KSK Reader Mail Bukkake: You Don't Bring Me Cowhers

KSK Reader Mail Bukkake technically falls under the purview of Big Daddy Drew, but he, likely figuring I don't natter on extensively or obnoxiously enough about the Steelers, thought I should field this one:

What is wrong with Bill Cowher? He's been acting like he's on Xanax all season. Remember when he used to physically threaten Josh Miller for a shank? How about when he came oh so close to pulling a Woody Hayes on MNF against the Jags? The time he stuffed a photo showing he hadn't had 12 guys on the field into a ref's shirt? Now his Super Bowl champs can't even beat the Raiders and he stands there with his arms folded, smiling benignly. He's not even 50; he's got his wife and kids out of the house. He should be having the time of his life. Do you think he just still hasn't gotten over the fact Brokeback Mountain got screwed out of a Best Picture Oscar?

-- James and Amy C.

Let me begin by saying I hope Frottager Freddy gets his clammy, semen-encrusted hands on Josh Miller. That fucker gave me nightmares for years when he was a Steeler and I'm pretty sure he cost us the 2001 AFC Championship Game. He goes to New England and all of a sudden becomes one of the league's better punters. Stupid fucktaster. And now the Steelers have Chris NEVER HAD A PUNT BLOCKED EVAH Gardocki, who makes up for that proud distinction by kicking the ball 30-35 yards every time.

Anyway, the Cowher malaise, in my opinion, has been going on for years. It's funny you mention Brokeback Mountain because I know for a fact that Cowher never saw it. Once he found out Kordell Stewart lost out on Heath Ledger's role, he lost all interest. According to Ang Lee: "if we wanted a effeminate black guy with scar tissue, we'd get Seal instead of a sorry, former NFL quarterback. And, uh, sorry about the movie about the green Shawne Merriman"

The anger-fueled Cowher meltdowns you mentioned all happened in the late-'90s to the early aughts, or, namely, during the Kordell era. And who could blame him? The man was an emotional wreck, deep in the throes of soul-consuming, heart-rending jungle love. Why do you think he would never bench the guy? Sure, it would give them more time to spoon on the sidelines, but Cowher wanted to see his man be the strong, successful gay black man he knew Kordell could be.

The aforementioned incident in Jacksonville, when Cowher tried to maim the Jaguar player who returned the blocked potential winning field goal for a TD, happened Week 4 of the 1997 season, or the first year Kordell was the starting QB. Don't nobody embarass Cowher's bitch.

But eventually the fans got between the lachrymose quarterback and his jutting-chined lover, sundering their glorious bond. Kordell, heartbroken, dashed off to Chicago and Cowher had a brief, regretable fling with a turkey-necked insurance agent, before he stumbled upon an Ohio-bred lunkhead to call his own.

Things didn't go well for Swish Stewart in the Windy City or Baltimore (Omar from The Wire wasn't digging him). Soon, he began to resent the success that Ben and Coach Billy were having. He made a proclamation before the 2004 playoffs that the running game and coaching would break down when it mattered for Ben. He was right, of course, but only for so long: Roethlisberger and Cowher became Super Bowl champions in 2005, while Kordell eventually accepted that Kyle Boller was just too gay, even for him.

This year, Roethlisberger and Cowher, having tasted success, have slowed things down to try to rekindle the loin fire from the Kordell years. Roethlisberger attempts to arouse his coach the way Kordell did by throwing the ball directly to defenders and Cowher, in turn, never benches him for doing so. The the dynamic isn't the same, though. Cowher is used to being a dom and Roethlisberger is too damn butch, with all his motorcycling and drinking beer, not appletinis, with women. The Week 1 make out session with Joey Porter only served to further remind him how much he needed his brown skin baby.

You could tell the passion was waning even before this year. Observe Cowher's reaction to the worst call in any game ever. He looks peevish for a moment, then mutters something to a coordinator. Time was, he'd have his foot a yard up Pete Morelli's ass before the teams could line up for the next play.

So, when they cut to the sideline and Cowher stands there passively, armed crossed and a look of mild constipation on his face, know that at the end of that 1,000-yard stare is some jet black scar tissue beckoning him toward his retirement home in Fire Island North Carolina.