Why female Steelers fans are the worst people on earth

Da Ali G show on HBO produced 12 of the funniest episodes of comedy I’ve seen in my lifetime.  There were numerous reasons to love this show: the absurdity of the character himself, the uncomfortable situations in which he put his interviewees in, the exposing of racism and cultural bias, etc.  For me, nothing is funnier than when someone shows a total and complete lack of self-awareness.  This is true not only on TV, but also in real life.  This is why my father can make me laugh every time I speak to him.  He purposely messes up the names of celebrities and athletes.  Broncos quarterback Tim Tivo. Movie star Leonard DeCrapo. Patriots wide receiver Wes Walker.  My dad is an intelligent person.  I know this.  He can cite movie dialogue from 40 years ago.  It’s funny because we are normally in the room with someone who doesn’t know he’s doing it on purpose.  His apparent lack of self-awareness is the same premise that Sacha Baron Cohen utilized as Ali G and Borat.  This would also explain why I have watched MacGrubor at least 150 times since HBO started replaying it on a daily basis. 

The following is a quote from a Facebook “about me” page.  The girl I took this from is an acquaintance of my wife.  I will attempt to break this down, sentence by sentence, to see if we can solve this mystery.

“A Pittsburgh girl knows just as much about football as her guy friends, in some cases even more. She drinks beer because it tastes good but knows when to drink something else to be classy and sophisticated. She owns a Steelers jersey not just because it's cute, but because she supports her team and understands the game.”

• A Pittsburgh girl knows just as much about football as her guy friends, in some cases even more.
• I wasn’t aware that football knowledge was a competition.  Last I checked, watching football with friends was supposed to be enjoyable, not a Jeopardy! episode.  In a related development, my Facebook profile now reads: A Pittsburgh guy knows just as much about Coach purses and the Kardashian’s as his girl friends, in some cases even more.
• She drinks beer because it tastes good but knows when to drink something else to be classy and sophisticated.
• Beer doesn’t taste good.  So if she’s drinking beer because it tastes good, she’s probably also eats her fettuccini alfredo with coleslaw and french fries on top.  Two points on the second part of this statement.  First, she “knows” when to be classy and sophisticated?   Did Carrie Bradshaw tell her to say that?  Is she saying that you cannot be classy and sophisticated while drinking a beer?  Or that drinking a grey goose and cranberry would automatically categorize you as classy and sophisticated?  Judging by the Facebook pictures this girl has on her profile where she is drinking Capt. Morgan, the Jimmy Buffet concert is only for the social elite of Pittsburgh.
• She owns a Steelers jersey not just because it's cute, but because she supports her team and understands the game.
• “Hey, look at that hottie in the Maurkice Pouncey throwback…she’s really cute.  And it’s clear to me now that she’s obviously knowledgeable in the nuances of the west coast offense.  I wonder if she is concerned about Daniel Sepulveda’s net yards per punt?  I’m gonna invite her over to watch Moneyball tonight.

I have breaking news for the ladies of Steeler Nation.  Guess who hates Steelers fans more than anybody?  That’s right ladies, its Steelers players.  They laugh at you.  They don’t respect you.  They make fun of you.  And when you meet them at Margarita Mama’s and they tell you that you are a “Pittsburgh 10,” they aren’t giving you a compliment.  If anyone would like to discuss the finer points of this column, I’ll be at The Clarks concert sipping champagne and breaking down the mechanics of Big Ben’s seven step drop. 

 

 

Breaking Browns

This will probably come off more as a rambling love letter to an ex-girlfriend than a sports commentary, but given how I feel right now, I’m not sure how else to describe it.

