTRT to say, “This is what football in hell looks like.”
7. With all of our running backs out, Baron Batch got his chance to shine, finally. And he didn’t disappoint.
Do you know how much it takes for me to unfollow a Steeler on Twitter? But being a jerk to pretty much everyone that dares disagree with you and then telling an overweight fan to start working out will pretty much do it.
8. We interrupt this WTRT for an angry bird.
9. So we lost a lot of players, our defense shit the bed like a diaperless newborn, Coach Haley wants to make love to the bubble screen, and the Steelers are faced with a Shaun Suisam 54-yard field goal attempt to win the game. He nailed a 52-yarder earlier in the game.
But 52 yards is less than 54 yards.
Suisham lines up.
I freak out a little and quickly look at a photo of Ed Hochuli to calm me down:
Steeler Nation tenses:
And he misses it. STRAIGHT DOWN THE MIDDLE. Could not have been straighter. But just a bit short.
And there’s less than a minute on the clock and that’s all the time Tennessee needs to destroy our defense, march down the field and line THEIR kicker up for a 40-yard field goal.
40 is less than 54.
By a lot.
All of Steeler Nation invokes juju and spells and evil eyes and eyes of newts (newti?) and they pray to all of their gods and …
Sigh. We’re 2-3 now and no amount of gazing at Ed Hochuli is going to make that feel any better.
Our defense is injured and miserable.
Our offensive line is just decimated.
Ike Taylor is a giant sack of turds.
And we’ve just completed the EASY part of our schedule.
The line for flinging yourself from the Rachel Carson bridge forms here.
My sister Pens Fan went to the doctor today and was told she needs to gain weight.
So I ate a cinnamon roll this morning and told her to absorb the fat through osmosis.
I am nothing if not a giving person.
Also, I wish my doctor would tell me I need to gain weight. I’m so good at it! He’d give me an A+ for sure and would probably write a medical journal article about my superhuman ability to pack on the pounds using only Little Debbie and Starbucks.
What does that have to do with yesterday’s Steelers game? Not a damn thing. But I guess we gotta talk about the game?
I watched the game at home with my husband, who had this to say about Ben Roethlisberger on more than one occasion: “He’s such a moron.”
1. The big story was Peyton Manning. The commentary was all about Peyton Manning. Cris Collinsworth loves Peyton Manning. So does Al Michaels.
I hate Peyton Manning.
In fact, I wrote a song about him. It goes like this:
I hate Peyton Manning with the Colts.
I hate Peyton Manning with the Broncos.
I hate Peyton Manning …
Jump in when you know it.
2. Officiation (spellcheck says … NOT A WORD. Don’t care. Using it.) of yesterday’s game was brought to you by replacement refs, who seemed a bit confused at times:
3. They went so far as to let Mike Tomlin challenge a play that happened prior to a new play being run. This didn’t sit right with the Bronco’s coach who started challenging things that didn’t even happen to his team:
4. We interrupt this WTRT for the first stripey throwback sighting of the season!
5. The Steelers seemed … blah? Like blah. Nothing awesomely incredible happened. Other than Antonio Brown’s game face:
That’s the face of a man who could kill a diplodocus with his bare hands.
6. Jonathan Dwyer seemed to be the go-to rusher in Rashard’s absence, almost scoring a touchdown at one point, but it was negated because his knee was clearly down. Even Vladimir Putin was like, “Nyet!”
I guess the ball guys are on strike too?
7. The Steelers were in it right up until Ben had the game in his hands with three minutes left and I said to my husband, “This is the part in the game where Ben either throws a touchdown pass or he throws an interception. There is no middle ground.”
From my lips to the Karma Boomerang’s perfect ears (I always say the phrase “perfect ears” like Wesley in the Princess Bride.) because …
And Coach desperately tries to stop what’s happening, but not even I Dream of Jeannie can help:
8. With that interception returned for a touchdown, nothing could save us short of a miracle or a superhero.
If only, Hines. How’s retirement? Prune juice doing it for you?
But seriously, if I were a man who wore a business suit to work, I’d ONLY wear Superman undershirts. That’s just common sense.
Printer is jammed again? [Rips open shirt, popping all the buttons] I got this.
9. Again, it was all so blah. Troysus didn’t save us, nor did he damn us. Haley didn’t amaze us, nor did he greatly disappoint us. We just didn’t do enough and Peyton Manning did more, because he had something to prove.
10. Next week, we take on the Jets, again with Haley’s offense which includes a fullback which is apparently a big deal according to my husband, except I don’t know what a fullback is. Or a halfback for that matter. I assume it has something to do with … backs?
While we’ve all been wrapped up in the glory of the Pittsburgh Pirates — That’s right. The GLORY of the Pittsburgh Pirates, although if you believe any of these analysts, this is an early-season fluke that will wind up with us anywhere from fourth place to the seventh circle of baseball hell where demon-scavengers feed on our carcass. I choose to believe that all those so-called baseball experts can bite me and the ghost of Roberto Clemente. (Also, Tabata’s throw to second in the 9th to nail the Indian trying for a double? I wonder if that’s how Roberto threw.)
While we’ve been wrapped up in baseball, the Steelers, minus Mike Wallace who is holding out, have been holding mini-camp where some things are the same and some things are not.
Casey Hampton continues to host zip codes in his belly button while hunting down his ever-missing fluffernutters.
Meanwhile, there’s a new punter wearing Daniel’s number 9 and he has wisely chosen to shield us from his non-Sepulvedian face lest the ladies of Steeler Nation lose their collective shit.
That bubble better never pop, sir.
