Category Archives: Troy Polamalu
Troysus managed to remain a shining diamond of decency and goodness in the increasingly putrid pile of dog crap that is the NFL. Respect.
— Virginia Montanez (@JanePitt) April 10, 2015
I am writing so many pieces right now.
My annual Burghy Mother’s Day Gift Guide for the magazine, so you can buy your mother something meaningful and local. My annual Pittsburgh Magazine City Guide column in which I will astound you with even more things you probably didn’t know about our fair city. A post on the new Clemente Bridge bike lane, how some people aren’t happy about it, and what Bill Peduto’s plans for it are. My regular magazine column, of which a topic I have not yet determined because I haven’t drank enough wine yet. I’ve got a lot of writing balls in the air, people!
But then Troy Polamalu was like, “Slow your roll, girl. I have news.”
And you know, it’s not the most shocking news. I think you’d agree that Troy’s exit from the NFL wasn’t a Bugatti careening onto the exit ramp at 80 miles an hour, but was rather an Amish buggy with two elderly horses, slowly rolling off the highway, enjoying the scenery as it passed. With his increasing age and diminishing physical health, we knew it was coming. The gray hairs foretold it. There’s no surprise. No abrupt ending that leaves us scratching our heads, I’m looking at you, Gillian Flynn.
I am 90% disenchanted with the National Football League and you know this because I wrote about it. I quit it. I stopped watching the games. Stopped supporting with my dollars. I can’t support an organization that seems to be allowing bad men to beat their wives and good men to destroy their precious brains.
The NFL became a bad taste in my mouth. The fly in my wine (which I would still drink because wine is delicious). The rain on my wedding day, Alanis. It became, to me, a money-worshipping, Alpha Male-encouraging, greedy, evil empire and I had to walk away from it and God did it feel good.
But within that muck, stood Troy Polamalu. A man who managed to prove that the NFL and football do not automatically destroy good and decency. That a strong enough man can rise above it and stay there for an entire career. Who can put family and God and good before money and power and vice.
We establish long ago that “The Steeler Way” is a myth, but somehow, someway, Troy Polamalu is mythical enough to live it and make it real. Every story I’ve ever heard about Troy has been uplifting, which is why I dubbed him Troysus many many years ago.
Football’s Jesus. The man who literally never stopped praying. And I feel comfortable using the word literally there, because his very essence oozes prayerfulness. Quietness. Solitude. Peace. Even when delivering a crushing blow to an opponent.
I’ve heard about his quiet visits to the homeless. His visits to sick children at the hospital without ever telling another soul. His devotion to his family. There is no cloud of questionable judgment hanging over his magnificent head of hair, and there never was. Just pure sunshine.
I think Steeler Nation loves Troy for his contributions to the physicality of the sport — to the wins. But I think he will be long remembered more for the kind of person he is. For his larger than life aura of I RISE ABOVE IT ALL ALWAYS.
Call him the Jesus of the Steelers. The Mister Rogers of the Steelers. The Superman of the Steelers. Call him Troysus. Call him what you like, and then strive to be just a little more like him.
Then and only then will the Steeler Way stop being a myth and become something this city can truly hold up and be proud of.
All parts of the team are broken down.
More turnovers than those that come in an actual box of turnovers.
It looked hopeful for like 3 minutes there and then the portal to hell opened up and swallowed us whole.
I’m not even exaggerating. I saw Satan.
May your boobs shrivel up and fall off. Yours too, Mila.
It’s just a game. It’s not the end. There’s still hope. Don’t fling yourself from the Clemente Bridge. (Unless the Pirates don’t make the post-season, then fling yourself with gusto while screaming ARRRIBBBAAAAAA! the whole way down. The irony will be beautiful.)
We lost and it sucked, but it’s just football.
I know that. But that didn’t stop me from making some memes to make myself feel better.
And that’s all she wrote … about that heaping pile of pigskin garbage:
Seriously, Antonio. That shit is annoying. Knock it off and get back to the huddle.
