Reflecting on the ‘05 championship

The year before, Big Ben’s rookie season, I told my mum in the car that the Stillers were going to win the Super Bowl. She laughed me off, but I doubled down, betting they’d only lose one game. And, yes, indeedy, they did: a 15–1 regular season record, and losing to Tom Brady in what would become the second of three AFC Championship heartbreaks.

I remember the tackle. I remember the feeling of destiny. And I remember Super Bowl XL being relatively easy — who the fuck were the Seahawks and Matt Hasselbeck? The gray and drab Reebok “Super Bowl Champions” hats were everywhere. I had one, plus the official T-shirt the NFL markets 30 seconds after the clock hits zero-zero-zero and the confetti falls. The winning quarterback looks to the rafters like their glory is eternal, and then somebody shoves a mic and camera in their face to ask, “(So-and-so), you and the (so-and-so’s team) just won the Super Bowl! What are you going to do next?” Contractually, they extol, “I’m going to Disney World!”

That was Hines Ward — number 86, Psycho Ward — who would knock your block off with a shit-eating grin and do it again. He drove home in what I swore was a pearl-white Cadillac Escalade, the award for Super Bowl XL MVP, but it was one of the first 2007 models from the assembly line, jet-black. Big Ben threw zero touchdowns and two picks. That’s why every highlight reel shows Antwaan Randle El’s 43-yard trick-play touchdown pass to Ward — the half-Korean, half-Black wideout from Georgia whose Hall-of-Fame smile must be enshrined.

Shout out to Ike Taylor for an interception and two pass deflections, wreaking havoc like a true number 24 lockdown corner. Clark Haggans — may he rest in peace and victory — had a sack. So did Deshea Townsend (we’ve been running that corner blitz for decades; Mike Hilton mastered it and got paid for it, just not by us — mistake). Casey Hampton, the big fella in the middle, ate double teams like pierogies.

I was a 10-year-old and in fifth grade. “One for the thumb.” You’re born into this. Family bloodlines run black and yellow. My first game was at Three Rivers. I don’t remember the players or the score — just the tunnel: dim lights, damp concrete, Steel City cold. We dominated long before I knew yinz, and the city was waiting with bated breath to secure its fifth football championship after a 25-year drought.