The road to the Super Bowl

Yesterday’s losers in the National Football League (NFL) Wild Card round were the first two teams to fall on the road to the Super Bowl.

Those were the words spoken by Angelo Pomposelli, Jr. — the oldest of the Farrell cousins — when the third generation of our family sat down to partake of his father’s delicious Italian cuisine.

We were gathered at Aunt Kathy’s ranch-style home at the corner of Overholt and Sherrick drives in North Huntingdon, Pennsylvania, celebrating another Farrell Family Christmas where 29 family members spanning three generations were as snug as a bug in a rug, safe from the howling wind and freezing temperatures outside.

While there were numerous topics of conversation happening in almost every room throughout the three-bedroom, two-bath house, the prospects of the two-time Super Bowl Champs making a resurgence to appear at the big dance were definitely the most popular, especially around the dining room table.

You could almost feel the excitement in the air.

“The Pittsburgh Steelers are definitely going to win the championship this season,” announced Patrick Pomposelli with an air of certainty as he placed another scrumptious bit of five-layer lasagna dripping with ricotta cheese on his fork. “Not only do they have the best record in the American Football Conference with 14 wins and only two losses, but they also have the best record in the entire NFL; so, my money’s on the Steel Curtain to take the Lombardi Trophy this year.”

They would become the very first team to win three NFL championships in the Super Bowl era!

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” cautioned Lori Farrell with a skeptical look splashed across her face before sinking those teeth into a buttery piece of garlic bread. “Since the Houston Oilers spanked the Miami Dolphins 17-9 in yesterday’s wild card game, they might just knock Pittsburgh out of this horse race before it’s all said and done; because they were one of two teams that beat the Steelers during the regular season.”

That was during the regular season, but this is for all the marbles; so, they’re going to bring their ‘A’ game.

“I totally agree with Michael,” declared John, wagging an index finger into the air after snatching the Coca-Cola from the center of the table to refill his empty glass. “Considering the playoffs are on a whole other level, the Steelers and Count Dracula in cleats are going to be at the top of their game, especially since they fell short to the Denver Broncos 34-21 in the first round of the playoffs last season.”

“My mother actually met Jack Lambert,” I proclaimed with eyes as big as saucers while helping myself to another piece of cheesy lasagna from the casserole dish. “When I smashed my face into a tree two Christmases ago, he came to Children’s Hospital in Pittsburgh with his teammates Jack Ham and Andy Russell; but I didn’t get to see them, because I was in the middle of surgery.”

You say that like you’re a doctor or something.

“Well, my nickname is Marcus Welby, M.D.,” I noted, licking my fingers upon glancing over at Bryan Farrell on the opposite side of the oval table. “But the point I was attempting to make is that I wouldn’t want to meet any one of them in a dark alley; and their next game is going to be like an alley fight, so they’ll come out fighting like cats and dogs.”

It’s going to be brutal!

Didn’t you get an autographed photo of the Men of Steel?

Yes, siree Bob; and it’s in a gold frame sitting on the bookcase hutch above the writing desk in my bedroom.

You’re one lucky duck.

“Tell that to my face,” I quipped with a sarcastic tone, wiping a dab of marinara sauce off my upper lip with a napkin. “I would’ve rather not received that autographed photo if it meant I wouldn’t have had a fractured skull, smashed cheekbones and a broken nose with blood gushing out my eyes, nose and mouth.”

He’s got you there, Jeff.

“Yeah,” stated Miss Independence Day, raising her voice as she meticulously soaked up the marinara sauce on her plate with a bite of garlic bread. “Since I was an eyewitness to the events of that horrific day, you would not have been envious of our resident doctor’s lifeless body lying at the bottom of that steep hill; so, I’m just lucky I didn’t toss my cookies right there on the spot.”

Eww… we’re trying to eat here!

That snarky remark was followed by contagious laughter which went all the way around the large table.

During the course of the mouthwatering meal, which was very satisfying to our collective stomachs, the Italian stallion himself sauntered into the makeshift dining hall to check on our progress.

“How’s everyone doing in here?” questioned Angelo Pomposelli Sr., flashing his pearly whites prior to taking the spatula from my younger sister Kathleen to put another piece of lasagna on her plate. “Let me help you with that, so this saucy concoction doesn’t end up on your pretty red dress with ruffles; because no one wants to see your mother have a complete meltdown on Christmas Day.”

This is the best Christmas dinner ever!

That’s my Susie Q, always dishing out the compliments.

Once everyone had their fill of the day’s menu specialty at Uncle Angelo’s would-be Italian bistro, the talkative bunch crowded into the kitchen to load up on an assortment of delicatessen-style pastries prior to heading off to their next stop on the itinerary.

When these close-knit cousins filed down the enclosed basement staircase with a Tupperware container filled with Grandma Tippy-toes’ baked goods, their parents and grandparents could hear them jubilantly singing “We Are the Champions” by the British rock band Queen.

It was an overture for things to come.

Nearly four weeks to the day later, the Pittsburgh Steelers clashed with the Dallas Cowboys in Super Bowl XIII at the Miami Orange Bowl in Miami, Florida, and prevailed in a 35-31 squeaker to take home the coveted Lombardi Trophy.