That was badass and one of the few positives I can point out.
Pregnancy tests. Integers. Ions. Affirmations.
Hahahah! I’m punchy!
Next week. London against the 0-3 Vikings.
Here’s hoping we don’t drop a clanger and make arses of ourselves.
Rumpy pumpy and How’s Your Father?
Throw some shrimp on the barbie!
Did I do that right?
- September 9, 2013
- filed under Ben Roethlisberger, Mike Tomlin, Pirates, Steelers, Troy Polamalu
- 23 comments
What a steaming pile of maggot-covered dog poop sitting on a giant mountain of worm-riddled elephant feces.
That is to say … PEE. EWE.
Don’t think I’ll be writing a WTRT for every Steelers game this season, but how could I not write one about the worst Steelers game in recent memory?
Injuries, stupid coaching decisions (have we come up with the new “Fire Bruce Arians” yet for Haley? Let’s get on that.), and just plain forgetting the basics of the game of football was the “Steelers Way” yesterday afternoon.
And with the score sitting at 2-0 for a good portion of the game, and then the Steelers being held to those two dismal points right up until late in the game. Two points.
It was an awful game to watch.
Let’s talk shitty football.
1. Pregame. Football’s back in town. Everyone is feeling good. Pittsburghers are preparing their food spreads and checking their Steelers-heavy fantasy teams. Dan Rooney is optimistic. So is the lady photobombing him.
She is ready! She is personifying Steeler Nation Enthusiasm and Optimism! She would photobomb the President if given the chance! Thumbs up!
Even Jesus is there! What could go wrong with Jesus on hand?
We are excited and hopeful and on top of the world!
2. And then the game started and what’s this?
We are freaking out. The Steelers are back. The Steel Curtain is back. The dismal preseason record really DID mean nothing.
Terrible Towels are being whipped into such a frenzy, Scott Harbaugh takes to the air with a breaking report:
3. And then…
We lost Hernandez-BFF Pouncey for the season because DeCastro took him out.
DeCastro is a Steeler.
We lost Foote for the season.
We lost Stevens-Howling for the season.
Sean Suisham pulled a hammy in pregame warmups.
5. After scoring those two points, the Steelers forgot how to football.
Redman fumbled the ball 300 times, and got so confused he even tried basketball with it.
7. Coaching? Now, you know here in Pittsburgh we love our coaches when they’re winning and we hate their faces and their guts and their mothers when they’re losing, but I’m going to go ahead and go on the record that yesterday’s coaching was a giant EFF MINUS.
That’s right. Mike Tomlin called a timeout with two seconds to go until the two-minute warning.
Try for a thousand years and you’ll never wrap your head around it.
8. Troysus was decent and he did that Superman/Jesus thing where he times the snap count perfectly and unleashes hell.
And … and … I’ve already run out of good things to say.
9. Even the fans forgot how to be fans.
This lady was so out of it by the time the Steelers finally got a touchdown that she was TWIRLING HER WATER BOTTLE.
SHE’S TWIRLING IT, YOU GUYS.
The STEELERS BROKE THE FANS.
10. It sucked and there’s a really good chance this whole season is going to suck now that our team is depleted with injuries and the guys who are left … kinda suck. And the coaches suck.
God help us next week when we play the Bengals and James Harrison.
He is going to hand us our ass with a big fat “f–k you” stapled to it.
Let us pray.
11. Meanwhile, over at PNC Park …
(Matt Freed/P-G source)
I began watching this game at Las Velas where the kids and I were dining with my husband’s family.
At half-time, I headed home with my kiddos and listened to the third quarter while driving.
Then I watched the fourth quarter in my living room while my daughter built her Minecraft kingdom and my son studied William Penn.
