Published: October 13, 2026 at 08:12 PM
TAMPA FL — W.P. Rader aka Captain Booty — BuccaneersFan.com
Week 6 Pre-Game Report
"The President’s Not Coming, the Steelers Are and the Captain Wants Something Retractable!"
Pittsburgh Steelers at Tampa Bay Buccaneers
Sunday, October 18, 2026 • 1:00 p.m. ET
Raymond James Stadium • Tampa, Florida
WARNING: The Captain’s escapades, dialogue, and construction schemes are fictional. His confidence in all three is entirely unreasonable.
CHAPTER I: HOME AGAIN AND STILL CELEBRATING!
Somewhere between escaping Texas and explaining why a horse named Bucky had appeared on the ship’s passenger manifest, our Captain discovered something extraordinary.
He was returning to Tampa with a VICTORY.
Not an excuse. Not a promising development. Not another lengthy explanation about how the final score failed to reflect the tremendous progress made during warmups.
A VICTORY!
Tampa Bay’s 24–16 triumph over Dallas had produced 241 rushing yards and a 3–0 turnover advantage. Bucky Irving supplied a career-high 165 rushing yards and two total touchdowns, while Jalon Daniels completed 19 of 25 passes for 189 yards, one touchdown, and no interceptions.
The Captain had celebrated every one of those statistics individually.
By the time he reached home port, the parrot was conducting an emergency inventory.
“Captain, we’ve a problem.”
“Impossible! We won!”
“The rum reserves.”
“What about them?”
“They’re no longer reserves. They’re memories.”
The Captain lowered his telescope.
“Then send a message ashore. Tampa must prepare for an unexpected shortage.”
“Of rum?”
“Of empty bottles. We’ve brought plenty.”
The extra time between games had been described as a mini-bye, which the Captain interpreted as permission to remain in a hammock until someone physically removed him.
Unfortunately, peace aboard the vessel rarely survived contact with the parrot.
“Captain, Pittsburgh approaches.”
The Captain opened one eye.
“The Steelers?”
“Aye.”
“At our home port?”
“Aye.”
The Captain rose, adjusted his tricorn, and gazed toward Raymond James Stadium.
“Then we must prepare the cannons.”
He paused.
“And fetch me a measuring tape.”
The parrot sighed.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve discovered what this football team needs.”
“A second win?”
“A BLOODY ROOF!”
CHAPTER II: THE CAPTAIN DEVELOPS AN ARCHITECTURAL THEORY
The Captain’s reasoning was simple.
They had traveled to Dallas. Dallas had a covered stadium. Tampa Bay had won.
To an engineer, this might not constitute a complete feasibility study.
To our Captain, it was practically a signed set of construction drawings.
“Think about it, Parrot! We put the Buccaneers beneath a roof and suddenly the running game looks magnificent!”
“Perhaps the blocking helped.”
“Certainly. And what was above the blocking?”
“The roof?”
“EXACTLY!”
The parrot stared at him.
“Captain, winning one game indoors doesn’t prove that the building won it.”
“Then explain why me finest naps occur beneath a ceiling.”
“That’s a completely different discussion.”
Nevertheless, the Captain began sketching an ambitious retractable cover for Raymond James Stadium on the back of a napkin.
His design included generous shade, red & pewter trim, sufficient clearance for the pirate ship, and a large button labeled:
OPEN FOR VICTORY. CLOSE FOR COMFORT.
A second, smaller button read:
DO NOT LET THE PARROT TOUCH THIS.
The parrot studied the drawing.
“Where are the structural supports?”
The Captain pointed to several curved lines.
“Those are rum stains.”
“Load-bearing rum stains.”
“And what powers the roof?”
“Optimism.”
The parrot folded his wings.
“We may need professional assistance.”
For once, the Captain agreed.
Then came the news that sent his imagination sailing completely beyond the harbor.
The President had reportedly planned to attend the Buccaneers Steelers game. Bay News 9
The Captain stood so abruptly that his chair surrendered.
“THE PRESIDENT?”
“Aye!”
“Of the United States?”
“Aye!”
“Not the president of the marina association?”
“No, Captain.”
“Then polish me boots! Press me coat! Find the good napkin!”
The Captain and his feathered first mate had always been impressed by leadership. Presidents, military officers, community leaders, ship captains—anyone entrusted with steering a sizable operation earned their attention. The Captain once saluted a concession supervisor simply because the entire line moved when she spoke.
But this possibility was different.
He imagined the President visiting the stadium, experiencing the afternoon sun, and perhaps encouraging a conversation with the Tampa Sports Authority or Tampa’s Procurement team about a retractable cover.
There was, of course, no appointment.
No invitation.
No actual meeting.
