Here We Go!

Tuesday, February 1, 2011 at 11:40 am (Writing by Ear)
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If I could start my life all over again, I would be a professional football player,
and you damn well better believe I would be a Pittsburgh Steeler.
~ Jack Lambert, 1990 HoF Introduction

Remember that Cold War era song by Sting that wonders “if the Russians love their children too”?

That came to mind Saturday as I was wondering if Green Bay fans have a place to gather that’s anything remotely as glorious as the Strip District 8 days before a Steelers Super Bowl appearance.

If they don their colors and brave the cold and snow to line up 10 or 15 deep, waiting to get in a half-dozen stores selling all things green and gold, singing along with any number of fight songs that blare from loudspeakers.

If on every corner they hear the Packers equivalent of things like, “Oh my God, it’s a Joe Greene!” accompanied by a squeal of delight over simply seeing a #75 jersey for sale.

If they stand in still more lines for their version of Pamela’s pancakes or dippy eggs at DeLuca’s or a Kolbassy & Cheese at Primanti’s and compliment one another on their NFC Championship attire.

If they can revel in the unique situation of being surrounded by hundreds of perfect strangers on a city street but feeling like they’re in the bosom of a big happy family that doesn’t bat an eye when they say Wiscahnsin in that nasally way.

Frankly, I never questioned if the Russians love their children. And I have to believe that Packers fan have their own “sacred” places to gather and revel beyond their Field on game day. They’re great fans. They have a great team. They’ll give us a run for our money on Sunday. They’re even close to wearing the right colors. With a little mud on those jerseys (which I’m sure our defense would be happy to supply, if the turf weren’t fake), they might even pass for black and gold.

I’m expecting a 50-50 mix of Packers fans and Steelers fans in the stands on Sunday. Of course, we’re the only ones that have the right to be waving towels, even though they’re copy-catting like all those other teams. (That’s flattering. Thanks!) Theirs don’t have Myron’s mojo though, so good luck with that.

Funny, I’d be rooting for the Packers in any other situation. Instead, I’ll just offer my congrats to the team and their fans for making it all the way to second place.

Photo by Jenny Kane

They say that when you’re the champs, everybody will try to beat you.
Well, I′m glad we′re champs, so bring ′em on, bring ′em all on.
If we die, we ain′t gonna die running. It′s gonna be a fight.”
~ Joe Greene

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And so, to read

Wednesday, January 26, 2011 at 9:31 am (Writing by Ear)
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Because I got the Kindle I asked for for Christmas, I made a resolution to start reading more again (or, it might be that I made a resolution to start reading more and asked for the Kindle). As I’ve lamented before, I’ve barely read anything in the past six years or so, and it’s just not like me. So far, I’m doing OK — read my first Kindle book between Christmas & New Year’s, then a paperback my sister gave me when she finished, and now a book I’ve been dusting on my nightstand for at least two years.

I started a list today so I can track what I read and take stock at the end of the year (yeah, that’s me, the habitual list maker). As I was saving it on my computer,  I found the reading lists I made the last time I was consciously trying to read more — 2004 and 2005! I was newly single with a lot of time on my hands in 2004 (in between stripping wallpaper and painting my entire townhouse, including the 3-story staircase walls), and managed to read 22 books. As I skimmed the list today, though, I was shocked to find I remember only 5 of them (as in, if someone asked me “Have you ever read ________?” I would say “yes” to only 5 of the 22).

I must have been a bit prescient, too, because I took the time to write a little blurb about each book after I read it (somehow knowing I would forget). For example, on the list I have:

Lost in Translation, Nicole Moses. An excellent novel (not the movie of the same name) set in China. Fascinating story and characters.

So, here was a book I clearly liked, but I can remember NOTHING about it. Here’s another one:

Foreign Affairs, Alison Lurie. This won a Pulitzer for fiction in ’84—it was a good read, with a twist of an ending—not happy, not sad.

Can’t remember a thing about it. The same with the nonfiction books I read that year…mostly self-help financial-type books and a couple about business and writing.

I might as well have been reading bodice-rippers and People all year.

In 2005, I only made it to five books before the list ended. I recall just one of them. A 20 percent retention rate must be pushing my limit.

That was the year Mike and I moved into our house and got married. Life in fixer-upperhood became all-consuming. I moved away from my old library (right after it was beautifully remodeled) and never joined the one here (no parking). Books took a backseat to everything else.

I’m trying to bring them up front again. But part of me thinks it’s no wonder I let my reading lapse. Hundreds of books read in my life, and if you asked me to name them, I could come up with only a fraction of that number, even if you put the list in front of me. My favorites would stand out, many from my childhood, and next to nothing else. That’s why I get discouraged sometimes — thinking that all the “best books” are behind me. If my heart remembers only 20 percent of the books I read, is it really worth it? If for every Poisonwood Bible that takes my breath away, I have to read 20 Whatchamacallits?

Well. (blink, blink) Interesting.

As I think about the books I’ve loved so much…the Roots and the To Kill a Mockingbirds and the War and Remembrances and the handful of others that come to mind, I know it was worth reading 100 forgettables to have the pleasure of remembering those few. So I guess that’s why, despite how (ridiculously) jaded I get that “I’ve already read all the good ones,”  I need to keep reading. More than the escapism factor, more than the learning, more than entertainment or self-improvement or “because I should”  is the reality that nothing else comes close to the magic of discovering and devouring a great book. Like life’s box of chocolate, you may never know what you’re gonna get. But in the end, it’s all chocolate. How great is that?