Ben, forever missing his TLA B.A., is having trouble understanding his new coach Todd Haley who might as well be Charlie Brown’s mom:
Even worse? Haley introduced Benny to his new offensive line which now includes a little person, a dog, and a Mexican Lucha Libre.
Neither Charlie nor Ben seem too happy with Haley’s methods right now:
I can’t wait for the first time Haley and Ben go at it on the sidelines.
CAN I BE SLAP BET COMMISSIONER?!
P.S. I intentionally left this picture out because DOUBLE YOU TEE EFF, JAMES HARRISON?!?
- May 11, 2012
- filed under Ben Roethlisberger, Penguins, Pirates, Pittsburgh Power, Steelers
- 27 comments
Lots of stuff happening in Pittsburgh sports today, so let’s discuss that over coffee and these sugar-free York Peppermint Patties I bought that taste like actual mint-flavored poop, and please keep in mind that I have inadvertently tasted my baby’s poop, so I have an inkling of what mint-flavored poop would taste like.
This has gotten awkward.
1. You remember Jeremy Bloom, right? The Olympic skier/fashion model/Pittsburgh Steeler? The ladies of Pittsburgh loved to look at his abs and his face and we liked to shake cute little threatening fists at the Steelers should they consider cutting him from the team, and then we went all [awkward kung fu moves] when they did cut him from the team before any of us had a chance to self-unite to him.
Jeremy is more than a face because he has this amazing nonprofit he started Wish of a Lifetime, which is kind of like Make-A-Wish for the elderly — helping them fulfill their lifelong dreams before their time runs out.
Not only is Jeremy a really good egg packed in a perfect perfect perfect outer shell, he’s also single and therefore will be on a summer reality dating show called The Choice, hosted by the super leggy Cat Deeley:
Reality stars DJ Pauly D and Rob Kardashian, model Tyson Beckford, pro football superstars Rob Gronkowski and Ndamukong Suh, singer Joe Jonas and actors Carmen Electra and Dean Cain are among the celebrities who will vie for love on the hottest summer dating show, THE CHOICE, which debuts Thursday, June 7 (9:00-10:00 PM ET/PT) on FOX. Hosted by Cat Deeley, THE CHOICE is the ultimate blind date for celebrity bachelors and bachelorettes competing for the hearts of attractive singles—they can’t see.
Ndamukong Suh? Did someone have their fingers placed incorrectly on the keyboard before typing that?
Which, my God, that’d be a great way for George Lucas to come up with Star Wars names. Let me try it.
Hsr Hsr Vubjd.
The Dark Lord Hsr Hsr Vubjd.
2. Hines Ward took batting practice with Clint Hurdle.
The guy pitching batting practice early Thursday in PNC Park to Hines Ward, and gregariously enjoying it, was Clint Hurdle. Unlike some others who maybe couldn’t ignore their athletic-challenge DNAs against the recently retired NFL and Steelers great, the Bucs manager figured he’d be good for teeing up some cookies.
“I tried to throw it where he’s swinging, trying to find his happy spot,” Hurdle said. “Hey, he’s a top-of-the-lineup guy. He can really run. Like I tell our young players, if they can run and hit fly balls, there’s a job for them: It’s at WalMart.”
Is there a sign-up form somewhere at PNC Park or do only retired athletes get to do this?
3. The Duke of Fug is still whining about Haley. At least that’s how I read this:
“That one’s a little harder than the Miami ones I was doing,” Roethlisberger said after he left another of Haley’s classes Wednesday at the Steelers facility on the South Side. “I joke and say that my final paper for Miami on Tibet was a lot easier than the Rosetta Stone we’re doing now here.”
“Right now, we’re practicing the pass because it’s more complicated,” Roethlisberger said. “Steelers fans and coach Tomlin and the Rooneys apparently thought B.A. was throwing the ball too much. But yesterday in coach Haley’s office, we were talking about using the no-huddle and throwing the ball and how much we have to use our weapons.”
That sounds like Ben is saying the Steelers claimed to get rid of Bruce Arians because he was passing too much, but that Haley is all about the pass too. Which to me sounds a lot like whining.
I mean, I love Bruce Arians, but shut up about Bruce Arians, Ben.
4. A Murrysville girl who has officially been dubbed the Freaking Luckiest Girl Alive by me, won the opportunity to take father-of-four Pascal Dupuis to school!
How come I never had or have this kind of luck? I’ve never won anything by chance. I’ve never once gotten through on the radio to win a contest. The busy signal is my earworm. I’ve never won more than a buck off of a scratch off. I’ve never even found a bag of money on my doorstep. WHAT GIVES, UNIVERSE?!
5. The Pittsburgh Passion have begun that thing where they decimate their opponents by 49-0 as they did recently to Cleveland.
They’re 3-0 for the season so far.
[snap] You go, goils. [snap snap] [head swivel]
Check out their commercials. All kinds of awesome:
6. And so we make sure we hit all the professional sports teams in Pittsburgh … The Power still exist.
There you go.
This is the Mullethawkenberger, the douche-hairstyle that all douche hairstyles idolize. Not quite a mullet. Not quite a mohawk. Not quite a faux hawk.
This is the Mullethawkenberger on drugs:
It looks like his hair is trying to mold itself into a jaunty hat. I’ve seen tropical birds with smaller, better kept pompadours. It looks like one half of his hair was styled by himself and the other half by a mouse rooting around for cheese bits.
It looks like a faux hawk with its own faux hawk. Let’s call it faux deux de hawkeaux il douche.
It will be all the rage in France faster than you can say, “When can I punch this guy in his stupid hair?”