Unlike these lucky sons-of-guns, we couldn’t travel home to see the game in person. So we draped the living room in Terrible Towels, acquired beer and hot wings, and settled in on the couch. And by “settled in,” I mean jumped up and down, paced, galloped around, clutched each others’ arms, and swung our towels violently.
The PF’s arrived just in time for the field goal on the opening drive – they had tickets to Jesus Christ Superstar in San Antonio yesterday afternoon, and for reasons that I can’t begin to fathom, Mrs. PF made them go (Mr. PF has referred to her as a Steeler fan by marriage). Mr. PF drove the speed of sound to get back for the game, and they knocked on the door just as The Jeff was trotting onto the field.
In our little four-person suburb (only 1,413 miles from Heinz Field, Google Maps tells me), we watched The Santonio – who has earned his “The” back – turn The Ben’s pointless throw-away into a stellar 65 yard touchdown reception; the Birdies nearly come back with two touchdowns, both set up by end-zone pass interference; Limas Sweed look like the fourth Stooge; The Troy in his imitable fashion just be right where he needed to be to get his first post-season TD; Willis McGahee get administered a hit by The Ryan that looked like it could have ended more than just the Birdies’ possession (career? life?) and Frontal Lobe Disorder Lewis pretend for like 5 minutes that he cares about human life; and Dan Rooney hold the Lamar Hunt Trophy.
It was such good stuff that I had to rush from the room coughing and wheezing when I got so worked up over The Troy’s interception that I suffered as asthma attack – he literally takes my breath away [rimshot]. And it was such good stuff that Mrs. PF admitted at the end that she liked it as much as the musical.
So sing along with me: PITTSBURGH’S GOIN’ TO THE SUPERBOWL!
P.S. Even more than I’m glad he has a nice long off-season to recover, starting now, I hope that McGahee will be alright. That was quite a hit. I hear he’s doing okay – join me in hoping that’s true.