The only books that influence us are those for which
we are ready,and which have gone a little farther
down our particular path than we have got ourselves.
~ E. M. Forster

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A sweet story — #GoSteelers!

Tuesday, January 18, 2011 at 4:14 pm (Writing by Ear)
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If you notice my tweets in the left column here, you know I was watching and tweeting about the game last Saturday. (As was nearly everyone else — #GoSteelers was “trending” worldwide on Twitter — the 4th most tweeted topic in the WORLD!) I happened to be watching the game alone, as Mike was away, and it was nice to feel connected to Steeler Nation, if only in a small way. (If you read Ginny at That’s Church, you know that the debate about whether it’s Steeler Nation or Steelers Nation is a hot one.)

Here’s a sweet story from today’s Post-Gazette online that brings to life what the team means to Pittsburghers far and wide — as in, Pittsburghers who actually live here now, have lived here before, or have never even lived here at all. (I love how he talks about his “mum” — a Pittsburgh thing if ever there was one.)

Steelers Nation: Timid boy grew up to be lifelong fan with a Steeler’s help
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
By Travis Nagy

I am a son of the Pittsburgh Diaspora. Mum went to South Florida in the 1970s, and that’s where I was born.

I’ve lived nearly all my life down South, save for a few little clips in Butler County when I was very small. Still, Pittsburgh was always part of my life, as Italy or Poland might have been to Pittsburgh folks my mum’s age. For me, it was the “old country,” my ancestral home.

Kay was a family friend who looked out for Mum and me down in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. She was another transplant from the ‘Burgh, and it was at her table where I first ate city chicken. She had to move back North, but what she couldn’t do in person, she made up for by sending me regular Pittsburgh care packages.

I was 12 in August 1993 when Mum and I took the train from Lauderdale to Pittsburgh. We stayed for a week, and Kay filled up the days showing me everything that the PAT buses could get us to: Downtown, the Carnegie Museum, Soldiers and Sailors.

When we went to the Carnegie Science Center, we got done around 2 or 3 p.m. and were waiting a few minutes for a bus toward Harmar to get us back to Kay’s rowhouse.

“Boy, something’s goin’ on over there … football players,” Kay said, looking over toward Three Rivers Stadium.

I heard her but didn’t think much of it. Then Mum piped up.

“The Steelers! Trav, look, I think that’s the Steelers.”

I looked toward the stadium, and I saw them mostly in shoulder pads and black jerseys walking into the stadium. I couldn’t believe it. From where we were standing, they appeared about the same size as they were inside the TV on any given Sunday.

“You think you could make it over there?” Mum asked me. I hesitated.

Kay pulled from her bag a pen and a skinny notepad, with pages about the size of a gas station receipt. “Here,” she said, “go get ’em to sign something.”

I don’t know how much of a run that was, and I wasn’t the most athletic 12-year-old around. But, buddy, I rumbled my fat butt down there. Halfway there, I had to stop and catch my breath. I summoned all the energy I could to run the rest of it. My lungs were on fire.I got right up to them, and it seemed surreal that Rod Woodson and Barry Foster walked right past me. I was half afraid I’d get shooed away by cops, and half afraid of trying to get an autograph from somebody. I’d heard so many stories of mean football players telling kids off.

For a measure of time, I just stood there, watching. I finally got the courage to stop one I recognized: No. 20, Dwight Stone.

“Hey, number 20, ‘scuse me …”

He twitched his head back, stopped, and pivoted toward me. I was dumbfounded. I think I just pointed the notepad and pen at him, nervous as heck. The other Steelers walked around him, oblivious to the fat kid. He asked my name.

“OK, Travis. Good to meet you.” Something like that. He took my pen and started to sign that little paper I had. I wanted to say something.

“You’re Dwight Stone, right?”

He nodded and handed the paper back.

“This is awesome!”

I bet Dwight Stone probably stopped for kids a hundred times in his career and gave no thought to it. But it made my day, probably even my year. So long as I live, I’ll never forget it. I felt like a pest, so I turned away as soon as I got the autograph.

He started to walk off also, then stopped and said, “Oh, hey — here.” He handed me a pair of his wristbands. I’m sure it was nowhere near the theater of the Mean Joe Greene Coke commercial, but I was so high, I ran back to that bus stop even faster than I ran from it, and without stopping.

Kay passed away a few years ago, and there’s no longer anyone in Pittsburgh who has a spare couch or a spread of city chicken waiting on me. The names of the big buildings Downtown have changed, and some of the places that were special to my family are gone.

But those wristbands that I still have are proof positive that the Steelers Nation is built around a very real thing. I’m proud to know that wherever I go, I’ll always be a part of it.

Travis Nagy, an attorney in Greenville, S.C., can be reached at fungoking@hotmail.com.The PG Portfolio welcomes “Steelers Nation” essays this month from readers about the bonds the football team has forged among family, friends and strangers. Send your submissions to page2@post-gazette.com; or by mail to Portfolio, Post-Gazette, 34 Blvd. of the Allies, Pittsburgh, PA 15222. Portfolio editor Gary Rotstein may be reached at 412-263-1255.

Read more: http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/11018/1118746-66.stm#ixzz1BQHvy2Vq

 

#Go Steelers!

So powerful is the light of unity that it can illuminate the whole earth.
~ Bahá’u’lláh

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