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The Internal Steelers Struggle: Week 3 vs. the Bears

The voices in my head are having their weekly discussion about the Steelers. Which, of course, means I’ll be arguing with myself inside thirty seconds.

NFL: Minnesota Vikings at Pittsburgh Steelers Charles LeClaire-USA TODAY Sports

Me (my rational side), Myself (my hyperactive, homerish, irrational side) and I (dumber than three-dollar bill) are back at it again. This time, we talk about thrashing the Vikings in week two, plus predictions for week three.

The Vikings have a strong defense, and the Steelers just hung 26 points on them. How do you feel?

Me: Well, [points at Myself] Grumpus Maximus is actually smiling, so I assume he enjoyed the game.

Myself: I enjoyed watching Case Keenum run for his life all day long.

Me: The Steelers only managed two sacks, though. If I recall correctly, you once said anything less than five is unacceptable.

Myself: I guess I’m getting soft in our old age.

Me: We’re only 37.

Myself: [Looks at I] Well, he has the mentality of a six-year-old.

I: [Stops spinning in circles to answer] I do not!

Myself: Case rested, your honor.

I: You’re a poopyhead!

Myself: Anyway, in football years, 37 is, like, 174.

Me: So what does that make James Harrison?

Myself: Older than dirt. Do you want to tell him?

Me: As badly as I want Chuck Norris to kick me in the juevos. What else did you like about the game?

Myself: Martavis Bryant is a god among men.

Me: I really, really, really hate agreeing with you, but I think I have to.

Myself: Yeah, but you’re kinda stealin’ my hyperbole-laced thunder if you don’t find some other way to say it.

Me: [Rolls his eyes] Oy vey. Okay...Martavis is an exceptional talent.

Myself: Better. But you need to tone it down more. You’re too boring to pull off “exceptional” without looking like you’re trying too hard.

Me: [Glares silently]

Myself: Now it’s too boring, even for you. You have to say something.

Me: [Slowly, mocking someone struggling with English]

Myself: Nailed it! Now you sound like yourself.

Me: [Looks at I] You’re right, little buddy.

I: [Stops spinning again, stumbling from dizziness] About -- [catches his balance] — about what?

Me: He’s a poopyhead.

It’s only been two weeks, but the Steelers’ defense is third in the entire league in total yards. What’s the difference from 2016?

Myself: Um...they’re giving up fewer yards per game, genius. What the heck kind of question is that??

Me: [Shakes his head] I think it’s specifically asking what caused that change, you twit.

Myself: [Thinks for a moment] Who is actually asking those questions, anyway?

Me: [Looks confused] ...I...really don’t know.

Me & Myself: [Both look at I]

Myself: No. No way it’s Doofy the Wonder-Derp.

Me: I said “derp” last week and you made fun of me for it.

Myself: Well, now I said it. So now it’s cool. Oops, sorry. Squares like you would say it’s “hip”. [Makes air quotes with his fingers]

Me: Do not drag Huey Lewis into this. He’s done nothing to you!

Myself: Awww, that’s sweet. Your “heart of rock and roll is still beating” for him.

Me: Get back to the question, you brainless prat.

Myself: “Twit” and “brainless prat”. Your insult game is [mockingly] en fuego tonight, Bro.

Me: [Glares] Anyway...

Myself: Look, this is the best front seven in football, by far. Cameron Heyward is unstoppable, Stephon Tuitt may be even better than Heyward once he gets back, Ryan Shazier is a friggin’ blur on the field, and Vince Williams is a run-stopping machine.

Me: Hype level: Expert.

Myself: I haven’t even mentioned Bud Dupree and T.J. Watt yet, man. Those guys get after a quarterback like a dog chasing bacon balls.

Me: But the Jaguars have 11 sacks already, and the Broncos, Lions and Panthers are all 2-0 and allowing 60 yards rushing per game or less.

Myself: [Quietly and menacingly] So? What’s your point?

Me: Just that there are several other teams with very good fronts right now.

Myself: [Gets right in Me’s face and quietly speaks] Do you want to take this outside?

Me: Exactly how are we going to do that? Through an ear canal?

Myself: [Glares]

Me: Okay, timeout. We have a great front seven. Maybe the best, or at least most-complete, in the league. Happy?

Myself: Better.

Me: Alright, what do you think about the secondary?

Myself: Playing lights-out. They’re the best ever. They—

Me: Oh, good Lord.

What about predictions for week three against the Bears?

Me: We should win handily, but probably not by the kind of margin a lot of people think. We just seem to struggle on the road, especially early in the season.

Myself: [Looks dumbfounded] Dude, do you make a regular habit of listening to those stupid voices in your head?

Me: “Dude”, we are the voices in someone’s head.

Myself: [Looks like he’s trying to figure out the square root of pi in his head] That’s very...

I: [Very studiously] Existential.

Me & Myself: [Look at each other in confusion]

Myself: Did you teach him that word?

Me: Nope.

Myself: Me either. Could it be he’s not as dumb as he looks?

Me: He looks just like me. And like you.

Myself: Yeah, but he’s got that thousand-yard stare, and he has never — not even once — zipped his fly without getting his shirt stuck in it.

Me: Yeah, when he remembers to zip it at all.

I: Hey! Forgetfulness is a sign of a genius!

Myself: Forgetting where you left your glasses, maybe. Not forgetting to get undressed before you shower.

I: I only did that once!

Myself: You’ve done it three times this week, kid.

I: Oh yeah. I forgot.

Myself: [Facepalm]

Me: Back to the topic. Predictions for the score?

Myself: I think we will score 34 points.

Me: That’s...surprisingly rational. I’m proud of y—

Myself: Before halftime.

Me: Last week, you said 77-3.

Myself: See? I was close.

Me: You were off by 57 points.

Myself: But I correctly surmised the Steelers would cover the spread.

Me: Careful — if you move those goal posts any closer, it’ll be an automatic safety.

Myself: What about you, oh Boring One?

Me: It’s not gonna be anywhere near what you think.

Myself: Let go of the Ford Escort, the unbuttered toast and daily doses of Metamucil! Live on the edge, man!

Me: Fine, 31 to 13.

Myself: By the end of the first quarter,or the first half?

Me: The game, Einstein.

Myself: Never gonna happen.

Me: Says the guy whose prediction for last week was off by more points than the game’s over/under.

Myself: It’s not about being right, man. It’s about being bold.

Me: Then you’re the all-time champ.

Myself: At being bold?

Me: At being wrong.