Words From Another Well Spoken Somerset Man

76-80, hmmm.  Ok, it will take 6-0 to get to 82, but wait, only 5-1 to get to 81!  We can live with 81, right?  Are we all thinking this on a Friday morning in late September?  No, WE'RE not, only crazies like me are still beating this drum, and drinking this Kool Aid.  I ponder back to my freshman level psych days on this.  Didn't someone smart, say, Elizabeth Kubler-Ross (thanks Wikipedia!), invent a pyramid that outlined the stages of recovering from emotional grief?  Well, I think I'm still stuck somewhere in between stages 2 and 4 - Anger and Depression.  Ok, listen, if we can just win tonight, it'll only mean 4 wins to go,...yes, I probably need help.

Well, today's post isn't about me or the Bucs, or our respective ailments or abnormalities.  I'd like to plug in a shout to a most entertaining article I stumbled across in the Post-Gazette today.  Jason Zemcik, a fellow Somerset County man, composed a well worded article on the culture of winning in the 'Burgh, expanding a bit on the Battlins' constant role of the underachieving son who resides in a household of overachievers.  We can all rant, with pitch forks and torches held high, that the Nutting regime is a penny pinching, short sighted, carpet-bagging machine, whose sole intention is the fleecing of the innocent, upstanding season ticket holder.   We can loiter in Dr. Kubler-Ross's Anger section for as long as we wish - assign blame for a second consecutive collapse, this one greater and more soul crushing than the last.  We can cry foul over the trade deadline failures.  Certainly Shane Victorino or the great Hunter Pence would have prevented this.  We can find boundless levels of fault with Halfway Hurdle and his perceived blind loyalty to veteran players who failed to make the grade. If he only chewed out his players with the same canine tenacity that he gnaws on that bubble gum with.

Yeah, what about those players and their failures?  Those strikeouts?  How many inning ending, called strike three's can one team have in a night?  Oddly and simultaneously from a team that displayed record breaking levels of poor plate discipline.  How about the basepaths? Should we go there, offensive or defensive - they're both equally appalling. We can go all day with this...

The reality is that after all the anger, denial, bargaining, and depression; the acceptance eventually sets in. Another reality, even more sobering, is that this team, once again, and for whatever reason, failed to execute on the field with enough regularity to produce a winning season. In short, the 2012 Pittsburgh Pirates baseball team was below average by conventional gradings.  Report card would read "C minus", I suppose.  Sure, it would be a much easier pill to swallow had this been only the fifth or sixth straight season of losing.  The magnitude of two decades of futility certainly amps the frustration to unbearable levels, but in the end, 2012 will simply be carved in the record books as a fourth place finish with a win total most likely in the high 70's...basically just a slightly below average baseball team.

The team moved forward in many ways, however.  There was a time, not long ago, that slightly below average would have been a real good thing. There was a time when 75 wins seemed like a pipe dream.  Times have, in fact, changed, despite the end results. There are now bona fide players, actually stars, on this roster.  There is now an ace on the staff, and a true bull in the bullpen.  All this aside, in the end, the Bucs again just weren't quite good enough.  After all this is accepted, we remind ourselves that this is our team, and that we are fans.  April of 2013 is just a few calendar flips away.

Mr. Zemcik's article will not expose any smoking guns, nor will it pull back the curtain and reveal a witless tyrant spinning wheels and lifting levers while keeping us all in a hazy smokescreen.  It won't break any curses, or exercise any demons that Sid Bream has contracted for our torture. The essay will, however, remind me that at 7:05 tonight, I'll be tuned in, hoping to hear Greg Brown call for the colors to be hoisted for the 77th time.

And that would mean only 4 more...

EDITOR'S NOTE: as a Boswell man now living just north of Philadelphia, I must insist that Mr. Zemcik's  black and gold "fan card" is valid and in no jeopardy of being revoked.

Ode to Confluences

con-flu-ence  [kon-floo-uhns]

noun
1. a body of water formed by the junction of two or more rivers, streams, or the like.
2. the coming together of people, things, or events; a concourse.