Did you know after William Penn’s death, one of his sons, Thomas, who was the leader of the colony called Pennsylvania, claimed to have in his possession a treaty between his father and a Lenape Indian chief — a treaty that stated William Penn could claim for his colony any land he wanted that was “as far as a man could go in a day and a half” to the west of the Delaware River. But while William was alive, they never did the “walk” to see how much land that was. So Thomas and the Indians cheerfully arranged for the walk. Thomas sent out three colonial walkers — who immediately took off sprinting, allowing them to take from the Lenape tribe 66 miles of land instead of the expected 30 at most.
The colonists were just total Quaker bitchez, weren’t they?
Where the hell were we?
Oh. Football. Let’s talk football. And Charlie Batch. And collective footballgasms that probably registered a solid 1.5 on the Richter Scale.
1. First, before the game even started, my hate juices started flowing. Hate started as a simmer and then began bubbling and bubbling until by the time the game started and I was one margarita buzzed, I could have easily punched right into Ray Lewis’ chest cavity and pulled out his still beating heart and then shoved it into his stupid jaw-unhinged screaming face.
Football makes me violent. Ray Lewis makes me SUPER violent. We’ve discussed this.
Biblical hate. Hellfire hate.
And I know, Dad, that the Bible says you shouldn’t hate people, but I’m pretty sure even Jesus looks at the Ravens and is all, “BUT THEY’RE SO ANNOYYYYYYYYINNNNNNGGGGG! [/whine]”
Also, my Facebook avatar photo is easily 10 years old. I should probably update that. My gray hairs are all, “YA THINK?!”
2. There are six constants in life: death, taxes, change, Nutella, Shaun Suisham, and Heath Miller.
Everything else? In flux! Chaotic! Never still! Always in turmoil!
Troysus is hurt. Then he got better for five minutes and then he was hurt. Now he’s better. Ben got hurt so badly that if he even burped wrong his rib bone would puncture his aorta. Byron got hurt. AB got hurt. Charlie’s 100-years-old and he’s in. Rashard is out. Wallace is demoted. Baron Batch who?
But Shaun Suisham is money [knocks violently on wood] and Heath Miller is our rock. Unchanging. Unfailing. (We’ll pretend Heath’s fumble during last week’s Game of Pigeon-Infested Hell didn’t happen. [waves hand] These are not the droids you’re looking for.) Edit: Heath didn’t fumble last week? Why did I think he did? The week before maybe? Either way, these are NOT THE DROIDS YOUR LOOKING FOR.
So when the going gets tough in the remaining games of the season, they are the lighthouses on the hill we’ll look to.
This has been Deep Thoughts, with Virginia Montanez who is Two Margaritas Buzzed.
3. Unfortunately, there’s one other constant:
Steely McBeam will never die.
That’s a Steely McBeam “study buddy,” or as I call him, “Hipster McBeam.” I think you’re supposed to violently rip his head off … ironically.
4. This is pretty much how the third quarter went because I had to listen to it in the car on DVE and with my hearing, it sounds like this, “SHHHHHHHHHHH Brown SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH 18 SHHHHHHHH fumble.”
Me: “What happened?”
My son in the back seat: “There was a fumble.”
Me: “Who recovered it?!?”
Son: “Ummmmmm. Ben … Roethlisberger?”
Me: “ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING?!?!”
Poor kid. It’s a lot of pressure to be the ears for your deaf mom while sportscasters are talking a million miles an hour.
Can you imagine if Myron Cope was still alive?
Me: “WHAT DID HE SAY?!?!”
Son: “[sobbing] I … HAVE … NO … IDEA.”
5. Ryan Clark made an amazing interception and we barely had time to tweet our jubilation because two plays later, the Ravens intercepted that shit right back and then BOOM BOOM touchdown Ravens. It’s 13-3 and Burghers all over America are horrified and desperately looking for something to puke into.
6. Last week I asked my brother-in-law Muchacho if he thought Troysus would ever play football again. He said no.
I asked my sister. She said no.
I asked my dad. He said no.
In my gut, I felt “no.”
