Shoulda Made Soup

So now, I really don’t care about the Steelers.

(Well, unless they can run off eight straight victories to finish 10-6; that should make the playoffs.)

I thought I had pulled out all the stops yesterday: I did all my chores; I laid out the Terrible Towel upon which I set out Mom’s and Dad’s rings and watches; I even cracked a Rolling Rock at kickoff.

But still the Black n’ Gold looked more like the black and blue: six turnovers, including something like four in the Red Zone. Once again, the Steelers dominate a team statistically, but end up on the short end of the final score.

I’m thinking that Pittsburgh used up all their luck last year; I guess that’s worth it, given the Superbowl title and all.

Or maybe Mom and Dad out there in the universal ether just don’t care anymore—having gotten their “one for the thumb” and so aren’t channeling good vibes through their jewelry these days.

I think the real problem, though, is that I didn’t make soup during the game.

Instead of preparing a hearty dinner for my family and listening to the contest on Internet radio, I mostly sat on my ass (by far the best place to sit, in any case) watching it on the tube. Had I been in kitchen, I’m sure the football gods would have been kinder to my team.

I tried to make something happen in the fourth quarter when the Steelers were down eight; with six minutes to go, I left my warm dry sitting room to watch Mimi’s soccer game, thinking surely that would surely be the sacrifice needed to propel my boys to victory.

But even that didn’t work; Hines Ward fumbled in the end zone, a sure sign that the Steelers were done for.

So I came home and made soup anyway; it was a longshot to be sure, but how else are they gonna start their winning streak?