If you follow Pittsburgh sports with nearly as much zeal and regularity as myself, you are familiar with definition #1 well beyond the point of ad nauseum. Every prime time Steelers' game brought you that slowed moment; usually mid way through the third period, as an injury stoppage, or replay challenge, was chewed up a moronic national color analyst guy showing you, the viewer, the blimp shot of the three rivers and circling the all vexing "confluence" area with his Sharpie-strator or whatever new techno gizmo that his network boasts.  It's always refreshing to get that third grade geography lesson from a former jock stuffed into a three piece suit with a resume of a dozen concussions and probably twice that number in employment dismissals.  NOTE TO NFL: spare us the freshwater aquatic lessons, everyone gets it by now. Even your international viewers know one thing about Pittsburgh geography, the C word.

So, as I drive into the Burgh yesterday afternoon, an afternoon I had been looking forward to for weeks, I began to think about confluences, more of the definition #2 variety.  Yesterday was about the convergence of things non-aquatic, or events non-aquatic.  Yesterday was that day when the true raging rapids of the Allegheny, aka the Pittsburgh Steelers' program, collides full force in Ohiopyle style with the troubling puddle formed by that annoying pipe leak, usually found under your sink, or toilet, or some other unmanageable spot, - and for those that don't know where I'm going with this, -the puddle signifies the efforts of your resident underachievers, aka the Pittsburgh Pirates.  The results of this convergence is a brutish display of the cruel powers of nature as the Steelers' wave washes through the puddle while the backdrag creates a tempest type swirling vortex, appropriately and symbolically resembling that of the final twirling salute of waste found in a standard American toilet bowl.  That poop pipe serving as the conduit for which the waning interest of another Bucco season slides to it's final resting place in the shit stack, alongside all other Ghosts of Bucco Seasons Past.

But alas, and we all can say it - ALAS!  This is 2012, and the Battlins' are fighting that undertow.  On this day, August 10th, the Bucs sport a 63-48 mark, 15 games over .500, entrenched in both divisional and wild card hunts, and most importantly, not to be overshadowed or drowned by the now in-session Steelers. Normally early August is reserved for fireworks, bobbleheads, auditions of newly acquired prospects, and the yearly three way battle for fourth place in the NL Sinful Division.  Just to mix up the ill will a bit, the theme of August 2011 was that of an epic crash to reality.  The sports equivalent of dining at a 5 star restarant and then remembering that you don't have a cent in pocket to pay the bill. 

August of 2012 is something of a gem.  The rounding of the third and final leg of a long and resilient season, punctuated with impressive personal performances on field, in dugout, and even in front office.  The Bucs in dawg days baseball, where every pitch mattered, every coaching decision weighed and mulled. 2012 has been a year for the ages.

Yesterday was a great and long awaited day for me in many ways.  The Bucs at 4:05 - seen live with our very own A-Dawg.  Seeing life throughout a stadium long on life-support.  Seeing Bucco chicks! Getting texts from MP back in Philly, as he watches along via the life changing MLB.TV app, and bonus: after all this, the Steelers kick off pre-season at 7:30! Bucs in pennant relevant baseball as Tomlin prepares his first of many rhetoric filled evenings.  Andrew McCutchen drawing more MVP chants when folks should be racing home from work to get the Yuengling iced prior to the Todd Haley new look-offense's one possession of playing time.  A.J. Burnett's right arm now as equally revered as Big Ben's. What gives?

The Bucs' game ended less than admirably, as newly acquired Wandy Rodriguez is still displaying his love for Pittsburgh by offering more souvenir balls to those fans sitting behind outfield walls. It was another W almost in the books,..should have been in the books. Damn, those game hurt.  Driving home at 7:20 I found myself compelled to not brush it off, and flip over to DVE for Steelers' pre-game as I would have done in years past, but instead to tune in to Pirates' post game to hear skipper Hurdle explain the loss.  Wow, what a great dilemma!  Toggling my radio back and forth between meaningful sports broadcastings?  Wolfley screaming about mojo-nating, Hurdle calming me and reminding me that Wandy just hung a pitch.  This is a true confluence!  A confluence of interests, a confluence of distractions, a confluence of emotions.