He wasn’t a huge factor in the game, but he was A factor.
7. Charlie Batch. Is old. I’m seven months older than Charlie Batch and I’m telling you … he is old. And slow. And old. And toeing the line of decrepitude. My god. That’s a word. Go me.
But despite that age and that decrepitudity (survey saaaays! Not a word), he fought hard during this game. Charlie wanted this win. You could see it in everything he was doing and shouting and gesturing during the fourth quarter especially. He was frantic and determined and fighting for every yard. He even mouthed off to the refs a bit!
Not only that, but when Dwyer ran for a touchdown in the third to tie the game up, it was CHARLIE BATCH who threw the block that allowed him to score. 104-year-old Charlie Batch ran behind Dwyer like a spring chicken on meth and threw a block and all of Steeler Nation is like …
IS THIS REAL LIFE?!
8. As we were nearing our house, the Ravens scored a touchdown and I slapped my hand on my car radio power button a little harder than necessary and the car was filled with my angry silence.
Daughter: “Why did you turn the Steelers off, Mom?”
My son: “Because they suck.”
9. Fourth quarter, we’re down by 7 when Charlie, poor Charlie, throws an interception.
But then something miraculous happens. A Christmas miracle.
James Harrison showed up for the first time since what seems like 1975.
He forces a fumble and two minutes later, Heath scores, but he doesn’t just score. He turns into the love child of Elasta-girl and Gumby and stretches his arms just far enough to tap the pylon, probably tearing every muscle in his arm pit in the process.
The game is all tied up with less than 7 minutes on the clock.
10. The defense does its job and gets the ball back for Charlie and it’s now Charlie’s job is to give Shaun Suisham a chance to win the game in the final seconds. A roughing the passer penalty on the Ravens really really helps him out.
But he needs to get a bit closer to give Suisham a sure thing. We’re looking at a 42-yarder if he doesn’t.
Dwyer. 1 yard.
Dwyer. Minus 1 yard.
[inhale exhale inhale exhale]
Dwyer. No gain.
Up comes Shaun “Sure Thing” Suisham to kick.
Tomlin gives him a look:
Here we go.
Half of us remain calm in our belief of Shaun Suisham.
Half of us can’t watch, and run to semi-hide.
And half of us who can’t do math are staring and then looking away and then staring and then looking away and then grabbing our dogs (not a euphemism) and hugging them like a yipping security blanket. We think about sucking our thumbs (also not a euphemism).
Three seconds on the clock. Game is tied. 42 yards looks like a thousand miles.
He lines up.
The ball is snapped.
It’s good! Time expires!
Steeler Nation loses its almighty collective shit!
It’s beautiful. And emotional. And we’re all a bit teary-eyed and some of us are just flat-out ugly crying:
There there, Dawson. We all want to hug Charlie Batch too because he wanted this win and he got it for us. And it wasn’t just a win. It was a win over the Ravens. It might be the biggest win; it might be the last win of his life.
Charlie has a message for everyone who didn’t believe he could do it:
Shut up. I love the bee uniforms.
So we won. A big game. An important game. And that goes a long way to help us forget last week’s debacle against the Browns.
Everyone is forgiven.
Except Mike Wallace.
11.. Finally, this goes without saying, but Total Quaker Bitchez would be a great band name.
- November 5, 2012
- filed under Ben Roethlisberger, Mike Tomlin, Random, Steelers, Troy Polamalu
- 8 comments
Yesterday, we watched the first part of the game at my sister Pens Fan’s house where we dined on the best kept secret wings in the eastern burbs: Black and Gold wings from Colonial Grille in downtown Irwin.
Then we listened to the second quarter on DVE in the car heading to Upper St. Clair.
Then we watched the rest of the game with my in-laws who are visiting for a month from Cancun, Mexico (as you can imagine, this weather is not their favorito mucho mas queso. I think I got the Spanish right on that, si?).
