Home Team
When I think about growing up in West Virginia, a parade of memories begins to march through my brain…
Most days in Morgantown, the population was a traffic-free 25,000.
But on football Saturdays?
The stadium alone had 60,000 people in it.
My sleepy town roared awake for those handful of days per year. Reporters with camera crews infiltrated the streets, hotels were sold out, and excitement filled the air. On game day, everything felt so ALIVE. As an elementary school kid, I’d throw on my favorite Mountaineer shirt and jump into the car with my old man. First stop? His employer’s tailgate party. Like a miniature crackhead, I’d run for the tent and pile a skyscraper of food onto my plate. It was the type of cuisine I never saw at home – mountains of brisket, racks of ribs, and tall towers of football-themed cupcakes. Even Willy Wonka had nothing on me. Then, with full bellies, we strutted into the stadium. It was time for the main event. Were a million people cheering for the same outcome? Because that’s what it felt like.
Absolutely electric.
In high school, I spent those Saturdays amassing a collection of memories with friends. We snuck into university student tailgates…doing our very best to fit in. Obviously, my best was terrible. Any secret dreams of charming a college girl and walking into the stadium together were not to be. It wasn’t time for that yet. Apparently, you need to actually speak to a girl in order to charm her. But my incredible awkwardness was only a minor footnote on those Saturdays. Walking through the gates flanked by my doofus friends…hearing the roar of the crowd…was every bit as magical as ever.
Once I enrolled in college myself, game day took on a different kind of life. My hairy roommate Chris woke us up at 5:00 in the morning – courtesy of AC/DC’s “Back In Black.” Cranked to max volume, of course. We rubbed our eyes, yawned, and kicked off the special day by chugging one of these each. Tailgates were now 90% liquid. Most of our pregame time was spent in “the pit” – the craziest area for college lunatics like us to assemble. The kind of place parents warn their children to avoid. From shotgunning beers to keg stands…we enjoyed all the wild drinking rituals that get quickly outgrown in the years that follow. Thankfully so. But, at the time, we were young enough to have an appetite for all of it. I even have some vague memories of crowd surfing from the tops of port-a-potties.
It was absolute madness.
Still, none of that matched the energy of the game itself. Not even close. No matter how old I got, nothing outside the stadium could compete with the beautiful perfection of what was going on inside. As always, that hopeful energy shared between 60,000 fans was the biggest highlight of all.
Man, I adored that team.
But there was one I loved even more…
See, that college football stuff was amazing. But the pros took it to another level. And the nearest big city was just a 90-minute drive away. It’s impossible to fully express what I felt for the Pittsburgh Steelers. All the affection described above was child’s play compared to my massive man crush on the black and gold. So, let’s just put it this way…
In college, I spent a night outside Three Rivers Stadium on the sidewalk to get playoff tickets…
In the peak of winter.
In Pittsburgh.
I was absolutely 100% a fanatic. Sure, the sidewalk temperature dropped to can’t-feel-my-toes levels in a hurry. And it probably wasn’t great for my health. While an angry penguin has never stabbed me repeatedly with his frozen beak…I imagine the pain is similar. But none of that mattered. My excitement for those playoff tickets was off the charts. Plus, there was plenty of entertainment to keep me awake until the morning…
As you might imagine, humans who spend January nights on Pittsburgh sidewalks aren’t exactly boring. We quickly realized we could only take so much shivering. So, by midnight, my fellow diehard fans and I started dragging huge wooden crates over from the Lazarus store across the street. Why would we do such a thing? To light them on fire, of course.
The combination of (A) our possible hypothermia, (B) numerous bottles of whiskey, and (C) our undiagnosed insanity – created quite the scene. As the hours passed, things got a little nuts. One of the guys took a big swig from his bottle, sat in the fire for a few seconds, and then ran around the stadium with the ass region of his Wrangler jeans on fire.
(Obviously, we cheered wildly for him)
Like I said…it sure wasn’t boring out there.
At around 2:30 AM, things finally started to calm down on the ol’ sidewalk. I found myself sharing a nice, quiet moment with the two old guys sitting next to me. Their names (in all seriousness) were JimBob and Bill. In those days, there were no iPhone distractions available. We couldn’t aimlessly scroll through social media. If we wanted to pass the time, we had to make actual conversation. So, at one point, Bill pulled out his Harley Davidson wallet. He carefully removed a well-worn photo of an adorable little girl. After softly rubbing his thick beard, he said in a grunt of a voice:
“She’s the apple of my eye. Means more to me than anything in this whole damn world.”
