And the capri sweatpants...
This asshole was calling for the Steelers to challenge Santonio Holmes' near touchdown in the first quarter, and I'm like "WHY??!?!" You have four tries to punch the ball in from the six-fucking-inch line". Of course, the challenge totally backfired and they ruled the play an incomplete pass, at which point, my compatriots and I enjoyed a hearty guffaw.
He was walking around the bar chanting "Let's go Steelers (clap, clap, clap clap clap)" when Willis McGahee was on the ground with a huge crowd gathered around him, which NEVER happens in a football game unless someone is seriously fucked up. After the vicious hit Ryan Clark laid on him, McGahee was splayed on the field, vacillating between twitching spasmodically and laying totally motionless. It was eerie to every person in Bourbon Street except this incomprehensible piece of shit.
We actually watched the game with some Italian kids we met the night before named Ricardo, Ricardo and Eduardo (did I mention I'm not gay?), and fulfilled our offer to extol the virtues of American Football to them. They couldn't understand why there were so many commercials, but were thoroughly impressed by the ridiculous brutality of the "match", as they continued to call it.
When we walked into McAleer's Pub, our waitress asked how we were doing, to which I responded "Not as good as you..."
Nothing prettier than snow in the city.
Good night, great weekend.