Well, what do you know, the Saints did it! And I equated the Saints’ chances with those of the Pirates challenging for the NL Central this year. Boy, was I wrong. (Me, and most of America!) That’s why I don’t bet on sports… only on cards, horses, and dice. But, since Drew Brees saw his shadow fall on the Super Bowl trophy, does that mean six months of winning baseball for the Pirates this year?
Oh well, the Super Bowl made my Sunday night extremely enjoyable. I even put up with Queen Latifa’s uncomfortably bad rendition of America the Beautiful, all those terrible commercials, and two crotchety old farts who stormed the field at halftime screeching and playing fake windmill-guitar.
In the end, however, two faces made it all worth while. One was all pouty and disappointed. The other was full of love and wonderment–and cherishing the moment of a lifetime with his son.
The pouty disappointment
The wonderment of a moment cherished forever
Don’t know about you, but my excitement level for the Super Bowl is in the tank. Like most ‘Burghers, my only concern is A-B-C: Anyone But the Colts.
It’s not that I necessarily hate the Colts like I hate the Patriots, Ravens, Bengals, Packers, and Vikings (part of my mixed up Steelers/Bears heritage.) It’s just that the Colts are so damned vanilla. Peyton plays like some kind of “aw, shucks”-hayseed-cyborg. (Seriously, if Gomer Pyle, Kenneth from 30 Rock, and The Terminator mated, Peyton Manning would be the byproduct.) The over-under on Super Bowl commercials featuring Manning has got to be somewhere around 25. The Colts defense is vanilla. Their skill players are vanilla. It’s just a passionless, boring, mind-numbing group of no-names.
Of course I’m for the Saints and New Orleans and everything that a Super Bowl victory would mean for that city. But I also suspect that they have come down with a case of ”just-happy-to-be-here”-itis. Win or lose, they will have their party. On top of that, never would I ever bet a single, solitary nickel against Peyton Manning. I’m hoping for a miracle where the Saints will knock him silly and have him all pouty and yelling at his O lineman for a little protection, but I’d say the odds on that happening are about the same as the Pirates challenging for the NL Central this year.
So, I look at this year’s game as an excuse to eat fried foods, drink a beer or two or more, watch some creative commercials, and enjoy a mini-concert by The Who–just as long as security keeps Lady Gaga, the Black-Eyed Peas, or Green Day from getting anywhere near that stage. Don’t want a repeat of how they ruined Aerosmith by forcing Britney Spears and N’Sync on them. As long as the producers don’t ruin it, this could be one of the best halftime shows since the Rolling Stones, Bruce, U2, and Prince. Let’s face it, the bar is not that high.
Lucky Pierres
Other than that, I always enjoy the little statistical anomalies of the Super Bowl. This year, we have the two Pierres: Thomas (starting RB of the Saints) and Garcon (starting WR for the Colts). Seriously, two guys named Pierre. How great is that? Do you know what the odds of that are? Let’s do a little figurin’.
- There are 25,000 people in the U.S. named Pierre. With more than 300 million people in this country, the odds of being named Pierre is 125,000-to-1.
- Only half are men though, so let’s drop the odds to around 62,500-to-1.
- There are 1,600 players in the NFL. That means that the odds of an NFL player being named Pierre are around 78 million-to-1.
- There’s a very good chance that both Pierres will score in this Super Bowl. What do you think the odds are for two men named Pierre to score in the same Super Bowl? My pencil just broke, but it’s got to be a trillion-to-one.
- Pierre Garcon
Pierre Thomas
Hey, you look for anything to make it interesting, right? So, stock up on water and canned goods because of the world-ending abominable snow storm about to bury us under 5 or 6 inches of snow! Hunker down and enjoy Super Sunday!
Swanky!
In the 1990s, when Michael Jordan was still defying gravity, the NBA’s marketing slogan proclaimed that it was FANtastic! For some reason, this has never been the case in Pittsburgh. Now we have this Consol Energy Oil Natural Gas Solar Center (or something like that)–a brand-spanking new arena with luxury suites, fancy concourses, glitzy locker rooms, better seating, and a view of the downtown skyline.
Now that we have it, we need to fill it. No sense in just letting it sit empty. Sure, besides hockey, there will still be concerts and motocross and conferences and the circus and American Idol–and maybe even an NCAA tournament game or two. But there are still a lot more dates to fill. Enter the NBA.