Living in Pittsburgh and growing up in Steelers country, I’ve been asked thousands of times, “How did you become a Browns fan?” For years, the standard response has been a story about my dad growing up in Ohio, my brother being a die-hard fan, and the fact that I was a child when the Browns were a good team, and you formulate these relationships when you are that age. I’ve never given much thought to it other than that. My childhood memories include my dad raking leaves in the backyard, me in my Eric Metcalf or Bernie Kosar jersey jumping into them with a football pretending to win the Super Bowl. Without question, my favorite in-game moment as a child was Eric Metcalf’s two punt returns for touchdowns to beat the Steelers in prime time (the second of which set off an eruption in the dawg pound.) Tom Hammond’s call was amazing, and watching the crowd respond summed up everything I love about the city and the team.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z19QQ1jcfG8

It’s a surreal feeling when you discover something about yourself that changes the way you previously felt. Cinemax played the classic movie Major League today; I’ve watched this movie beginning to end at least 200 times, but it was the first time in a few years I’ve watched it in its original form. (The TV-editing of the Charlie Sheen-Corbin Bernson mound confrontation has always been comical: “Strike this…guy…out.”) What I discovered while watching today is that this movie was responsible for many of my emotions towards the Browns: always feeling like the underdog, always having to defend why you are a fan of the team, always hoping for that one magical season that would wipe away the years of losing. I have said for years that if I get one Super Bowl in my lifetime that I will die happy and it will make up for all the years of pain. That is probably as low an expectation as any fan could have.

In 2005 my brother and I bought season tickets. I’ve seen the Browns lose in so many different ways in the 4th quarter in the past 6 years that I would need another 10 pages to write about it. What I can say is that the in-game experience for me has become more depressing that anything else. The scenes in Major League where the fans high five each other in the bar, hug each other after a big play, and are lost in the moment of sport, none of that exists. It’s been replaced by disinterest and dysfunction. I’m as guilty as anyone; I play a game where I count how many jerseys of ex-players I can find. In Pittsburgh, this is a badge of honor: wearing a Terry Bradshaw or Jerome Bettis jersey shows you respect the rich tradition and success of a storied franchise. In Cleveland, fans spend their time and effort coloring the “C” on their jersey to spell “OUCH.”

Yesterday, I watched yet another Browns loss to the Steelers with my wife and her family in the comfort of her living room. Me with five Steelers fans. My wife’s mother waves the terrible towel incessantly and drapes it over her head during big plays. Anyone that knows me would agree that this represents everything I loathe about the Steelers and their fans. Yesterday, I sat despondent.

I actually got emotional watching Major League today; chills during Willie Mays Hayes’ scoring run, welling up during the celebration. It made me realize that I have reached my breaking point. The Browns did the worst thing they could possibly do to me this season: they made me not care. I can deal with the pain and anguish – I just want to feel something again. I will always be a Browns fan and nothing can ever replace them for me. I just hope I can recapture the feeling you are supposed to have when watching your favorite team.

Phillies Fan

Legend has it that the Liberty Bell cracked from the smell....

Ode to the Biggest Losers…

The game of life yields both the defeater and the defeated,
while some sip Dom P., most drink Beefeater.

Woe to the Pirates, the Clippers and Andy Roddick (hey, he’s a handsome guy!)
to the Royals, the Grizzlies, the Bengals and the Lions (oh my!)

Woe to the fans, the young and the old,
those who standby these professionals of fold,

These Washington Generals of professional sport,
manage to sink their ships before ever leaving the port,

Errors and faults, yellow flags and fouls,
little ones’ heads hung low, parents with scowls,

With mouths full of chips, dips and miller lite,
we perform our superstitions of manic delight,

So why do we torture ourselves in support,
for the sake of these millionaire bums of the field and court?

Could it be the players or the City they curse?
or perhaps its inherited from the moment of birth?

Does the absence of winning make the fan grow fonder?
Woe to us who the band wagon left behind, with just our hopes to ponder.

To reach the top may be long and lonely, but to stay at bottom takes an artisan of blunder!

O Rubio, Rubio, Wherefore art thou Rubio?

Growing up outside of Pittsburgh I've never had an allegiance to an NBA team. The logical choice would be to follow the Cavaliers, but ever since MJ pissed all over Craig Ehlo all I wanted to be like was Mike rather than, let's say, "Hot Rod" Williams. The only viable option was to follow the players; Bird, MJ, Kobe etc...

It's a very disparaging existence for a sports fan not to have a team. I have never felt established or legit in my NBA fandom. A few months back when the Minnesota Timberwolves drafted the 19 year old Spanish version of Pistol Pete, I started chanting his name, "RUBIO, RUBIO...RU-BI-OOOOO". I was pumped! This was my guy. Good enough to be a star, young enough to begin a long career of AND1 moves and Geico commercials.

