Comin' at ya this Sunday! Sunday! Sunday!

The folks at the Ravens head office had decided today would be a day when they'd exert "secondary market dominance". But lets get real. Nobody isgoing to give a shit about a putrid game between the Boller-less Ravens and the equally sucktastic Tennesee Titans. Not even fans in Baltimore are going to care, much less those of us in Central PA. Please. They've got KORDELL STEWART as a backup QB. We got rid of him because he sucked, and Chicago got rid of him, presumably because he... sucks. (And if Chicago thinks you suck, really, you should just quit football altogether, because the next step is the AZ Cardinals or the Detroit Lions, and that's a fate worse than death.)

Where was I? Oh yeah. Blackout. So instead of watching a game that would be at least quasi-interesting, what with Roethlisberger's questionable status for today's game, and the dawning of the "Fast" Willie Parker era, they're going to broadcast the Baltimore Crapfest. This means I have to go out to watch the game. Good, because I can scream at the TV with 20 other people. Bad, because sports bars are generally chain-smokers paradises. That? Sucks. (If you want to smoke, bully for you. Congrats. I applaud your choice. I'd choose a sports bar that doesn't permit smoking, but they don't exist, so I'll just be over here ruining my stomach with painkillers while you ruin both our lungs with smoke. Thanks! Awesome! Keep on puffin', baby!)

Shit. Got off on a tangent again.

(And yes, I have sattelite TV. But it's the wrong sattelite network to get NFL Direct Ticket.)

Anyway, "Have to leave the house to watch the game" contingency superstitions are in effect. No knitting during the game, but I'll do some beforehand, Jersey and tank are prepared, shorts are in the wash right now. There's a quesadilla out there with my name on it, and now the only decision I have to make is whether I'm going to the place that has the 2.50 Iron City Bottle special and paper-towel-less bathroom, or the place with the small bar and decent ladies room. Probably whichever one is less smoky. (The former.)

I think that even with Roethlisberger questionable, we'll be fine. In all honesty, I think he'll play. He did practice on Friday (I believe) and that's usually a good sign. Even if he isn't in, I think that as long as they can get Maddox to hand off the ball (which he tends to do anyway, he's not much on the passing) and have Parker and/or Bettis (I think Staley's still out, or Staley's questionable, and Bettis is definitely out) run it like a motherfucker, we'll mop the floor with the Texans. (And I'm a bit happy to see that they did re-sign Charlie Batch. I thought he was doing fine during the pre-season, and he can play as well as, if not better than Maddox. PS- Personal to Tommy Maddox: Those visors make you look like a dork. Some people, such as myself, are not meant to wear ball caps and/or visors. You're one of those people, so just stop it. Now. I mean it. You're a QB. A backup QB, but a QB none the less. Start LOOKING like one.)

For the rest of you out there who like football, I hope your respective teams do pretty well. Unless, of course, you're a Texans fan. In which case- you're going down.


edited to add: Crazy Pre-game Superstitions 2, Steelers Opponents 0. And today, at Players, I made new friends. Because 45 year old guys seem to find a fat girl in a Steelers jersey irresistible. And personal note to the other girls who came to the bar: Honeys. It's a sports bar. A sparkly skirt and halter top is unnecessary. Enough hairspray to fill the Hindenberg is not necessary. Full makeup is not necessary. The boys are not going to look at you unless you come in naked, wearing nothing but body paint in their team colors. And even then, they're not going to look unless you're directly in front of the big screen. And that's only going to be to tell you to move. So seriously. Give it up. It's Players. Not Coyote Ugly.

Side note to Anon, if you're perusing, I hope your party was swell. I had good intentions, but ended up on the phone for 3 hours. (And frankly, I don't talk to anyone on the phone for much longer than 3 minutes, if I can help it, so this was an occasion.) And we need a name for you, Anon. Suggestions?