In 25 Years, Steel Turns To Rust

It's happened every year since 1980 and for the inhabitants of western Pennsylvania, it's an annual rite of passage. Every year, thousands of Pennsylvanians and national TV outlets swarm to a town just east of the Ohio border to view a tradition that has signaled the change of seasons for a generation.

Are we talking about the yearly sight of the groundhog's shadow? Unfortunately not, today's lesson from your superiors is about the annual playoff defeat of the Pittsburgh Steelers. Like the world famous Puxatawney Phil, the annual "Cowher Choke" arrives every winter and signals to all in the 'Burgh that, yes, their coach has seen his chin and they are in for another 12 months of misery.

The 2005 edition of the Cowher Choke took place this past Sunday at the "House that John Kerry's Wife Built". In front of 68,000 polka dancing dirt-people, the New England Patriots gave the Steelers such a beating that hundreds of thousand of Pittsburghers went to their garages, filled their tailpipes with Terrible Towels, and asphyxiated themselves.

After the carnage of the 41-27 woodshed job was completed, Steelers' coach Bill Cowher, he of four AFC Championship game losses at home, did the only honorable thing a quality coach could do: He blamed his rookie quarterback for the defeat. Sure, QB Ben Roethlisberger's playoff performance in this year's AFC title tilt vs. the Patriots was sad enough to make Tony Eason laugh, he didn't deserve to be thrown under the bus. By bus, the 'Nation means an actual bus, not the puss-filled Notre Dame scumbag who lugs the mail from the running back position for the black and gold.

Sure, his 3 interception effort in the biggest game of his life definitely tainted "Big Ben's" perfect image for NFL types who worshipped every pimple on his pock-marked face. The good news for the portly passer is he can now begin his offseason regiment of eating Cool Whip and Bacon Double-Cheeseburger combos to destroy what's left of his boyhood mobility en route to a future 350 lbs. frame.

Back in the day, the professional football squad from Pittsburgh ruled the land and struck fear into those who unfortunately got in its way. The "Steel Curtain" dominated to the tune of four Super Bowl championships in the 70s, led by a quarterback in Terry Bradshaw who was too stupid to tie his own cleats.

Legends named Jack Ham, "Mean" Joe Greene, and Franco Harris led by their tough coach Chuck Noll ensured the team from the Three Rivers of Pennsylvania would never cower in the face of defeat. Now, they have a coach named Cowher who has perfected the agony of defeat.

Luckily, if you are going to bring your fans so close to a championship and let them fall, Pittsburgh is the perfect place for it to happen. With three large rivers surrounding the city, the line on local bridges for fans to jump and drown themselves usually moves pretty quick.

Here at Pinhead Nation, we really don't understand the mentality of those from the 'Burgh. Most residents of the Steel City are the ultimate collar-downs: unemployed iron workers, very obese women, and genetic mutations that come from being just the third generation of mammals to crawl out of the Allegheny River and walk on two-legs.

While Pittsburgers slowly evolve into human beings, us collar ups will crack open a bottle of chablis, grill some shrimp, and watch our local team win their third Super Bowl in four years. One for the thumb? Give the Patriots just two more years and they'll have it.

Collar Up.

- DW