Minnesota, a young team on the rise, had drafted Johnny Flynn and Ricky Rubio and dumped the moronic Kevin McHale wihin a couple weeks. This was it, this was my new team. Day after day I waited for Minnesota to finalize the deal. Ready to be the first in line to order his T'Wolves jersey and "Ricky Rubes" shoes from Nike. I waited...but that day never came.

Last week it was announced that due to NBA buyout clause restrictions and a little case of cold feet by the whirling Spaniard, Rubio was staying abroad. Never the matter that GM David Kahn traveled to Spain 3 times to plead his case, even convincing Rubio at one point to commit to Minnesota and the NBA now...Ricky baby dropped his rattle and clung to his mother country of Barcelona, Spain.

His new 6 year deal with Barcelona allows a similar buyout during the next 2 summers with a zero buyout over the summer of 2011. It is expected, or better yet hoped by the T'Wolves front office that they will own the rights to Ricky and in turn receive a more polished and mature player in 2 years time. The most important storyline from this whole charade is the fallout for fans like myself. Yet again the sour taste of rejection is gargled while the dreams of becoming a steady fan of an NBA team slip away. Now I must wait 2 more years to know for sure. I will keep my loyalty to the the baller I am calling the "salty dog" with the hope that he will one day lead my T'Wolves to the Finals.

Years from now my unborn son will put down his foam finger, mute Charles Barkley during the halftime show and ask me, "Dad, how did we become T'Wolves fans?". I will confidently and quietly point to the picture over our fireplace of the boy wonder, Ricky "Rubes" Rubio.

Blog Wars

Those of us that follow Pitt football with any verve this time of year regularly check in on Paul Zeise’s Redshirt Diaries blog for the Post-Gazette, as well as Kevin Gorman’s Sitting Ringside blog for the Tribune-Review. Through these blogs, the authors offer loads of observations and insights on the team in these preseason camps and continue, though somewhat abated, into the regular season practices, and much of what they write about in the blogs doesn’t make it into features or other stories for the paper. Each is an essential stop off for the Pitt fan looking for football info, and we should count ourselves lucky to have both to follow.

Slap Fight!

That being said, their current spat (whether it’s real or not) is laughable and arguably unprofessional (says the part time sports blog that once devoted 3000 words to a fake date with Rihanna). It all started when Gorman posted a slightly enigmatic entry about Monday morning’s practice:

“The Panthers conducted perhaps their most entertaining and exciting offensive practice of training camp this afternoon.

Sorry I can’t tell you about it.

There are certain things we are privy to watching in practice but are not permitted to report, and offensive formations and gimmick plays are primary among them. So, I can’t share what I saw. Please forgive the tease.”

“Well I never”, said Paul Zeise to himself and then proceeded to write this scathing attack:

“The practice yesterday, for instance, was in shorts and shoulder pads, meaning there was no hitting and not much activity for the defense.

And because of that, one could say the practice was designed to make the offensive players smile, the defensive players scowl and the heat was enough to make tears well up in the eyes of one player who got sick. I suppose I could say something clever like "I know something you don't know, nah, nah, nah" but that would be silly and immature and I for one cannot imagine an adult taking that kind of approach with other adults......”

Zeise going low with the ‘act your age’ reprimand. I, for one, would like to know which player was crying because of the heat and would request he not be allowed to play the physically painful sport of football for my favorite team. Maybe he should take hints from Wanny on how to stay cool…the man has the mustache of a walrus, but doesn’t seem to complain about the heat. So because Zeise apparently felt that the practice was useless, he decided to list a bunch of asinine lists instead (10 MVPs for Pitt this year, 10 best players, 10 best athletes, etc…).

Anyway, today’s Sitting Ringside was Goreman’s Revenge!!!!!!

“If I was writing in my diary while wearing a red shirt (I prefer blue) [because I need to inject a reference to the fact that I graduated from Penn State into my Pitt Football blog…I’m an asshole], I could fill this space by giving you countless top-10 lists involving the same 10 players, just in a different order under different categories.

Instead, you’ll get another practice report.”

[brackets added by BOTF, obviously]

Oh snap!!!

Tecmo Bowl