Steel Balls

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There once was a team in twenty-thirteen
Their name was the Steelers and winning was their dream
They dropped four out of the gate
Lost their own fate
Who wants to be on my shuffle-board team?

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The outlook wasn’t brilliant for Steeler Nation that day;
The score stood 24 a piece, with but one drive left to play,
And then when Chase Daniel got the first, and next play did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few fans watched TV in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only KC could get a field goal whack at that –
They’d put up even money, now, with KC playing flat.

But yards needed KC, 50 or more it would take,
And then Chase Daniel was a passing and the handoff was a fake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of KC getting off the mat.

But McCluster caught a spiral, to the wonderment of all,
And McGrath, the third tight end, held on to the next ball;
And when time out had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Chase Daniel near midfield and Steeler fans could now be heard.

Then from Steeler Nation throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
Now knocked opportunity and Charger fans just sat,
For KC kicker Succop, was about to end all that.

There was ease in KC’s manner as Chase Daniel stepped into place;
There was pride in KC’s bearing and a smile on Chase Daniel’s face.
And when, responding to opposing cheers, he lightly took the snap,
And 24 yards down the field Hemingway penned the final slap.

The Chargers defensemen were on him as he rumbled along the dirt;
And Steeler fans applauded as we wiped sweat upon our shirt.
Then while the writhing defense lined up for the next hit,
It was 1st and 10 for KC and, at the 31 yard line they did sit.

And now the leather-covered football no longer through the air,
And KC stood a-watching, we can kick it right from there.
But Knile Davis the runner ran twice and hardly sped-
And now third down we did see, “Wildcat” the announcer said.

From the benches, filled with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
What is this shouted someone off in Steeler land;
This player from KC has never thrown the football from his hand.

With a smile Andy Reid new that KC’s play had shown;
His running back was standing in the backfield all alone
He signaled to the center, and once more the football flew;
But KC they had done it, and the ref signaled first down too.

“Field Goal!” cried Steeler Nation, and echoes answered that;
And one sideline look of KC’s kicker, Steelers fans nervous sat.
They saw the three plays run as were told, the time running out,
And they knew that KC would set this up with one last final time-out.

The fear was gone from KC’s kicker, it is now all upon his feet;
He taps the ground now confidently with the toe of his right cleat.
And now the snapper snaps the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Succop’s blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining still;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts will fill,
And somewhere men are laughing, and children smiling bright;
But there is no joy in Steeler Nation — KC’s kicker was wide right.

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I am not sure which is worse. The one ref who doesn’t notice anyone in front of him, or the other ref who sees everyone in front of him. Or maybe, they just don’t know the rules after 17 weeks and 4 preseason games.

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Twas the day before Christmas, already left had my spouse
Slowly I was stirring, last night I was soused.
My clothes were all strewn on the floor with no care,
In hopes that I might have got some on the chair.

I turned over nestled all snug in my bed,
With visions of sake-bombs still pounding my head.
And Max in his collar, his paw gave me a wrap,
He was begging to go out, he had to go… to the bathroom.

Max out on the lawn his paws pitter patter,
I went for some aspirin to fix what was the matter.
Away to the bathroom I flew like a flash,
Tore open the cabinet and searched for the stash.

The sun beat down and would soon let me know.
I had slept to mid-day, wife’s already on the go.
When, what to my bloodshot eyes should appear,
Milk and cookies for Santa, that were left by my dear.

With a hangover hunger, feeling a bit sick,
I knew these were mine, instead of St Nick.
I would rapidly eat them and now a thought came,
The idea that I had, was to give Max all the blame!

One cookie! now, two! now, maybe a dozen!
On, further! The ice! In the milk was still frozen!
To the top of the cookies! The stack they did fall!
Not a crumb! single crumb! I had eaten them all!”

As my dry mouth was filled from the cookies nearby,
They met the refreshing milk, all for this guy.
So downed was the milk-topped glass and I knew,
Could I pull off my plan, before I was through.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard at the door
The prancing and clawing of each of his paws.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
I knew to put all the blame on this hound.

He rustled all his fur, from his head to his foot,
He had no idea he’d be tarnished, my plan was afoot.
A bundle of chew toys I had flung near the plate,
And he looked already guilty, not knowing his fate.

My wife’s arrival was here! The plan was in play!
Her gullibility would be tested if I were to survive on this day
Then the front door was drawn open to show,
That the tree was now missing something below.

The stern look on her face and grinding her teeth,
And the smoke it encircled, a fire rose from beneath.
She had an angry face and a very pissed look,
That peered at a plate empty, from the cookies I took!

There I was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed not aloud, so proud of myself!
An evil of her eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I soon might be dead.

She spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And chose her words wisely, then turned “you’re a jerk.”
I pointed a finger to Max, and tapped on his nose,
And giving Christina a nod, and Max he just froze…

She sprang to his defense, said I was a disgrace,
And away she did wipe, crumbs I had left on my face.
But I heard her exclaim, ‘ere she did not care fight,
“Even Christmas and all, sleep on the couch tonight!”

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Link is in comments.

