Thunder roared. The house shook. Chaos and fury filled the air.

That's how I knew the Buffalo Bills had lost the Superbowl for the fourth year in a row.

Quite a few years later, the cool New England air filled with ecstacy. People jumped from car to car in downtown Boston traffic and two million people gathered in government center.

A man named Bill had won the Superbowl.

I was convinced this year that my family's allegiance to all things Bill had gone out with the trash. My old man lost his faith in his hometown Bills and his college team mate Bill's Patriots.

But big, bad Bill Cowher and the Steelers play the kind of football pop warner kids dream of playing.

It's three strikes and your out, not four downs, for anyone or anything named Bill.