Who knows how long two gale forces will push through the North Shore?  Who knows how long we can ride the wave? All I can say is that I'm finally enjoying the challenge of navigating a confluence!

QUICK HITTERS:

• love Josh Harrison, but has anyone ever told the guy that 4 balls gets you a free ticket to first base?
• after 4+ months of steadiness, Jared Hughes, aka 'Mr. Hyde', is looking much more Jeckyl-ish to opposing batters these days.
• Am I getting fatter, or are PNC Park seats getting narrower?

A War Memorial

Operating a blog is pretty easy. Operating a successful blog is altogether different. One of the key tasks to achieving success in the blogosphere is maintaining a core group of loyal readers. By personal experiences, I can say that this core starts out with one's friends. It's probably no different than many sales related positions; ask any successful insurance or vacuum cleaner salesman, and he or she will tell you how their first target group of clients were friends and family.

I am certainly not above this technique, as my most honored readers also hail from my circle of friends and family. Two notable friends, MP and A Dawg, as true Pittsburghers, have dazzled me over the years with their tales of following the Penguins during their youth. Perhaps the forgettable "pre-Mario" years, in which Pittsburgh hockey was pretty darn unknown anywhere east of Monroeville. Sure, everyone knew about the Steelers and Bucs, but when it came to hockey, us turnpike guys didn't know much, and cared even less. Although I can remember listening to some mid 80's Pens' games via the radio, and broadcaster extraordinaire, Mike Lange, my memories of that era are somewhat limited. My Penguins interest grew after 1984, like so many of us from outside the Steel City. Besides Mario, one of my first Penguins heroes was #44, Robbie Brown. A great shooter, but possibly the slowest skater on the planet.

Growing up outside of Johnstown, Pa, the world of the old Penguins was still somewhat distant, and honestly, unremarkable to me. I do, however, have professional hockey memories of my own...The Johnstown Jets. As I read today that the current Johnstown franchise, the Chiefs, were closing shop and moving South, I once again felt a certain piece of my youth slipping away.

Johnstown is a city of some dubious distinctions. Obviously, when a town's moniker is the "Flood City", it probably suggests that better vacation options are available. The Johnstown Jets/Wings/Red Wings/Chiefs legacy is one that the Flood City can stake a claim of pride with, and is definitely a piece of my family's western PA history. For those that may not know this, the movie Slapshot was filmed in Johnstown, and the fictitious Charlestown Chiefs were based on the mid 70's Johnstown Jets. The fabled Hanson Brothers were real dudes who were based on, and played by, the Carlson Brothers, all real players, who at one time laced it up for the Jets. A footnote will also state that one of the movie Hansons was actually played by Dave Hanson, also a real player and one of the few former Jets to see NHL ice time.

It wouldn't be right if I didn't point out that my very own mother, Marge Watterson, also starred in Slapshot. Ok, well maybe not star, per se, but she did show up every night as an extra in the arena scenes, shot in the Johnstown War Memorial, a drafty old oval barn with that permanently entrenched aromatic blend of beer and urine. The War Memorial was everything you'd expect in a minor league hockey venue circa 1977, and it made the Igloo look classier than PNC Park. At the time, my mom, like every other red blooded American woman, had a thing for Paul Newman, and hell, every extra in attandance was rewarded with free hot dogs and cocoa. The cocoa was a necessity because on any given January evening, the indoor temperature in the War Memorial hovered around 43 degrees, with a slight westerly breeze. Anyone who logged frigid nights at the War Memorial is more than prepared to sit in the Heinz Field stands for next year's Winter Classic.

Another shout to my brother Wayne, who adorned his bedroom door with a Jets 1974-75 Lockhart Cup Champion decal. That decal is still on the door. The Jets generally sucked, but they did win that cup.

