Screw You, Cowher

Dear Bill Cowher:

Well, you went ahead and did it. I didn’t think you actually would but you did.

At last night’s Penguins-Hurricanes game, you stood there in your bright red shirt and flashed those pearly white Chiclets while proudly going about your organ grinder monkey routine. Good for you, Bill. Way to fire up that crowd of 25,000 bandwagon jumpers.

I could almost live with this bit of mutiny against the ‘Burgh. Almost.  I mean, you did bring your usual Coach Cowher Touch of losing every Championship Game at home to your new favorite team as the Pens obliterated the sadly overmatched Hurricanes to earn another trip to the Stanley Cup finals.  But when MILFtastic Chris Simpson gave you a chance to explain your actions, that was one more insult than I could bear.

So you talked to Mario Lemeiux before the game, huh? I’m sure Mario was thinking what we’ve all been thinking, “Myself and my franchise has done nothing but support this clown and his team for 15 years. And he can’t stay neutral for one playoff series?  Whatta dick.

Newsflash, Bill:  you were born and raised in Pittsburgh.  Nobody would’ve asked you to crank their stupid little siren if it weren’t for the fact you coached in this city. How about trying to remember that on your way home to that multi-million dollar mansion in the middle of nowhere (which I guess is redundant when talking about Raleigh)?

So, you’re from North Carolina now? Really?  Perhaps you weren’t aware of this, Bill, but that sea of Black and Gold you saw whenever your Pittsburgh Steelers played on the road? They didn’t travel there, the live there. You see, Pittsburghers may leave their city but they never leave their loyalties.  That’s what separates the greatest sports city in the United States from everywhere else.  I wonder what happened to you.

The final insult was your answer to whether you’d support the Pens in the finals. “I’m an Eastern Conference guy.” Wow, could you be any more apathetic? This was your home most of your adult life and that’s all the enthusiasm you can muster for your hometown team? Next time just keep your pathetic support to yourself. We don’t need it.

In summation, Bill, you’re nothing to me now. You’re not a brother, you’re not a friend. I don’t want to know you or what you do. I don’t want to see you at the hotels, I don’t want you near my house. When you return to Crafton to see your mother, I want to know a day in advance, so I won’t be anywhere near there.  You’re dead to me.  Understand?

Signed,

Steeler Nation

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