Most big cities are basketball havens. New York, Boston, Philly, Chicago, LA–they all love them some hoops! Not here in the Burgh. We like to say that we are a hockey and football city. But the same could be said of New York, Boston, Philly, and Chicago (okay, not LA). I’m curious as to where the aversion to the hardcourt came from.
I was rather surprised to see a story in the PG about the prospect of the Detroit Pistons being sold and relocating to another city with a new arena. The prime two candidates seem to be Kansas City or Pittsburgh. The main question: can an NBA team compete with the Penguins for Pittsburgh’s winter dollars? Or, are there enough winter dollars in Pittsburgh to support both? As for population, Kansas City is bigger than Pittsburgh (480,129 to 310,037 as of the last census). Pittsburgh, however, is bigger than Orlando and Salt Lake City, two successful NBA cities (though neither shares a hockey team). It really comes down to fan support, though. Case in point: despite our small size, Pittsburgh registers the fifth largest metropolitan TV ratings for the NHL. Perhaps that’s why the Pens are on national TV so much.
As much as I’d love to see the NBA swing through Pittsburgh every winter, I’m not optimistic about its prospects here. Pittsburgh doesn’t take to change quickly. We like the status quo. We’re a bit slow to adopt new things. When we give people directions, they usually include business landmarks that have been gone for a decade or more. We aren’t very open to politicians with new ideas when we just got used to spelling R-a-v-e-n-s-t-a-h-l. Basketball? I’m not so sure about that. Not in Pittsburgh. What if it affects the ice quality for the Pens? Heck, now that we have the new arena, there are some who are getting all misty-eyed over the Igloo. Can’t we save it for a candy dish or pull in HBO with it or something?
Plus, I’m not sure what ‘Burghers would think about taking another city’s team. It wasn’t long ago that the Penguins themselves were almost bound for KC until Mario saved the day and got stadium financing done. Detroit is an economic mess. Few in Pittsburgh have a warm place in their hearts for the Motor City. But maybe us ol’ Rustbelters should stick together on stuff like this. I’m not sure.
We’ve had some failed attempts at professional basketball in the city. 
There were the Pittsburgh Ironmen and the Pittsburgh Rens (short for Renaissance) who both failed to see a second season. 
The Pittsburgh Pipers won the ABA title in ’67 before being sold to Minneapolis the next year. Then, the ABA returned with the Pittsburgh Pioneers. Unfortunately, none of the owners must have been from Pittsburgh and didn’t know that this was also the nickname of Point State Park College (now University). PSP threatened to sue and the basketball team name switched to the Condors, who lasted for four seasons.
Recently, a different and smaller ABA gave us the Pittsburgh Phantoms. Apparently, they are still here and play their home games at the Carnegie Library in Homestead. Their owner doubts the viability of basketball here because he has trouble drawing 200 people for games. Seriously, the team plays their home games at a library. Can you cheer for them, or will you get shushed? Will the team have to relocate if that library gets shut down? If the Phantoms truly exist (and I’m still not so sure about this), I don’t think that they are a reliable litmus test for the prospects of the NBA.
This year the Cleveland Cavaliers played an exhibition game at the Peterson Events Center and drew 10,000 or so folks–2,000 more than last year. I say that’s not bad. First, it was an exhibition game. The Steelers can’t draw for an exhibition game. Second, despite the appeal of LeBron James, it was Cleveland. Pittsburgh is just never, ever going to adopt a team in Cleveland. Not going to happen.
I say the best chance is to go retro with this thing. Let’s bring back the Condors. Let’s have more dates for sale at the Consol Energy Nuclear Power Fusion Arena, or whatever it’s called. (Seriously, we need a nickname for the place… pronto!) If we do it, let’s rock the black and gold and red. Bring on Kobe and LeBron! Bring on the Knicks and the Celtics. It’s on! I’d be on the Condor bandwagon in a minute to prove that Pittsburgh is, indeed, FANtastic.
Have you tried the fecal balsamic salad?
Come on, it’s February, people. The cruelest of months. Topping the list of things I didn’t need today was a Consumer Reports study on bagged salad. In their examination of 208 containers purchased in New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut, they found, and I quote,
…bacteria that are common indicators of poor sanitation and fecal contamination—in some cases, at rather high levels.
All right, I’d like to blame this one on New Jersey. I mean really, who feels good about eating produce from New Jersey? But are you willing to take a chance on another bag of grass clippings? Here’s the bad news: 39 percent of samples exceeded safe levels for total coliform, and 23 percent for Enterococcus. No, unfortunately, Enterococcus is not a fancy variety of endive.
