💣Now the Time Is Here for Iron Man to Spread Fear 🤖
Re-signed him.
Which implies incorrectly that we all remembered he was here in the first place.
Hello, older pop radio listeners; you've been through a lot. You survived disco backlash, the transition from vinyl to CDs, and the horrifying realization that classic rock stations now play Nirvana. But asking America to emotionally process Aaron Rodgers in Pittsburgh is an AI bridge too far. Half the city still talks about Terry Bradshaw like he’s warming up in the parking lot. The other half is trying to remember if Rodgers already played a season here, or if that was just a peyote vision during a weather delay.
And isn’t he… old?
Not experienced. Not seasoned veteran leadership. Old. NFL old. Cleopatra-looking-at-the-pyramids old. Aaron Rodgers now carries the energy of a man who gives long speeches about consciousness, while standing in the vitamin aisle at Whole Foods. Somewhere between snaps, you expect him to explain that Mercury being in retrograde affected the offensive line.
But maybe that’s the strategy.
Rodgers has famously discussed psychedelics and expanded consciousness as tools for personal growth and overcoming fears. Which raises an important football question: can ayahuasca cure a deep-rooted fear of losing to the Cleveland Browns?
Because Pittsburgh fans have seen things.
Every Steelers season now feels like a lava lamp filled with unresolved trauma. One minute you’re beating Baltimore in the snow; the next minute some backup quarterback from Cleveland throws for 400 yards, while the camera zooms in on confused fans dressed like 1978 never ended.
Maybe the front office believes Rodgers can guide the team spiritually. Not to the Super Bowl necessarily, but perhaps toward astral projection. Maybe the new offensive scheme involves aligning chakras instead of blocking assignments.
Speaking of which: who is the coach now?
Seriously. Who is it?
Every NFL offseason now resembles one of those AM radio station giveaways where callers have to identify a song from three drumbeats. Congratulations, you correctly guessed the Steelers' head coach! You’ve won tickets to Styx and a coupon for freezer-burned pierogies.
The identity of the Steelers coach has become less a fact and more a philosophical suggestion. Mike Tomlin was there so long he became part of the angry landscape, like the lawn chairs and potholes. Replacing him feels unnatural, like replacing the moon with an energy drink logo.
Which brings us to the real question haunting Pittsburgh sports bars at 1:17 in the morning:
What was Charlie Batch doing?
You’re telling me Charlie Batch couldn’t emerge from a mysterious fog machine, along the Monongahela River, in sunglasses and a Kangol and lead one final glorious, nonsensical campaign? The city would’ve accepted it immediately! No questions asked. Pittsburgh loves nothing more than familiar quarterbacks and emotional denial.
Instead, it's Aaron Rodgers wandering into town like a traveling cosmic philosopher with a spiral notebook full of mushroom observations and third-down audibles.
Maybe it’ll work. Maybe the Steelers will win it all.