Only a pirate with an architectural napkin and the sort of confidence normally associated with a man who had recently challenged a 72-ounce steak.
CHAPTER III: AN UNEXPECTED OBSTACLE—EAGLES IN PROCUREMENT!
Before presenting his grand vision to anyone important, the Captain decided to rehearse. Unfortunately, several friends in Procurement possessed a football allegiance that troubled him deeply.
They supported Philadelphia.
Fine people. Capable professionals. Friends whose judgment he respected in nearly every circumstance.
Then Sunday arrived, and they voluntarily wore green.
“I don’t understand it,” the Captain muttered. “They can evaluate complicated specifications, manage important purchases, and spot a questionable expense from across the harbor but someone says ‘Fly, Eagles, Fly,’ and suddenly all discernment abandons ship.”
The parrot inspected the Captain’s proposal.
“Perhaps they could help.”
“They certainly could. That’s why this is so emotionally complicated.”
In his imagined rehearsal, the Captain unrolled his napkin across a conference table.
“Me friends, I present a bold vision for Tampa’s future!”
A sensible voice from the imaginary Procurement contingent responded:
“Captain, this appears to be a drawing of a stadium wearing a hat.”
“A retractable hat.”
“And your proposed budget?”
The Captain slid forward a second napkin.
It contained three doubloons, a discount coupon, and the words WE’LL FIGURE IT OUT.
The parrot quietly turned the budget facedown.
“Preliminary figures,” he explained.
The imagined meeting continued.
“Have you prepared an RFP?”
“Of course!” declared the Captain. “ROOF FOR PIRATES!”
The parrot leaned toward him.
“That is not what those letters mean.”
“Then somebody has been using them incorrectly.”
The Captain’s attention shifted to a green pen lying beside the paperwork.
He narrowed his eyes.
“Why is that pen green?”
“Because it writes.”
“Does it come in pewter?”
“Does your proposal come with engineering?”
For a moment, the Captain had no reply.
Then he reached for the one historical document every Buccaneers fan keeps ready for friendly discussions with Philadelphia supporters.
The memory of 92 yards.
Rondé Barber’s interception return on January 19, 2003, sealed Tampa Bay’s 27–10 NFC Championship victory at Veterans Stadium and sent the Buccaneers to their first Super Bowl.
“I’ll happily explain me proposed access route,” the Captain announced. “It begins near our own goal line, travels ninety two yards, and ends with Philadelphia becoming unusually quiet.”
The parrot covered his beak.
“Captain, we’re trying to obtain helpful feedback.”
“Aye. And I’m providing historical context.”
The imaginary Procurement reply was immediate:
“That play still doesn’t qualify as a roofing specification.”
“No,” admitted the Captain. “But it remains an excellent example of a successful return.”
He smiled.
They smiled.
The teasing was affectionate, as it should be among friends.
Their professional abilities were never in question.
Their choice of football team remained under permanent review.
CHAPTER IV: THE PRESIDENTIAL VISIT WALKS THE PLANK
Just as the Captain finished practicing his dignified greeting—an elaborate combination of a handshake, a naval salute, and a movement the parrot described as “falling over politely” the news changed.
Reports on Tuesday, October 13, said the planned presidential trip was off. Spectrum Bay News 9, citing FOX NEWS, reported that the cancellation emerged shortly before 6:30 p.m.
The parrot approached carefully.
“Captain?”
“Not now. I’m rehearsing.”
“There’s been a change.”
“To the roof dimensions?”
“No.”
“To the meeting?”
“There wasn’t a meeting.”
“There was going to be a very persuasive introduction.”
“The President isn’t coming.”
The Captain stopped.
His expression resembled that of a man watching a game winning touchdown disappear beneath a yellow flag.
“Cancelled?”
“Aye.”
“The entire visit?”
“Aye.”
The Captain slowly removed his formal hat.
For once, the disappointment was genuine. He had looked forward to the excitement of a presidential visit and had allowed himself to imagine that his far fetched stadium idea might receive a moment’s attention.
Now the grand audience existed only where it had begun: inside his hopeful, slightly rum marinated imagination.
He looked down at the napkin.
“But I used me best handwriting.”
“I know.”
“I spelled ‘retractable’ correctly.”
“On the third attempt.”
“And I polished both boots.”
“A historic achievement.”
The Captain sank into his chair.
“Fetch the emergency rum.”
The parrot hesitated.
“We drank the emergency rum celebrating Dallas.”
“Then fetch the ceremonial rum.”
“We promoted that to emergency rum yesterday.”
The Captain stared at him.
“Ye’ve reorganized the entire fleet into a beverage crisis.”
After a respectful silence, the parrot placed a tiny paper umbrella beside the abandoned proposal.
“What’s that?”
“Interim roof funding.”
