I had to ponder this one for a day before I trusted myself to put it on paper. Sunday’s Super Bowl wasn’t “super” except for us die-hard Steelers fans. The first quarter was close, because nobody did shit. Neither team could run the ball, and the receivers must have had Vaseline on their hands instead of stickum.
When Big Ben scored his touchdown, I left my chair with a cry of delight. Then I saw the replay. “He didn’t make it,” I told Barbara who was in the same room, but not watching the game.
In the second half, Pittsburgh started moving the football because Seattle still couldn’t get their shit together. Except for the final score, the game sucked. The only big plays were the run by Willie Parker and the Randall-el to Heinz Ward pass.
I’ve been a Steelers fan since I’ve been watching football. Growing up in the Steel City automatically made you one. Even during the days of Bobby Lane, the quarterback who needed to be sobered up before every home game, I loved the Steelers.
The 70’s, of course, was my decade. Four Super Bowl wins in six years. Then the drought of the 80’s and the loss in the ‘96.
But now we’ve got it, through no fault of our own. We lucked into “one for the thumb,” and join San Francisco and Dallas as the only five-time Super Bowl champions.
I may not have liked the game, but I’m still a Steeler’s fan.