It’ s the dead of winter. I’m trying to eat right. I’m trying to eat, you know, salads instead of things I’d prefer to eat. It’s not enough that I have to eat like a concentration camp prisoner to lose any weight at all! Now I have to hear this! That my salad has poop in it. Thanks, Consumer Reports. Thanks a lot!
Okay, let’s not kill the poop messenger here. What can we take away from this?
Well, it reinforces the fact that nothing in a bag is good for you.
It highlights the fact that I really should just buy the head of lettuce, clean it, and cut it up myself. Right, like I have time for that. I am a busy man with lots of important things to do like… like… watch 24, damn it! (Can I send Jack Bauer over to these lettuce farms to kneecap someone?) Like do stuff on Twitter and Facebook. Like… fine! I’ll wash my rabbit food myself.
How come nobody ever gets sick and dies from eating pizza and Suzy Q’s? At least not for several years.
My friend (I’ll call him Zach) gets deployed to Iraq today. Only he’s not in any branch of the military. This young Pittsburgh native is a non-paid participant with Christian Peacemaker Teams.
CPT is an organization that is dedicated to being in dangerous situations and documenting what goes on. It has been noted that human rights abuses take place less often when a third party is watching. Their motto is simply this: “Getting in the Way.”
Initiated by Mennonites, Brethren, and Quakers—but with broad ecumenical participation—CPT’s ministry of biblically based peacemaking emphasizes creative public observation, nonviolent direct action, and protection of human rights.
They are sort of a non-partisan referee. Instead of a whistle, however, they have a clipboard to write down what happens. They don’t call fouls, they simply send their reports back to CPT for the world to read.
I’m impressed with them for a number of reasons:
- They do not proselytize. Although their motives are faith-driven, they are not on a religious mission, but a humanitarian one.
- They only go places when asked. They don’t force themselves into conflicts.
- On their Website, they pose the question: What would happen if Christians devoted the same discipline and self-sacrifice to nonviolent peacemaking that armies devote to war?
CPT began as part of a challenge that Ron Sider gave to a Mennonite conference in France in 1984. He said,
“Now is the time to risk everything for our belief that Jesus is the way to peace. If we still believe it, now is the time to live what we have spoken….
“We must be prepared to die by the thousands. Those who believed in peace through the sword have not hesitated to die. Proudly, courageously, they gave their lives. Again and again, they sacrificed bright futures to the tragic illusion that one more righteous crusade would bring peace in their time, and they laid down their lives by the millions.
“Unless we…are ready to start to die by the thousands in dramatic vigorous new exploits for peace and justice, we should sadly confess that we never really meant what we said, and we dare never whisper another word about pacifism to our sisters and brothers in those desperate lands filled with injustice. Unless we are ready to die developing new nonviolent attempts to reduce conflict, we should confess that we never really meant that the cross was an alternative to the sword.”
So, Zach leaves today for the Kurdish regions of Iraq and Turkey where he will spend four months documenting conditions at Kurdish refugee camps. Then, in May, he will spend two months in Palestine where he will basically be walking kids to school who have been threatened and harassed by Israeli settlers. Again, Zach is not taking sides, except for the side of nonviolence. He returns to Pittsburgh in mid-July.
Is it dangerous work? Well, just being there is danger enough. But some members of CPT have been kidnapped by those who would prefer that they not witness and document. If there were no danger, there would be no need to “get in the way.” So, yes, it is dangerous for a young man in his mid-20s. But Zach has no wife or children, and he’s firm in the conviction that even if the worst would occur, there is no other cause for which he would rather give his life (including raising a family or working in a cubicle somewhere).
Whether or not you agree with his cause, you have to admire the courage of convictions that says, “I’m not just going to talk a good game. I’m going to do something about it. I’m going to live my convictions. I’m going to risk my life for the cause of peace and nonviolence in the world.”
Obviously this is something you can do when you don’t have family, career, mortgage payments, and insurance premiums. It’s not for everybody. It’s not for most. But it is for Zach. As we met yesterday for a farewell beer (probably his last for some time), I gave him a check for the support he was still in the process of raising, we talked about what he’d be doing and what might come afterward, and I urged him to journal feverishly about the people, foods, customs, and events he would be experiencing. I also told him to keep his head down. He appreciated the sentiment, but then he wouldn’t be “getting in the way.”
If you want to follow our Pittsburgh Peacekeeper over the next six months, I’ll be linking to his blog on my sidebar. In the meantime, I will be praying that he has an amazing mission and that we will be meeting for another beer in late July.
