With apologies to Coach Tomlin, William Shakespeare and his St. Crispin's Day Speech from Henry V (1599)

Steeler Nation. O that we now had here
Mike Wallace, or but tens of those millions of dollars those men in Washington, Tampa, Detroit or Arizona
That would pay high wages for men who do no work to-day!

Coach Tomlin. What's he that wishes so?
My cousins Steeler Nation? No, my fair cousins;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our Pittsburgh City loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.

God's will! I pray thee, wish not for one dollar more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my helmets wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.

No, faith, my coz, wish not a man nor dollar from those wretched cities.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!

Rather proclaim it, Steeler Nation, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let Wallace depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.

This season is call'd the quest for the Seventh Lombardi.
He that outlives the final day, and comes safe home from New Orleans,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Sacred Seventh XLVII.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say "To-morrow is Sacred Seventh XLVII Day."

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say "These wounds I had on that long ago day"
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day.

Then shall our names, familiar in his mouth as household words-
Big Ben, Antonio, Sanders and Redman,
Lewis, Troy, Allen and Spence, Pouncey, DeCastro, Colon and Rainey
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.

This story shall the good man teach his son;
And the anniversary of the sacred Seventh, XLVII shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;

And the gentlemen Wallace where-ever now-a-bed
Shall think to himself accurs'd he were not here,
And hold his manhood cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Sacred Seventh XLVII's day.