Leading up to the draft, we’ll be giving you exclusive inside access to the war rooms of various teams across the league. Today: the Pittsburgh Steelers.
[The Steelers new head coach Mike Tomlin retires to bed after a wearying day of draft board analysis and administering Kendall Simmons' Flintstones chewable insulin.]
Mike Tomlin: If I get one more letter written on a Primanti Brothers napkin demanding we draft Paul Posluszny, I'm going to exude quiet confidence in a slightly less cool fashion. Like I imagine Delroy Lindo might if he got gyped on ketchup packets at a Chick-Fil-A.
Maybe there's a possible compromise with Levi Brown. That way, we can drop Max Starks off the Clemente Bridge, and the braying yinzers get their Penn State prospect.
[Tomlin yawns, shuts eyes]
[Jarring sound of chains rattling]
Tomlin: Ahhh! Fuck! That better not be you again, Colbert. I swear to God, I'll tell the Rooneys to send you back to Detroit.
Apparition: No, it ain't the GM, man.
Tomlin: Oh shit! A ghost! A ghost of a nondescript black man! You're scary because you have higher blood pressure than regular ghosts!
Apparition: I can't believe you don't recognize me.
Tomlin: Beasley Reese?
Apparition: Fuck no, I'm not Beasley Reese. You never heard of Jefferson Street Joe Gilliam. I used to be the quarterback of the team you're now coaching, way back in the '70s.
Tomlin: Oh, right. The Jeffersons were huge in the '70s. That Wheezy was a trip.
Gilliam: Okay. You clearly have no idea who I fuck I am. But you would if the Steelers had kept me as the starting QB like they should have. The Steel Curtain won four rings with a mediocre hick who only had two more career TDs than picks. Who knows how many more they could have gotten with me? That could be my bloated ass during movie scenes in a whirlpool with Kathy Bates.
Tomlin: Okay, maybe you were better than Bradshaw. What does that have to do with me?
Gilliam: You gotta draft a black quarterback. Trade up and get Russell.
Tomlin: But the Steelers already had a black starting QB for five seasons. I mean, shouldn't I just promote Charlie Batch to first string? It's not like Cowher shouldn't have done it at least five different times last year. He did play better than Roethlisberger.
Gilliam: That light-skinned motherfucker? Your white QB is more mobile than he is. And don't try that Kordell Stewart shit on me. That was like Hattie McDaniel winning an Oscar for Gone With the Wind. She only had to play a servant. I'm pretty sure Kordell was servicing Cowher thrice daily. I've been waiting for decades for this team to get a black head coach so the Steelers could get a respectable black QB under center. I had to trade my Super Bowl rings to get crack rocks, man. But because I wasn't starter, I only got two rings. Think of all the rocks I lost out on.
Tomlin: But, see, here's thing and I've given this some thought: a successful black QB would be nice but it's no longer a novel thing in the league. No, I'm implementing the blackest, gay-bashingest defense ever seen in the NFL, Tony Dungy's Tampa 2. For too long, this team and its cavalcade of crusty white defensive coordinators have embraced the wan, soulless 3-4 scheme. Nothing would more subvert the anglocentric status quo than if I took a defensive end like Adam Carriker in the draft, thus changing the beloved defensive set to a 4-3 and imposing a system forged from superior black intellect.
Gilliam: Dungy? I remember hearing about that cat on the Steelers a few years after I left. Smart, smart guy and just about the most harrowing menace to homosexuals I've seen outside of a Joe Gibbs team. I like your thinking, Brother Tomlin.
[Gilliam's ghost slowly dissipates]
Tomlin: Fuck that shit. I'm taking a cornerback. Ike Taylor can eat a decade-rotted dick with extra cajun cocksauce.