This says it all, doesn’t it? Taylor Hicks is taking Pittsburgh by storm this summer as Teen Angel in Grease. Wasn’t Syesha Mercado just in town with Dreamgirls? I guess that means that the latest American Idol just kicked off to see who will be in Pittsburgh in 2012 for their role in The Music Man or Bye, Bye, Birdie or some such nonsense. What a sad musical state we are in.
Don’t believe me? This Sunday is that annual freak fest, The GRAMMYs. When I say “freak fest”, I’m not necessarily commenting on the current music scene. (I’ll do that later.) The GRAMMYs have always been a freak fest.
There was J Lo’s revealing green dress. There was Andy Williams on a video feed with Stevie Wonder asking, “Stevie, can you see us, now?” There was a youngish Michael Jackson complaining backstage about not having a childhood or Christmas or anything.
There was the shirtless man who ran up to a performing Bob Dylan with the words “Soy Bomb” on his chest. There was Elton John sharing the stage with perceived homophobe Eminem. At the end, they embraced and Eminem flipped off the audience. That’s all great. When it comes to music, we want our performers a little dangerous and unpredictable. Those were great pop-culture moments surrounded by some great music.
I hope there will be great music at the GRAMMYs on Sunday, but with most of the awards going to Lady Gaga, Beyoncé, Taylor Swift, or The Black Eyed Peas, I’m not so sure. Seriously, will any of these people be performing at the 2020 Super Bowl halftime show? Will they be entering the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame?
About the only thing I’ll be rooting for is in the category of Best Rock Album. The nominees are Green Day, U2, Eric Clapton & Steve Winwood, Dave Matthews Band, and AC/DC. Yes, AC/DC! These legends of rock and roll have never won a GRAMMY and if there are any music gods still ruling the musical heavens, Malcolm and Angus Young will be walking away with a trophy Sunday night.
Otherwise, I will probably be spending the majority of the evening trying to figure out the difference between Best Album, Best Song, and Best Record. (Really? These are the categories? No Best Cassette?) I’ll probably fire up a little Aerosmith, Led Zeppelin, or Yes. After all, you’ll never see any of them swinging through Pittsburgh in The Sound of Music or Camelot. Then I’ll yell at the kids in the neighborhood to GET THE HELL OFF OF MY LAWN!
Dare we hope for "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap"?
A tip of the hat to reclusive author J. D. Salinger, who died today at 91. This was one tormented dude. The Catcher in the Rye has sold over 60 million copies over the years. It has been required reading, banned reading, and reading blamed for motivating assassins. It was about teenaged angst. It was Rebel without a Cause before Rebel without a Cause. It was The Breakfast Club before The Breakfast Club. Soon after it came out in 1951, Salinger retreated into the New Hampshire mountains where he shunned contact and sued anyone who tried to publish him. His last published material was a short story in 1965.
I remember reading it in high school English class. I found it neither inspirational nor particularly insightful. I thought it was rather boring and badly in need of, you know, like a plot. Whatever. I wasn’t really that troubled as a teen. Maybe you were and it resonated with you.
Although he loved children, he didn’t seem to be very loving toward his own. In 2009, his daughter, Margaret Ann Salinger published a memoir of growing up with the author entitled Dream Catcher. In it she claimed that ”he was an angry man to live with, and he regularly belittled members of his own family.” It seemed to her that he preferred the characters of his literature to the real human beings in his life.
According to Joyce Maynard, a young writer who had a rather creepy relationship with Salinger when she was 18 and he was 53, “He loved certain TV programs — The Andy Griffith Show, The Lawrence Welk Show — and had reels of old Hollywood movies that he projected at home. He wrote every day, but the unpublished work was stored away in a large safe that occupied a good part of one bedroom.” Translation: get ready for his heirs to get into a real catfight over publishing his stuff postmortem.
Apparently, he didn’t die of severe iPad disappointment, but of natural causes. Here’s hoping J.D. finds the kind of peace and solitude in death that he fought so hard for in life. In the meantime, I wouldn’t suggest sending flowers.
“When you’re dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you’re dead? Nobody.” (from The Catcher in the Rye)
Earlier this week, Pirates’ owner Bob Nutting was doing what the Pirates do best: talk tough in January. Sure, right now, their opening-day payroll is set to be around $13 million less than it was last year–$40 million less than other small market cities like Cincinnati and Milwaukee–but Bob was not backing down in this interview with the PG:
“We’re not going to accept an inferior performance….Absolutely. We are going to win more games than last year. We are going to see improvement on the field in Pittsburgh, in terms of wins and loses.”
