As Shakespeare readers and DiCaprio fans all know, sometimes it takes horrible tragedy to unite old enemies. We learn the hard way. Regrets? Sure, there are plenty. Mistakes? Of course. And there will most definitely be more. But once in a while, in times of great need, opposing forces can put business aside and come to a short-term, double-secret probation agreement to stop a disaster from taking place.

            In Ohio, Browns and Bengals fans have agreed to stop arguing, wave a mutual white flag, and throw on Seattle Seahawks colors. The Steelers—the evil, nasty Pittsburgh Steelers—must go down in Super Bowl “fotey.” The “Brengal” nation will not rest until Bill Cowher, his jaw, and his villainous group of Pittsburgh thugs go down in flames. There is a bar-term for this that consists of two riming words; one is another word for a rooster, the other, something Bengal fans would like to throw at Kimo von Oelhoffen’s head. Yes, there is an army of orange that is more than anxious to “block” the Steelers from winning their first Super Bowl since the pride and joy of Fox (no, not Hannity, O’Reilly, or “Marissa” from “The O.C.”) was throwing TDs to Lynn Swann.  

            Many of you east coast intellectuals might be thinking that this hatred for Pittsburgh is absurd. After all, you have been to the “I.C.” a few times and thought downtown was quite lovely. The bar scene was authentic and the Warhol Museum was mind blowing. And you laid-back Laker fans from the west coast might be saying that we Ohioans have too much passion and that we need to sit back and let the game unfold. Football is hella-cool and shouldn’t be ruined with such an uncontrolled temper. Well…normally, I would agree with both perspectives about all of those clever insights. Yet I say this: screw Pittsburgh, you’re dead to me now. Dead. You blew out Carson Palmers knee. You knocked my dear friends the Cleveland Browns (well, they’re acquaintances) out of the playoffs a few years ago when they had you beat. You don’t deserve to be in the Super Bowl. Seriously.

             I blame the announcers of the AFC semi-final game for this god-awful situation we are all facing. If they hadn’t mentioned that Indianapolis Colts Mike Vander Jagt was the NFL leader in efficiency, we would all be chanting for Peyton Manning to “cut that meat” as he and the affable Tony Dungy would go on to win Super Bowl 40. However, the announcer(s) comment did take place, and Vander Jagt missed. After Mikey choked, he removed his helmet and pouted like a 5^th grader and slammed his helmet, revealing his ear ring that would have been a perfect match with a cheesy designer jacket and an 87 Trans-Am. Then, the evil characters in the yellow pants celebrated. Then they beat Denver.

            When Pittsburgh put the final nail in the Bronco coffin, we Ohions were forced into thinking about the unavoidable truth.: our enemy, and their annoying ways of styling hair, had advanced to the big-time. Bill Cowher’s stupid mustache. Polamalu’s soul-glo haircut. Rothelsburger’s ridiculous beard. And Hynes Ward and Jerome Bettis…well, everything about them is painfully annoying. I might just rent “My Best Friend’s Wedding” and soak in some Calgon.

Seatle vs. The Team That WILL NOT BE NAMED? Come on…

            Well, upset or not, Ohioans will not be skipping the battle in Detroit. We’ll be cheering harder than any Seahawks fan has ever cheered out of pure spite. Spite, Jerry, Spite. And after all, the Rolling Stones are playing at halftime.

            The Stones once sang the lyrics, “you make a grown man cry.” Well, if the thugs wearing black and gold win next Sunday, Mick Jagger may be quite accurate. We’ll see.