Moving Beyond the Miseries of Pittsburgh

“I hate all sports as rabidly as a person who likes sports hates common sense.”
H. L. Mencken

After enduring several painful and inexplicable losses to Pittsburgh professional sports teams, I learned to embrace humility at the confluence of the Allegheny and the Monongahela rivers long before the Ravens' most recent defeat.

While it ranked among the worst ever to the Paris of Appalachia, and I didn’t want to speak to anyone for days, it didn’t come close to the pain of the Pirates' “We Are Family” in 1979 or the Colts massacre in 1976. Let’s leave Roberto Clemente and the 1971 debacle, which coincided with my parents' divorce, off the table for now.

I sat nine rows back at Memorial Stadium when the Steelers trounced the Colts in the playoffs in that bicentennial year. City Comptroller Hyman Pressman held court one section over from us. That should have been a bad enough omen, since he was involved in legislation to stop the building of a new stadium. Packed with black and gold, the right field bleachers thundered in the distance.

We had the Sack Pack and they had Mean Joe Green and the Steel Curtain.

I saw the first three plays from the vantage point of the Pittsburgh backfield. On the second play from scrimmage, Joe Ehrmann broke through and stopped Franco Harris for a loss.  The running back left the game and the rest of the playoffs with an ankle injury.

Facing third and long, Bradshaw dropped back to pass. The secondary was our Achilles heel that year, and I could see wide receiver Frank Lewis at least four steps behind his defender. The ball spiraled high above the dirt-laden field toward a wide-open target for a 76-yard bomb.

The Steelers won 40–14.

A plane crashed into the upper deck minutes after the stadium emptied. The Colts never recovered.

The Pirates delivered a crushing blow in 1979. I moved from the cow pastures of Baldwin to Chicago in August of that year, leaving my father behind in Baltimore.  My new classmates asked the teacher to call on me so they could hear my strange Baltimore accent.

We were up 3-1 in the World Series and then we fell apart.

The Pirate motto was “We are family” and I was feeling the distance from my dad. I had debated staying in Baltimore, but didn’t want to leave my mother and brother.

My first Chicago winter, somewhat like the one we are currently having, rolled its arctic blanket over the city. I missed my dad and my surrogate fathers — the Orioles of the 1970s. The Orioles had saved my childhood and I could no longer access the voice of Chuck Thompson on the radio.

There was a moment in game seven that I’ll remember like that Bradshaw pass, and the dropped touchdown from Flacco to Boldin a few weeks ago.

Eddie Murray was at the plate with the bases loaded in the eighth and he hit one deep to right on a line. Dave Parker nearly slipped as he went back, but he made the catch. 

Baltimore and Pittsburgh are blue-collar towns with ethnic lineages. Though we don’t shoot deer from Cadillac windows or eat as much yellow gravy, we share a strong work ethic and an abundance of ex-steelworkers and their descendants.

There’s no reason to blindly despise the Steelers. They’re just a little better than us — and have been for decades. Their coach, Mike Tomlin, resembles a player during his press conferences, wide-eyed and unhinged. He’s likable. 

They’ve developed a mindset that prevents them from collapse. It comes from winning championships. My Irish grandfather always spoke fondly of owner Art Rooney with a glint in his eye as though he were an extension of our family.

The modern-day Steeler mystique was born on a Saturday afternoon in 1972. With my grandparents in Northwood, I watched a tipped ball miraculously find its way into the hands of Franco Harris before it hit the ground, and he scampered to a game-winning touchdown.

My friends and I would run outside after games like that and play tackle in our number No. 19 nylon jerseys. We never did thank the Steelers for cutting a scrawny, bow-legged, flat-topped quarterback named Unitas.

The Ravens have followed the Pittsburgh model in every aspect. We have a big physical team like theirs, and we might even have more talent in certain facets of the game.  What we don’t have yet is that championship mindset.

A Pittsburgh victory on Sunday will reinforce that need.

Sports Illustrated writer Peter King wrote the script for this NFL season in September when he predicted Pittsburgh would beat Green Bay in the finale, 33-27. The movie might be called “The Roethlisberger Redemption” with Will Ferrell playing the lead role as the not-so-gentle Ben.

Ray Lewis knows what redemption feels like.

The stakes were high this season. No one expected Pittsburgh to win three out of its first four games without their stellar quarterback. Anything less than a Super Bowl victory will leave a bad taste in the Iron City's collective mouths.

A Pittsburgh win will focus the Ravens on attaining the ultimate goal instead of just talking about it.