I was shocked. And touched. Not to mention slightly delirious from the cold. But…wow. I mean, this guy was running around the stadium with his ass on fire just a couple of hours ago.
I said, “Bill, that’s so sweet. What about you, JimBob? Do you have any kids?”
JimBob looked me square in the eyes, paused for dramatic effect, and said:
“None that I know of!”
…followed by a booming yuk-yuk sounding belly laugh. In his mind, he’d just told the greatest joke in history. And it was impossible to resist his unique brand of JimBob charm. The guy was having a ball. So…weirdos that we were…we cracked up until our stomachs started to ache. Sure, it was a frigid sidewalk in the middle of the night. And, no, I’d never see those guys again. But we had a blast out there together. At one point, the team owners even ordered pizza for everyone as a way of saying thank you for our devotion. Or maybe they were just scared we might die on their property. Either way, those were the best slices of my life.
I loved that team. Every win was a celebration. Every loss was gut-wrenching. But we experienced all of it together. As strange as that probably sounds to people who don’t enjoy sports…it really does feel like being part of something. I think that’s where the affection comes from. You and your tribe are united through thick and thin.
Over the years, my affection for the Steelers was definitely tested…
Poor management, lackluster effort, and questionable decisions became the norm. But then…it finally happened. They drafted a star player with the talent to change everything. The type of quarterback who could throw a ball like JimBob could tell a joke. It was incredible to watch. Unfortunately, my friends in Pittsburgh began to share their not-so-great interactions with him…
Apparently, the star player was making a habit of walking out on checks after dinner. As if he was above paying for food. I had buddies throughout the city and some of them worked at these restaurants. They were literally chasing down this millionaire in parking lots begging him to pony up what he owed. Even when his meals were comped (as often happens with star athletes) he never tipped a cent.
Then came the final straw…
My friend Julie was planning a special birthday gift for her son Max. He’d never gone to a Steelers game, so she wanted to make it an unforgettable experience. She started putting money aside to save up for great seats. Even called in a favor with her boss to get a pregame sideline pass. Clearly, Max would never forget this day. Seemed like a good possibility he might even meet a player. As expected, the kid was overjoyed when Julie handed him those tickets. Much like me in elementary school, he could hardly sleep the night before the game. He woke up early, put on his best team shirt, and jumped into the car with his parents. In his lap was a brand new football. Hard to know for sure, but it certainly seemed possible that Max could end up with a signature or two.
As they stepped onto the field, the kid was in awe. His heroes were standing right in front of him. Since it was very early in the pregame routine, players casually strolled by. Max waited patiently for his moment. And then it happened. The star quarterback passed right in front of him. Somehow, the kid found the courage to speak. With a soft voice, he asked:
“Could you please sign my football?”
The star player quickly grabbed the ball…
…and kicked it down the field.
Laughing to himself while exiting to the locker room.
Max stood there in shock. As did his parents. A teammate saw what happened, chased the ball down, and quickly brought it back. He apologized and scribbled down his signature. But the damage was done. Even as I type these words, I find it hard to grasp such incredible douchebaggery. What the hell? Like a fucking comic book villain, this guy kicked a child’s ball and laughed about it?
Never could wrap my brain around that one.
My team’s star player was a complete asshole. I imagine Max will, in fact, always remember that birthday. Just probably not in the way his mom intended. As for me…after that day, I found it very challenging to root for the team I loved. For a while, I tried to go through the motions. But, man, I just couldn’t shake that image. Until it finally hit me…
I was done.
Look, I’m no moral superhero. I’ve certainly rooted for teams with questionable players. But this one felt personal. I really loved the Steelers for a long time…but, just like that, those days were over.
You guys know me. I like to share personal stories as a way of making a point. These posts are my way of expressing what’s been on my mind for the last month. So, here’s what I’ve been thinking about lately…
We tend to act like our closest relationships will be around forever. It gives us a sense of security. And, no, I’m not referring to a dumb sports team if that’s what you’re thinking. Let me ask you this…
How many friendships have you seen end in your life? Ever known someone estranged from family members? I imagine you’ve witnessed a person plan to spend their life with another human…until that didn’t work out.
So, my point is this…
Our closest friendships can end. Our dearest loved ones can leave us whenever they want. And I think it’s so important to remember that. Because we take our closest bonds for granted. Yeah, I shared a story about a football team. But here’s the thing…
When I catch a Pittsburgh Steelers game now…it doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.
Relationships aren’t bulletproof.
None of them are.
So, for fuck’s sake, let’s remember to take care of the connections we value most.
They don’t come with a lifetime guarantee.
