“Don't Blink!” A First Hand Testimonial Of The Steelers-Ravens Rivalry
“So what’s the difference between us? We can start at the penis, or we can scream, “I don't give a fuck!” and see who means it."
-Eminem
What’s the difference by Dr. Dre, wasn't just a song to me. It was my battle cry.
I would sit in my locker quietly blasting this song in my headphones with my wrists taped up, my jersey stuck to my shoulder pads, and my eyes closed. Mentally trying to align my mind, my heart, and my nuts together.
You see, this was a process I couldn't skip.
And when it was time to play the Baltimore Ravens, I needed to be centered. I needed those five minutes before I took the field against the meanest, ugliest, and rowdiest assholes in the NFL.
My heart is pounding and I need to control my breathing. Constantly reminding myself that it’s not about what you say behind these locker room doors, it’s about what you are willing to do to make these assholes tapout.
Don't blink, knuckle-up, and bang.
Dec 24, 2006, 1:00 pm was my first start as a Pittsburgh Steeler. Yes, one day before Christmas.
Merry Christmas mother-fucker. You're playing against the Ravens, the #1 ranked defense in the NFL.
Prior to this game, I was working on earning the respect of my teammates. I hadn’t played a single snap in the NFL. I was just a battle-ready rookie biting at the bit to play. Most of my teammates saw me as a tough kid from South Bronx who didn't take any shit. I earned that reputation because I had a couple of fights in training camp and in practice. Add in a backroom scuffle at Morton's Steakhouse at my rookie dinner when me and Chucky Okobi (our back up center at the time) decided to throw hands. Long story short: He came at me side ways and I didn't like it, so I did something about it.
Will talk about that night another time. Those incidents alone would lead people to believe that I was about that life. We shall see.
Back to that first game- As I walked down the sideline with the rest of my offensive line, I was ambushed out of nowhere by Tyrone Carter, a defensive back. Tyrone was a tough S.O.B. with a big mouth. I liked him a lot because had a chip on his shoulder like I did.
As I looked down at him, he slapped my shoulder pads and screamed in my face, “You a bad mother fucker right? Well, let’s see it! We all watching!"
And he was right. My whole family was at the game. My college coaches and old teammates were watching from home, glued to their TVs. And every other "Willie Colon from the Bronx" wanted to see one of their own gracing the big stage.
As I watched us kickoff, I looked up to the sky and I said to myself, "No more talking. Let's see what you got, Colon. God doesn’t make mistakes, so show up."
I walked onto the field for the first time, I looked up, and there they were: A bunch of purple fire breathing assassins. Seriously, these dudes were killers. Literally. You know who I’m talking about
The huddle breaks. I’m playing right tackle at the time, and there goes a 6’6' 290-pound ass-kicker who went by name of Trevor Pryce. He wore #93 for the Ravens, and, oh, by the way, he’s from Brooklyn.
I can’t stand dudes from Brooklyn. It’s a New York thing. Large only gets a pass because he was born in the Bronx.
All week I had been preparing for him. He had an unstoppable pass rush move where he would stand up, rush hard attacking your outside edge, and then violently rip across your face. This would leave you off-balanced as he was blowing by your inside hip.
And so it begins.
3rd down. I know what he's going to do. Hell, he knows I know what he’s about to do. But he doesn't give a shit.
Sure enough, the ball snaps, and there he goes doing everything I knew he would do. What I wasn't prepared for was his ability to carry me to the QB and knocking me and Big Ben both on our asses.
I rolled over and thought Ben was dead.
I can remember saying to myself, "Thank God Ben got rid of the ball." But my offensive line coach at the time was Russ Grimm, who happened to be one of the original hogs with the Washington Redskins. It was an honor and a privilege to be a part of his offensive line, and the look of disgust that fell across Russ' face as I picked myself up from the ground crushed my soul.
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I didn't want to let Russ down, and now he was yelling at me on the bench, “I don't give a fuck if you have to block him with your back turned down, don't let him hit the QB again!” Needless to say, we ended up losing that game and I went home that night feeling like I barely survived a gang initiation.
These two teams have met each other 52 times (including 4 postseason games), with the Steelers winning 28 games and the Ravens winning 24.
This rivalry is as real as it gets.
I wouldn't sleep the week before this game. My anxiety and hate for this team plagued me because I knew this wasn't any other game.
Rivalries like this were why I would slap on extra 45 pound plates in the offseason. It was why we would take those extra gassers in 100-degree heat.
It was the Battle of the Bullies.
The Ravens were the bullies on the block and the Steelers took pride in beating bullies up.
I was able to beat the Ravens three times before I won my Super Bowl back in 2008 against the Arizona Cardinals. And each of those three games was nose to nose, put your foot in the middle of the ring, and let’s knock the living shit out of each other.
This wasn't just about Hines Ward vs Ed Reed, or James Harrison vs Johnathan Ogden, or Ray Lewis vs anybody wearing the black and gold.
This game going down at M&T Bank Stadium at 1 clock is about every man that ever wore a Steelers or Ravens jersey and upholding the standard in which these games must be played.
There was a pact made in blood along time ago between these two teams and it went as follows- Whoever wins this divisional matchup will be king of the AFC North, so don't go gangsta-to-girl once your feet hit the field. Mouthpieces are for pussies. Fuck your feelings. Your manhood will be tested. So don't blink.
The 6x Super Bowl-winning Pittsburgh Steelers will take the field in Baltimore, Maryland… The home of crab cakes and bullet wounds.
And once the ball is kicked off at 1 pm in Baltimore, what’s understood doesn’t need to be said.
May the best bully win.
HERE WE GO