CHAPTER V: BACK AROUND RAY JAY WITH A SMALLER DELEGATION
With the presidential possibility gone, the Captain redirected his preparations toward Sunday’s homecoming.
The grand diplomatic delegation was reduced to one pirate, one parrot, a cooler, and a roof proposal nobody had requested.
The horse named Bucky was excused from further travel after a strongly worded complaint from the quartermaster.
As the Captain pictured his GameDay journey around Raymond James Stadium, he could almost smell the grills, hear the music, and see the red-and-pewter flags gathering around familiar tailgates.
Home.
No wagon train. No Texas longhorns. No steak requiring a support crew.
Just football, friends, and the reassuring knowledge that he could get lost near a stadium he already knew.
The parrot had prepared a sign for their gathering:
WELCOME TO THE CAPTAIN’S RUM FEAST
PRESIDENTIAL APPEARANCE: CANCELLED
PIRATE APPEARANCE: UNFORTUNATELY CONFIRMED
“Take that down,” said the Captain.
“Which line?”
“The unnecessary editorial comment.”
Before long, the Captain imagined encountering the first Pittsburgh visitors, waving their yellow towels.
He studied them with interest.
“Thoughtful guests,” he observed.
“How so?”
“They’ve brought cleaning supplies.”
“Those are Terrible Towels, Captain.”
“Aye, I heard. Perhaps we should recommend a better detergent.”
The parrot shook his head.
“Please don’t offer to wash the visiting supporters’ traditions.”
“Very well. They may keep them. We shall supply the reason to wring them out.”
The Captain’s hospitality extended to every friendly visitor, including those wearing black and gold. There would be laughter, football arguments, and enough good-natured boasting to fill the parking lot.
There would also be water.
Plenty of it.
“Rum may inspire the speeches,” the parrot announced, “but water keeps the speaker upright.”
The Captain reluctantly approved this addition to the feast.
Then he noticed the parrot carrying a small folding umbrella.
“Is that another joke about me roof?”
“No, Captain. Unlike your proposal, this one has already passed a practical demonstration.”
CHAPTER VI: PITTSBURGH IS BRINGING MORE THAN STEEL
Eventually, the parrot insisted that the Captain examine the opponent rather than the stadium’s missing cover.
He opened the scouting report.
“The Steelers were two and two”
“Excellent! A manageable raiding party!”
“but that report needed updating.”
The Captain frowned.
“Have they acquired additional cannons?”
“They beat Indianapolis, 34–22, and now stand at three and two.” Pittsburgh Steelers
The Captain glanced toward his napkins.
“So while I was designing the roof”
“They were winning another football game.”
“Unnecessarily ambitious of them.”
Pittsburgh’s victory supplied ample reason for caution. Aaron Rodgers completed 22 of 31 passes for 235 yards and three touchdowns. Jaylen Warren produced 188 yards from scrimmage, including an 80-yard touchdown reception and a 50-yard touchdown run. Pat Freiermuth caught two touchdown passes.
The Captain lowered his mug.
“Eighty yards?”
“Aye.”
“And fifty?”
“Aye.”
“Parrot, I’m beginning to think our roof proposal needs a defensive coordinator.”
“No roof will tackle Warren.”
“What about a particularly determined awning?”
“No.”
The message was clear enough even for a pirate whose planning documents smelled faintly of molasses.
Tampa Bay could not let Pittsburgh turn short opportunities into long-distance celebrations. Tackling, pursuit, and disciplined coverage would matter far more than anything hanging above the field.
Then there was Rodgers.
The Captain regarded the veteran quarterback with the wary respect reserved for an opposing sea captain who could spot a loose rope from another harbor.
“Don’t give that man all afternoon,” he warned. “He’ll rearrange the furniture in our secondary.”
Nor could Tampa Bay forget T.J. Watt and the danger Pittsburgh could create around the quarterback.
The Captain underlined the pass protection portion of his notes.
“Keep the pocket clean.”
The parrot nodded.
“An actual football observation. Excellent.”
“And keep Watt away from me roof drawings.”
“Why?”
“He sounds capable of dismantling the entire project before we finish the opening remarks.”
CHAPTER VII: THE HISTORY BOOK IS NOT PARTICULARLY FRIENDLY
The Captain then requested the all time series ledger.
The parrot hesitated.
“Perhaps we could discuss the food instead.”
“Hand it over.”
Pittsburgh held a 10–2 advantage in the teams’ twelve previous meetings. Their most recent encounter, in 2022, ended in a 20–18 Buccaneers defeat.
The Captain read the numbers twice.
Then turned the page upside down.
“Does that help?” asked the parrot.
“Not sufficiently.”
Ten defeats in twelve meetings was hardly the sort of historical encouragement he had hoped to discover.
“Who authorized this arrangement?”