This conversation happened as we all sat around the table eating while watching the game:
Sister-in-law, gesturing toward my mother-in-law: “Did you see her Halloween costume when she went trick or treating with the kids?”
Me: “No! Is it on Facebook?”
SIL: “Yep. She was a witch.”
Me: [gets out phone to go to Facebook] “Una bruja! Nice.”
My Spanish-speaking mother-in-law: “Si. A bitch.”
SIL: “No. Witch.”
Me: “Yes, witch.”
MIL: “No bitch?”
Me: “No bitch. WAH-ITCH.”
Husband: “Bitch es perra”
Four Spanish-speaking nephews and nieces at the table: [GASP!]
So that was an AWESOME conversation and I didn’t even have to ask anyone to say “fock-yous.”
Although on the way home my husband and I had a five minute conversation on how to pronounce raccoon.
Me: “Stop rolling your R!”
He’s such a jerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrk.
Let’s talk football.
1. Due to the crazed nature of the day yesterday, I was in and out of the game. Catching some things, missing others, so I don’t have a whole lot of detailed game analysis to offer you, and I know how you read these things for detailed game analysis that you can whip out of your pocket and sound football-smart the next time you’re around the watercooler all, “But seriously the Duke of Fug couldn’t be fuglier on the secondary offensive tight end touchback mucho mas queso bitch.”
2. Speaking of weird faces, is Eli Manning always so terrified?
These are Benny’s game faces from yesterday:
That’s the face of a man who has the munchies somethin’ fierce, if you get my meaning, Ricky Williams.
Here’s Eli Manning yesterday, shitting the shit out of his pants:
Poor Casey. Now he’s all distracted.
3. The game started out scary with the Steelers going down 20 to 10 at one point with lots of things going wrong with the Steelers. They seemed out of it, especially Benny who allowed two turnovers. He wasn’t himself. Like someone was hypnotizing the players or something. Even the Giants were acting a bit off.
He couldn’t even throw the ball properly.
That’s how my three-year-old niece throws a football. After I spin her around in a circle 20 times real fast.
4. Ike Taylor had an actual, honest-to-God interception yesterday, which hasn’t happened in a long time. So long, in fact, that even the ball was confused:
5.And here’s where we’ll have a “Choose Your Own Adventure” section!
It’s fourth and inches near the endzone and the Steelers are down by three.
Do you want A. the Steelers to go for it or B. the Steelers to line up for a field goal?
You chose B. Smart choice. Safe choice.
The Steelers line up for a field goal. Do you want A. Suisham to kick the field goal or B. Suisham to fake a field goal and attempt to run the ball through a throng of enormous football players hell bent on bashing his face into the turf?
You chose A. Good choice! The field goal is good and the Steelers have tied the game!
What? You chose B?!?!? WTF is wrong with you?
Here’s what happens when you choose B:
Dumb move by Tomlin for sure. Now, don’t get me wrong. If it had worked and Suisham had run the ball in for a touchdown, I would have started this post with a SQUEEEEEE and a huge picture of him running with the ball and I would have circled a random taut body part of his and I would have put some smiley faces next to it and I would have high-fived Tomlin for his baddassitude and balls of steel.
But this ISN’T a choose your own adventure book, so “dumb move” and terrified noodles it is.
6. Terrified Noodles would make a great band name.
But not as good as Petrified Noodles.
7. I missed the questionable call on Ben Roethlisberger’s tuck or non-tuck, so you’ll have to discuss that amongst yourselves in the comments.
8. Make a note. This is the new “blow to the head” in the NFL. (gif here)
Ribs are the new heads mucho mas queso bitch. — Roger Goodell
I’m going to get that embroidered on a pillow.
8. No matter. The Steelers still won despite those calls and we go to 5-3 and have a Monday night date with the Chiefs.
My sister and I had an actual conversation yesterday that maybe the oft-injured, rapidly aging Troysus needs to retire after this season.
What say you, Pittsburgh?