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The Internal Steelers Struggle: Week 7 vs. the Bengals

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The voices in my head — Me, Myself and I — are at it again in their weekly roundtable. Predictably, it goes south in a hurry.

Pittsburgh Steelers v Chicago Bears Photo by Joe Robbins/Getty Images

The Steelers bring out the best -- and worst — in me. I call them Me (my rational, thoughtful side), Myself (my homeristically obnoxious side) and I (his name is one letter long so he doesn’t forget how to spell it). This week, they discuss the Steelers’ victory over the Chiefs and the upcoming war against the Bengals.

Me: [Sits down and cracks a beer] Ahhhh...now that was a great football game. [Notices a small piece of colored paper on the floor but ignores it]

I: I don’t understand something about it, though.

Me: What’s that, Little Buddy?

I: Why did the guy who hikes the ball throw it past the Chiefs’ quarterback?

Me: That was an accident. It probably happened [sees another strip of colored wafting in the air] because the Steelers were getting into [sees six more multi-colored strips falling] the Chiefs’ heads. What in the...?

I: [Laughs and tries to catch the now hundreds of pieces of paper falling] Why does the air look like a giant pinata exploded?

[WHUMP!]

Me: I...don’t know... [Looks around at the paper, now six inches deep on the floor, that all suddenly fell at once] What just happened...?

Myself: [Walks in wearing a Le’Veon Bell home jersey and tossing candy all over from a bag in his hand] It’s a ticker-tape parade. I threw it together after the Steelers won Sunday evening. [Surveys the mess around himself] Like it?

Me: It was a regular season game.

Myself: It was the Chiefs.

Me: It was week six, man.

Myself: They were the last undefeated team. They are no longer undefeated. That’s grounds for celebration in my book.

Me: Seeing a Steelers sticker in the window of a passing car is grounds for celebration, in your book.

Myself: Your point?

Me: Um...I forgot now.

Myself: Want a fun-sized Twix?

Me: Aww, what the heck. Sure! [Takes the offered candy, then looks around] The paper is still getting deeper.

Myself: So?

Me: [Looks around in the air] But it’s not coming down anymore.

Myself: We’re figments of someone’s demented imagination, but the quantity of ticker tape around us is your big concern?

Me: Good point.

I: You guys?

Me: What’s up, Little Buddy?

I: Why are we here?

Myself: [Looks at Me] That’s a surprisingly existential question for the little dolt.

I: No...I mean...we’re here...but Question Guy never asked a question. We don’t appear until he asks a question.

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

Who do you think dumped the ticker tape, geniuses?

Me: [Looks at Myself] You know, he’s starting to sound an awful lot like you. I don’t think I like that.

Myself: Well, that explains why I like him so much.

Was that the Steelers’ best game so far?

Me: Well, it’s not like the bar was exceedingly high.

Myself: Bro, don’t kill the mood.

Me: They lost to the Jaguars a week before, man. I admit, Jacksonville is much better than they were last year. But they have yet to win consecutive games this year. And the Steelers also lost to the Bears — with Mike Glennon. Like I said: the bar wasn’t exactly sky-high.

Myself: [Voice cracking] And after I did all of this [gestures at the now-waist-deep ticker tape]. For you.

Me: [Raises hands in surrender] Sorry, sorry. You did a great job with the parade. Speaking of, though...where is the actual parade?

Myself: [Gestures at himself] Umm, hello?!

Me: Usually, a parade involves more than one person.

Myself: We’re voices in someone’s head. Do you think I can just conjur up the voices in Antonio Brown’s head and get them to walk past us in here? Or James Harrison’s voices? Hmmm?

Me: Deebo’s voices...that sounds both awesome and terrifying.

Who would win in a fight: James Harrison, or Greg Lloyd?

Myself: Harrison. Easy.

Me: Why is that?

Myself: Lloyd “wasn’t hired for his disposition.” Deebo would bench-press Lloyd’s disposition — in the wee hours of the morning, after getting back to Pittsburgh from a road game. And he’d do it in oversized sweats, too.

I: And look awesome doing it!

The Steelers play the Bengals next. Vontaze Burfict is playing. Should the Steelers worry about their knees or heads?

Me: That’s like asking if the sun will rise in the east. Of course they should watch out.

Myself: He’s like a North Korean ballistic missile: once he’s launched, he’s on auto-pilot, and the time and location of the inevitable crash and burn can’t be predicted, but you know it will happen. The best you can do is pray it doesn’t happen within the vicinity of your loved ones.

Me: That was both terrifying and terrifyingly accurate.

Myself: So, are the Bengals as bad as they looked in the first three weeks, or as bad good as they looked in the two games since?

Me: It depends on who shows up. Will it be Andy Dalton, or Randy Dalton?

I: Who is “Randy” Dalton?

Me: He’s Andy Dalton’s alter-ego.

I: I don’t get it...

Me: Okay...Randy is to Andy what Myself is to me.

I: So...the jackass who makes everyone mad?

Me: [Thinks about it for a moment then nods in approval] That’s a very astute synopsis, Little Buddy. [Looks at Myself] What?

Myself: [Glares wordlessly]

I: So, what am I to you?

Me: Umm...you’re...uh...

Myself: Comedic relief.

Before we go, of course, it’s time for predictions.

Myself: I predict I’m gonna need a lot more ticker tape next week.

I: I predict I won’t get locked in my room by accident again this week.

Me: [Feels a nudge and looks to see that it was Myself]

Myself: [Whispers] Pssst...wanna know a secret?

Me: Sure.

Myself: [Snickers quietly] He didn’t really miss the Jacksonville game because he was locked in his room. That never technically happened.

Me: So, what happened?

Myself: I kept holding the knob so he couldn’t turn it. He was stuck in his room, not locked in.

Me: You really are a jerk, you know that?

Myself: I take pride in my work.

Me: I’m telling him.

Myself: Don’t do that to him, you’ll spoil the mystery for him!

Me: Dude...I predict you’re going to catch a serious beat-down from someone so dumb he can’t tie his own shoes without needing a trip to the emergency room.

Myself: Don’t threaten me with Vontaze Burfict.