So the other day my sweetie is dressed like she’s going to a game on the Frozen Tundra. She’s got on triple layer coverage more suffocating than Prime Time in his heyday. That it was 50 degrees outside didn’t seem to matter.
“I’ve got a question,” she says.
“The Super Bowl’s like the biggest sports event there is, right?”
“Well, it is to Jan and Lev, the accidental fans who always have a party except the years they are between houses. And to the avocado growers, guacamole distributors and chip makers. Around here the NCAA tournament is more important. But the Super Bowl, I guess, has become this big social thing, even though most could care less about the game.”
Speaking of coverage, how about the media blitz on the gutsy move by Pittsburgh coach Bill Cowher? He’s the guy with the arkish chin big enough to accommodate two of every species in western Pennsylvania. And enough guts to say no to the black unis that have become the hallmark of Iron City’s favorite four-time champs.
The Steel Curtain will be wrapped in white on Sunday, and the Terrible Towel wavers better get used to it.
Which means Seattle’s Seahawks will don those butt ugly blueish, greenish uniforms that look like they got stuck in a hot wash cycle with a bunch of bleeding madras shirts.
That’s just fine for those football fans of the great north woods, who are the only folks extant that before Sunday a week ago knew there was professional football in the Land o’ Starbucks.
“The NFL has a team in Seattle?”
“Yes, dear, and this year the team is way caffeinated.”
Having so far begged the real question at hand — Who will win? — let’s get down to it.
The Steelers could wear pink jerseys with baby blue frocks and still be a lock. As Louisville’s favorite footballin’ Golden Boy is wont to say, “This one’s an unbuckle.” Translated for those of you unfamiliar with the ways of sporting wagers, that means, “bet the IRA, this is like finding a satchel of unmarked hundreds in your driveway.”
If Dennis Lampley’s Trinity Shamrocks could stop Shaun Alexander in a title game, which they did in the state championship, what in the name of Toothless Jack Lambert do you think Ernie Stautner’s descendants are going to do with a bunch of latte drinkers? Exactly. The Black and Gold will turn the Seahawks into pond scum the brackish color of the ugliest uniforms in a championship since the Padres wore brown against the Tigers in the ’84 Series.
Seattle’s Lofa Tatupu may have made the Pro Bowl as a rookie linebacker, but he can’t curl the dreadlocks of Steeler’s strong safety Troy Polamalu.
Seahawk QB Matt Hasselback has a hottie for a wife. Unless I’m confusing her with his brother’s wife. No matter. Jerome Bettis ain’t so cute, but he hits the line like a Hummer on racing fuel. And he wins his last game in front of his parents at home in Motown.
Pittsburgh 42, Seattle 17.
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