Trees were killed, that this napkin could live. The poor, poor trees. If you need me, I will be in the corner, loudly and proudly committing ritual suicide on their behalf.
Tee hee. I won’t be doing that, of course. My dad sent me that napkin. He rocks. He is, I believe, the person responsible for buying me a Terry Bradshaw doll when I was three or so. It wasn’t technically a Terry Bradshaw doll – it was a generic white guy Steelers action figure, but it came with stick-on numbers, and my dad stuck on Terry Bradshaw’s number, which was twelve. Did they make generic black guy Steelers action figures? I would certainly hope and think so, given that would have been completely racist and that the other star players – Lynn Swann, Franco Harris, and Mean Joe Green, among others- were black.
Anyway. I don’t typically give two hoots and a holler for football, except as it involves the Steelers and any team that has the audacity to score against them. I’m only half kidding about the latter. That said, I would not have committed the aforementioned ritual suicide if the Cardinals had won, which they so totally almost did, oh my fucking gourds. The only teams that make me want to go all Yukio Mishima on myself are the Red Sox and the Patriots. Sorry, Bostonians – I’m a New Yorker. It’s in my contract, and by now my DNA, like as not.
The Steelers/Cards matchup, though, is the latest in a series of rather fast and furious identity crises, both personal and, um, well, political, if you can file “football” under the latter. See, for years, the Steelers have been the underdogs. That’s part of their charm, these raggedy, scrappy guys from filthy fucking Pittsburgh who can’t get a break, until they finally up and get a break, and then we’re all dancing in the streets and pouring Iron City on our heads and waving our Terrible Towels around because David has trumped Goliath. Problem is, it looks like the Steelers are now Goliath. Pittsburgh is still fucking filthy, god love the place, but the Steelers have won two Super Bowls in the past three years. That’s one for the thumb plus an extra digit, and that doesn’t say “underdog” to me so much as it says Official Bad-Ass Motherfuckers of the AFC. I’m all for the boys in black and gold being bad-ass motherfuckers, but the “official” part gets to me a bit. How are we Steelers fans supposed to act now that we’re legit, assuming we are? Are we going to have to drink microbrews now? Wear suits? Are Broncos and Cowboys fans going to start looking at us the way we used to look at them – with white-hot rage and what Tennessee Williams called “the terrible, stiff-necked pride of the defeated”? Hey, man, don’t be hatin’ on us! We’re the good guys! We’re just working class stiffs from Steel Town! We’ve won only six Super Bow…oh. Oops. Shit. Yeah, well, fuck you anyway, Denver and Dallas! At least nobody ever made any prime time soap operas about…shitfuckpiss again. Well, but ours was on Showtime. Which is not, technically, a network. So. There. Ha.
Hmmm. This is turning out to be somewhat more profound than I’d thought. Damn. At least the Pirates still suck, kind of.