An Open Letter to Ben Roethlisberger

Dear Ben,

I have a little story I want to tell you, so listen up. I suppose I don't have to worry about you interrupting, what with your jaw being broken, and all.

Anyway, the first time in my life that I ever dropped the f-bomb was January 28, 1996. (I was a late bloomer, okay Ben? 10 bucks says you were too.) Does that date sound familiar, Ben? It should. It was Super Bowl XXX, and the context of my curse was calling Neil O'Donnell a "fucking turd" after he threw two interceptions for touchdowns to the Dallas Cowboys' Larry Brown. A dark day in Steelers history, and in my own as well. That's right. I called him a fucking turd. And then I cried so hard I had to stay home from school the next day, but that's neither here nor there. You know why I called him that name, Ben? Because ol' Neil was a disappointment.

And now you. You are nothing but a disappointment to me. You are the 1995 Steelers; you are that time in 1986 that Geraldo Rivera found Al Capone's secret underground vault and opened it on live television to reveal an empty room; you are The Next Karate Kid starring Hilary Swank. You are a disappointment.

Had you been wearing a helmet in yesterday's accident, I'd right now be lighting my Steelers candle (yes I own a Steelers candle, shut up.) and doing a little dance while praying for your safe and speedy recovery. But you weren't wearing a helmet, were you, Ben? No? No, I didn't think so. The worst part of it all is that now people in this city are beginning to deify you--even more so than after the Super Bowl, and that's a scary thing. Robbo even said he heard a doctor on the news say that "no mere mortal could have gotten up and walked away from that accident."

In an aside to the city of Pittsburgh, PULL YOUR GODDAMN HEADS OUT OF YOUR ASSES! Christ. Clearly, Ben Roethlisberger has a very serious invincibility complex, or he wouldn't be riding without a helmet anyway, particularly when his professional career requires him to wear one. Do we really want to perpetuate this? Granted, he's 24 and a hero and a millionaire. I'm 22 and a miserable failure, drowning in debt, but at least I'm smart enough to protect my skull at 45MPH. So let's get real. I propose we start by getting the media the hell off the 10th Street Bridge, because I'm tired of waiting in traffic to get home from work. Honestly, Pittsburgh, don't you see the danger in deifying an idiot like Ben Roethlisberger?

Oops, sorry Ben, you weren't supposed to hear that. But listen up, because this part is important. I am glad you didn't die. I don't like it when people die. I don't wish death on anyone. Death is bad, death is sad, waaah waaah waaah. However (and I know I'm probably going to lose some readership on this, and probably also respect from those who personally know me--but try to bear in mind that I am one of the most obsessive Steelers fans out there) I sort of hope you never play football again. The Steelers will survive without you. We'll sign Kerry Collins or someone to lead us for a year into a mediocre season, and then draft some other flash-in-the-pan hotshot rookie to take over.

And that's that. You'll be a testament to stupidity, a reminder for children of what NOT to be. An anti-role model, if you will. Kids, this is your brain on idiocy--splattered across the 10th Street Bridge.

You fucking turd.

Best wishes,
kT