Stirring the Pot
It's bad enough that we're still six days away from the Super Bowl, meaning six more days of anxiety waiting for kickoff. I thought about going to the pep rally down at Heinz Field on Friday, but I decided against walking down. I wish I had--there were 30,000 people there, and it would've been fun to add my voice to the throaty mob cheering our Steelers on.
But there's something missing in the emotional stew, as it were--I don't hate the Seahawks. So far in the playoffs cranking up the bloodlust has been a piece of cake. Of course we hate the Bungles, a traditional rival, especially after Chad Johnson said that the torch had been passed in the division after they beat us at home. Of course we hate the Colts--they embarassed us on national television. And of course we hate the Broncos, who upset us in 1998 to go to the Super Bowl. There were scores to settle, and settle them the Steelers did.
But whither Seattle? OK, they beat us a few years ago, but that was a long, long time ago. And if I recall correctly we lost in Seattle in the game that followed Art Rooney's death, a game in which Cliff Stoudt threw six or seven interceptions in a shutout. But I always kinda liked the Seahawks. Liked Curt Warner, the former Penn State star. Liked Jim Zorn, who scrambled around like a crazy person and had the added novelty of being left-handed. Liked the sticky-fingered receiever Steve Largent, until he committed the unpardonable sin of becoming a Republican member of the House of Representatives. Oh, Steve, how could you?
And Seattle the city seems a perfectly acceptable place. A bit on the wet side, perhaps, but it's not like we in Pittsburgh can criticize anyone's weather, unless they're above the Arctic Circle. Some good rock and roll bands came out of Seattle. They make some nice coffee up there. And I've ridden on several Boeing planes and miraculously arrived safely every time.
That said, in the next few days I will be looking for faults in Seattle's otherwise acceptable resume. I feel confident that a few hours research combined with hyperbole and spin and flat-out lying will allow me to build an air-tight case that proves Seattle is nothing but a breeding ground for bags of human garbage with funny-looking birds on their hats. Stay tuned.
Oh, Seattle's football stadium? Very nice.