“I said last year that was my expectation and, midway through the season, we clearly weren’t seeing that. And the team took decisive action, made change. That’s part of why you have the broader pool from which the pieces will come for 2010 and moving forward.” (Does Mayor Luke have to drink?)
“What I’m thrilled about is that Neal has the time and opportunity to make good baseball decisions.”
Boy, you’d hardly know from those statements that the Pirates currently have the longest streak of losing seasons in the history of American sports, would you? Granted, this year’s Pirates will be considerably younger than the one that took the field last April, and Nutting seems to imply that the team is saving some of that money to pay these players as they get older. Hmmm. We’ll have to remember that the next time there is a salary dump.
Unlike Mark McGwire, I’m here to talk about the past
So, let’s turn our attention to the second best thing the Pirates do (besides talking tough in January): erecting statues! Now it is Bill Mazeroski’s turn. “Here, here,” I say. Let’s memorialize that man who hit the greatest home run in World Series history. I’m all for any attempt to remind fans and players alike that the Pirates haven’t always sucked eggs. They haven’t revealed what the statue will look like, but it has to be this, doesn’t it? Is there any other pose that would work?
Nothing else would do. Then all us yinzers, as well as out-of-town visitors, can get our picture taken running along with Maz like the immortalized bald, fat guy behind him. Awesome.
Okay, who’s next? Come on, there’s plenty of sidewalk room around that stadium for some more statues. Here are a few ex-players in poses that could be eternally immortalized in bronze:
Kids, take it from Dave Parker. Sometimes you need a smoke break before taking the field.
That's right, feast your eyes on Kent Tekulve. Drink in this athletic specimen.
Just as there was a Precambrian era, kiddies, there was also the Presteroidian era of Barry Bonds.
Don't avoid the past. Let us face it and remember Sid Bream's slide past Mike LaValliere that ended the Bonds era, kept the Bucs from the World Series, and began their ignominious slide into suckitude.
As for Nutting, this is his claim:
“Honestly, I won’t be satisfied with any season until we win a championship. Incremental improvement might be encouraging at some level but, in terms of what’s satisfactory … I’ll be pleased with a championship season.”
Cool, so will we. Unfortunately, this is also Nutting’s claim:
“Do we have enough talent? Absolutely not.”
** UPDATE: It’s called the iPad. No, it’s not a feminine product and the darn thing doesn’t have wings. In fact, MSNBC is not impressed. **
On Wednesday, Steve Jobs will once again come off the mountain on which God appears to him and gives him all sorts of new technology. This time, among other innovations, it is anticipated that Jobs will unveil a tablet written by the very hand of the creator. Jobs has already called this “the most important thing I’ve ever done”
Tech geeks haven’t been this stoked since Princess Leia donned a string bikini and dog collar for Jabba the Hut! They spent the night camped outside the San Francisco event waiting to witness history, passing the time with arguments about the exact dimensions and capabilities of Nebula-class starships.
Doonesbury has labeled the new device the “Jesus tablet” because its followers believe it can do miracles, heal the sick, and raise the dead.
Tomorrow, we enter the final frontier. It promises to be the greatest day since…
Thomas Edison illuminated the light bulb…
Alexander Graham Bell summoned Watson on the first telephone…
or James A. Dewar squeezed cream filling into the first Twinkie!!!
And the best part: I am only 3 or 4 years away from having whatever it is they roll out. I’m so excited!
That is what the late PG columnist Phil Musick called Vic Cianca. So, a fond farewell to a Pittsburgh institution whom I never knew. Vic retired from the police force here in 1983–before I had even matriculated out of college on the dusty plains of Texas. But for 38 years, he put smiles on the faces of ‘Burghers with his choreographed motions as traffic cop. He was featured on Candid Camera, an Italian television series, a Budweiser commercial, and in the movie Flashdance. He was also married to his wife, Anna Marie, for 60 years, and was a veteran of both WWII and the steel mills.
The PG has a fine obit here. But here is a snippet from Vivian Nereim’s piece:
Mr. Cianca used as many as three limbs at once to hurry people along. When someone drove too slowly, he would rest his cheek in his hands, miming sleep. If a driver tried to explain away a traffic violation, he played an imaginary violin. He took slow, silly bows, blew his whistles so hard they quit and wore his white gloves so often that he earned the nickname “Gloves.”
Vic was 92 and is survived by his wife, two sons, two grandchildren, and one great-grandchild.