“The games happened, Captain.”
“Then we should have filed an objection.”
“With whom?”
The Captain considered that.
“Not Procurement. They’ve suffered enough this week.”
Still, there was another piece of history worth remembering. Tampa Bay had won four of its seven encounters with Rodgers, playoffs included, among them the NFC Championship Game following the 2020 season.
The Captain brightened.
“So the distinguished opposing navigator has encountered our cannons before.”
“Aye.”
“Then we shall offer a courteous reminder.”
History could provide confidence, but it could not make Sunday’s tackles.
The old victories would not protect the quarterback. The old defeats would not decide the opening possession.
This crew had to sail its own game.
And after Dallas, the Captain finally had evidence that the ship could move in the correct direction without requiring a tow.
CHAPTER VIII: THE CAPTAIN’S ACTUAL BATTLE PLAN
Having exhausted the subjects of roofing, presidential hospitality, and Philadelphia’s questionable influence on office color schemes, the Captain gathered the crew.
This time, he brought a proper notebook.
The parrot looked impressed.
“Where did ye get that?”
“Purchased it.”
“With actual money?”
“Aye.”
“Perhaps there’s hope for the project.”
The Captain ignored him.
The football plan began with the ground game. Dallas had shown what could happen when Tampa Bay created running room and let Bucky Irving attack it. Keep working for those opportunities. Make Pittsburgh respect the run. Avoid asking the quarterback to rescue every difficult situation alone.
Next came the football itself.
“Treat possession like the last unopened barrel aboard the ship,” the Captain declared. “Protect it with dignity and do not hand it to strangers.”
The parrot approved.
Then came defense: limit the explosive plays, finish tackles, and get off the field when the opportunity arrived.
“Especially when Rodgers begins looking comfortable,” the Captain added. “Comfort is for our future shaded seating, not their quarterback.”
Finally, the home crowd had a job.
No waiting for someone else to supply the energy. No allowing visiting towels to become the dominant scenery. Give the crew something unmistakably Tampa Bay to hear.
The Captain closed the notebook.
“There. A sound plan.”
The parrot nodded.
“No roof required?”
The Captain looked wounded.
“Let us not say anything rash.”
CHAPTER IX: THE ROOF MAY WAIT—THE FLAG WILL NOT
As kickoff approached in the Captain’s imagination, the great stadium-cover campaign was carefully rolled, tied, and placed beneath the tailgate table.
The President would not be coming.
The Captain’s hoped for introduction would not occur.
No meeting with the Tampa Sports Authority had materialized, no roof contract existed, and his Procurement friends were still perfectly entitled to cheer for Philadelphia however much that tested his understanding of friendship.
But the football remained.
The Buccaneers were coming home with a chance to build on their first victory.
That was enough to stand a little straighter.
The Captain surveyed his crew: the familiar faces, the shared food, the red and pewter flags, and the parrot who had somehow survived another week without being relieved of navigation duties.
He raised his cup.
“To another chance, me hearties.”
The parrot raised a small cup of his own.
“To a proper homecoming.”
“To taking care of Ye Krewe of Pewter Pirates.”
“To keeping the football.”
“To sending Pittsburgh home with considerably less enthusiasm than it brought.”
The parrot nodded.
“And to eventually submitting a roof proposal that isn’t stained.”
The Captain sighed.
“Ye ruin every ceremonial moment.”
Then the parrot produced an envelope.
“What’s that?”
“A revised project recommendation.”
The Captain opened it eagerly.
Inside was a photograph of a patio umbrella.
Beneath it, the parrot had written:
RETRACTABLE: YES
SHADE: SOME
WITHIN THE CAPTAIN’S BUDGET: BARELY
The Captain stared at the page.
“Was this reviewed by our Eagles friends?”
“No.”
“Then why is the umbrella green?”
The parrot took one cautious step backward.
“It was on sale.”
A silence settled over the quarterdeck.
Then the Captain picked up his Buccaneers flag.
“Keep yer umbrella, ye bargain hunting pigeon. We’ve a football game to attend.”
He turned toward Raymond James Stadium, the roof still only a dream and the next victory still something to earn.
“WE MAY NOT BE RAISING A ROOF THIS SUNDAY…”
The parrot spread his wings.
“…BUT WE CAN CERTAINLY RAISE THE BLOODY FLAGS!”
GO BUCS! FIRE THE CANNONS!
PASS THE CRACKERS AND SOMEBODY PLEASE WASH THAT GIANT FLAG.
To be continued after the battle provided the Captain has not spent the postgame refreshments budget on architectural consulting..
Per the words of Forest Gump… “And That's All I Have To Say About That”.
Beyond Game Day
W.P. Rader - In Full Disclosure; I'm Ready To Rock & Roll From The BOW.
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