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This was an older article on mine…

I never want to make light of someone’s death, but the recent suicide of NFL great Junior Seau got me thinking…and therefore writing. His status among the elite brought more press than most, but he became the 8th member of the San Diego Chargers who would die an early death…and they all played for that one magical season in 1994 when they went to the teams ONLY Superbowl. When the 5th member passed away, statisticians said the odds of this happening to one team was less than 1%…now they don’t even bother to calculate it. I have put my own ideas to explain the unexplainable. I hope not to offend.

You may have noticed I am a Steelers fan. All you have to do is crack open my basement door to be hit by a tsunami of Black and Gold. Players passing before their time is nothing new to those who follow the Steelers. With Seau’s suicide, many have searched for a cause…and head trauma seems to be the consensus. This can explain some, but not all. The Steelers did have their own suicide, Terry Long, in 2005. Another, Justin Strzelczyk, in 2004, led NYS police on a high-speed chase the wrong way on the thruway. He eventually ended up losing a head on battle with a tractor-trailer. It was later deemed both these men suffered from head trauma. But what of the others? David Little in 2005, breaking rule number one of weight lifting, did not have a spotter. He lost the grip of his barbell and it rolled on his neck and it suffocated him. Another, however, the one that touched me the most was Steve Courson…happening a day after my birthday in 2005. At age 50, he was on his land cutting down a huge tree. It did not cooperate and the tree began to fall a different direction. In that direction was his dog, a black lab. He rushed to protect his dog like he had rushed to protect his quarterback many years before. The dog was safe, his master was not. These players may have died around the same time, but they never all played for the team at the same time. The story of the 1994 San Diego Chargers is a bit different, they shared a magical season…but at what price?

It was January 1995…playoff time for the 1994 season and the Steelers were the team to beat in the AFC. I had just arrived back from Pittsburgh after attending the Steelers’ first playoff match and frostbite still filled my fingers. You see, the game was frigid, it WAS winter in Pittsburgh. Game time temps hovered in the teens, but the wind chill drove it too low for zero. During the game, I was warmed by the booze in my “bar”noculars and the beating the Burgh boys put on the Browns. It was cold, very cold…It was Steelers weather! Wearily resting from my trip, the phone rang…luckily this coincided with feeling coming back to my fingers. It was a friend from Steeler Nation calling with an extra ticket to the next game. He asked if I was up for another arctic adventure back to the Burgh. Duh…let me get my “bar”noculars! I had hardly settled back in NY before I was off again. This time as we arrived something was different. I thought the car was overheating…I was sweating. It was warm…too warm. This was a time before weather.com…the Internet, smart phones…possibly even the weather channel. We just assumed a week deeper into winter Pittsburgh would be a freeze-age wasteland. I believe we even sang those words to the Who song somewhere near Harrisburg. The Steelers’ home field advantage was the weather, but this warm weather, playing a warm weather team, the San Diego Chargers…put a pit in my stomach.

It was now Sunday, game day. The Steelers were a HUGE favorite to be victorious and venture back to the Superbowl. Gone were my gloves, my jacket, my ski mask…and my “bar”noculars. I wore a recently purchased T-shirt, since there was never any thought of packing such light attire. We arrived early at the stadium, and the local media spotted my eagerness to be interviewed. A guy with the worst hairpiece since Jim Carr approached. Son, what do you think of the game today? My response eerily haunts me to this day…”Well, I got a bad feeling about today. Seems the Chargers brought their warm weather with them…wonder whose soul they had to sell for 60 degree temps during a Pittsburgh winter.” He huffed at me, having given him more words than he wished and sought out a less sober fan. I guess all he wanted was the 2 words Steelers and Superbowl. The San Diego Chargers won that day; on plays that probably would not have prevailed had the weather been worse. This would be the last victory for these 45 men.

David Griggs would be the first. Only 5 months after defeating the Steelers, he died when his car slid off an expressway ramp and slammed into a large sign pole. 7 others would perish in their own unique way…the latest being Junior Seau. Rodney Culver would die in a plane crash…Shawn Lee a heart attack…Chris Mims, obesity. It was as if they were cast in the movie Seven…or Final Destination. While all these deaths could be shrugged off…it was the story of Doug Miller that brought me to write this. While camping on the Colorado River he was killed by lightning…surviving an initial strike, then being hit by a second. You talk about the odds. The 1994 San Diego Charger team was a close, overachieving team…beating those same kind of odds. They snuck into the playoffs, they snuck into Pittsburgh and they snuck out with a trip to the Superbowl. It would seem these odds are catching up with them.

In the course of ones life we find ourselves looking up…or down…for answers, for prayer, for deals. “I would give it all”…if you could only give me this. That year did the Devil come down to San Diego looking for a soul to steal? Did these men offer something…everything, so they could have that one moment an athlete dreams of? It is hard to brush this off as coincidence…especially when these men had little in common except that magical season in 1994. The San Diego Chargers have not made the Superbowl since.

Perhaps the Devil stole all the souls he needed…

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Military Dad Dresses Up as Opposing Player, Surprises Son at Football Game (Video)

Active Link provided in comments.

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