One and two...

There really isn't much to say. I don't have enough fingers I can use to point.

During the last four-and-a-half minutes of the game, Heather and I held hands. I created a fist and she created a fist and we didn't let go. The Steelers were up by five. At one point in the fourth quarter, they had an 11-point lead. Then the Bengals scored on a touchdown run. Cedric Benson untouched.

That's okay, I thought. We get the ball back. We'll kill the clock. Then game over.

But we didn't. We didn't do anything with the ball, other than give it right back to the Bengals.

Then the clock ticked and slipped and dove, and the Bengals came closer and closer by the second while Heather and I clutched one another, eyes glued to the TV. My body was so tense I was a shaking statue.

"We need an interception," Heather kept saying.

Interception. Fumbled. Turnover. Anything. I'll take anything.

Then the Bengals were in our Red Zone and they faced Fourth-and-Two.

"This is it. This is it," I said, recalling memories of the Steelers Defense glory moments of stuffing opponents in the most emotional times.

But Paler threw a short pass for a first.

Then first down, no yards. Second down, no yards. Third down, no yard.

Okay.

Okay.

This is it. Stop them here and we won. Forty-two seconds left on the clock. Get the ball back on downs and we win.

But Palmer does it again. He throws a short pass to his right to a running back. James Farrior flies in. He tackles the running back in mid-air and ...

UGH! First down. He dove and made it just enough.

Now they were inside the five. I knew what would happen. I couldn't watch but I did anyway.

Bengals throw a touchdown, wide open in the middle of the endzone. It was absolutely disgusting. Absolutely appalling that we would blow such a big lead so late in the game.

We had demolished the Bengals in almost all phases for most of the game and we let them hang around. The Bengals had NEGATIVE TEN YARDS in the first quarter, for goodness sake! Then what happened? We settled for field goals instead of driving in for touchdowns. We didn't possess the ball when it counted the most. We didn't have a big enough hammer to slam down the nail on the coffin when we had the chance.

And there were plenty of chances...

The deep pass to Wallace could have been a big bomb for a touchdown, but instead the pass was on the outside and forced the receiver out of bounds. That perfect strike to Sweed in the endzone, he smacks the ground with his elbow and the ball pops out. That dumb interception that could have been to a wide open Santonio Holmes...

All of these moments are like little demons taunting me, and all I keep hearing in my head is the chirping voices of bandwagoneers singing,"who dey? who dey? steelers pooped a stinky! who dey? who dey?"

And again, it was yet another one of those moments where I realize that I'm letting football rule my life.

Fortunately, right after the game, as disgusted as I felt, I went straight to the Bible with Heather. We read a few chapters from Joshua. And it calmed me down. And it was yet another pudgy finger -- this time pointed at me -- reminding me where my focus should be on Sunday.