If you were at a wing bar in north Austin early this afternoon, you might have seen a petite Steeler fan twisting her moist towelette, tears welling up in her big brown eyes, fixated on a muted television. You might have wondered how long it would be until she breathed.
We watched the game today at Pluckers, not because it is a great place in town to watch the Steelers, but because I really really wanted some good wings. We didn’t realize that they would only play the sound for the Houston/Chicago game, so even though we had a nice-sized HD screen on which to watch the Browns get trounced, we didn’t hear any of it. It was like a 3 hour real-time What They Were Really Thinking. It was fine, really – I recognize the officials’ penalty sign language, and they always use their most inane statistics as captions.
At least, it was fine until The Ben didn’t get up. That hit didn’t look so much different than the 1.7 million sacks he sustained already this season, but the solemn cluster of Steelers staff was certainly new. The inline cervical spine stabilization was new. The look on The Tomlin’s face was new.
It was a very long fifteen minutes, listening to Texans fans and the sound of my own heartbeat.
Not too much to say about the actual game, I guess. The Browns need to get it together if this rivalry is going to be fun again. As it is, it makes me feel kinda bad – like we need to pick on someone our own size. Remember that Indians GM who tried to trade the whole team for the entire roster of the Chicago White Sox? Frank Lane? The Browns need that guy. (He’s been dead for 27 years, but W.E.)