Life can blindside you sometimes, like the Seahawks in the first quarter. Last year I was lost in Chelsea with the most beautiful woman in the world while the Eagles were embarrasing themselves. Every year in recent memory prior to that I was in Gettysburg surrounded by pals, eating freshly grilled steak and watching the game on a massive TV.
This year I’m in Nashville, Tennessee, surrounded by nobody in a small apartment on the west end of town wondering what the hell happened.
One thing’s for sure: while I am cheering loudly and lustily for the Steelers (East Coast represent!) I cannot be certain I’d have the same warm feelings toward western PA if I’d been in central PA surrounded by insufferable Steelers fans.
Those western wankers better pull this out. If not for the honour of PA, then do it for one of those insufferable fans with whom I passed many a Superbowl Sunday suffering through wrestling at halftime. He’s probably pounding Warsteiners with Jesus from the best seat in the house.