So maybe I can't boast of riding my bicycle to Penguins' games. Maybe I don't own anything from the blue and gold era. Nope, I can't tell you much about Rick Kehoe. I can, however, say that I have a little hockey lore of my own. Of course, until today, when I read the news of the demise of another Johnstown hockey team. Until the next J-Town franchise rises, I leave you with this nugget from the greatest hockey movie of all time. Matt Cooke eat your heart out...

If the Facts Don't Fit, You Must Acquit

So here we are, three whole weeks after the Ben Roethlisberger sexual assault allegations rocked Steeler Nation and virtually every online sportsnews forum. So what have we gathered up to this point? Here's a list:

• Something went down between His Bigness and a local 20 year old female in or near a nightclub restroom.
• Certain anonymous witness(es) claim that someone in Ben's posse blocked the entrance to the bathroom.
• Apparently no DNA evidence will be extracted from Big Ben.
• Apparently no security video footage showing any misdoings is available.
• The investigating authorities have interviewed virtually every key person of the fateful night, with the exception of Ben.
• 22 days and counting, and still no charges filed.

Hmm, slam dunk, huh? Although this drama may not have yet reached the boiling point and national hype that previous cases involving guys like Michael Vick or Kobe Bryant have, this is still the most polarizing story engulfing sports fans in the Northeast. Just google the word Roethlisberger and you will find endless lists of links to articles that have all but concluded Ben's guilt as a rapist, not once, but twice. The term Rapistberger is plastered on blogs and websites throughout the country, and just last week Ben's infamy was chronicled in animation, as Southpark writers cashed in on the troubled QB's current predicament. Rumor has it that the cities of Baltimore, Cleveland, and Cincinnati are attempting to make March 5th an official holiday.

Of course, we can't forget the endless streams of stories, eyewitness accounts, and tall tales of Ben's boorish, rude, and el cheapo antics that have also inundated our computers and email inboxes over the past few weeks. How about the tales of Ben's debauchery told by a friend of a friend of a waiter's sister-in-law? We all know how Ben brazenly drove his Harley across the finely manacured greens of Sir Arnold Palmer's golf course. Or was he throwing dice with Arnie's caddies? I forget. How many more times do we need to see that picture of Ben, as a drunken rookie, posing with the hottie? That was the same picture that we all laughed at when we first saw it...in 2005. That was the same picture that filled us a with a certain pride, much like a picture of the Stanley Cup in a swimming pool.

So, once again, 22 days into this shitstorm, where does it leave the player, the team, and the fanbase? Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one. The blogosphere reminds us of that every day. The 'geniuses' out there, both credentialed media members and hacks like me, have offered nearly every possible scenario: Ben will be found guilty, Ben will never play in the NFL again, Ben will never play in Pittsburgh again, Ben will start this season under suspension, the NFL, in a blatant display of racism, will let Ben slide with a scolding simply because he's white, this whole thing will just blow over. You name it, it's been speculated. The key word - speculated.

Now I ask you, what has Ben actually done? Why is it taking so long to produce any conclusion? Is the Georgia Bureau of Investigation that overrun with criminal cases? After three plus weeks, the only fact that anyone can truly report is that Ben is accused of wrongdoing, and nothing more. If the girl claims a foul was committed, and there is physical evidence or eyewitness accounts of a crime, then why no charges? This isn't the Kennedy assassination we're talking about. Sources continually point out that NFL commish and enforcer, Roger Goodell, will take some form of punitive action against Roethlisberger, regardless of criminal findings. How? Why? Based on what? Accusations?

Regardless of the findings by the GBI, Ben's reputation is now tarnished, and he will be forever linked to this. The amount of tarnish will depend on how the investigation and potential legal process play out. We all know that #7 will rise again, and he will resume his career as a stellar NFL quarterback. I am not defending Ben. I think it's high time that he quarantine his reckless abandon and cavalier demeanor to the gridiron, and exercise more caution in his private life. I just want to point out that after nearly a month, this farce has left us with more questions than answers. The question at hand is when we will actually get some hint of closure on this?

The Wise Old Michael Irvin

It isn't often that this blog, or probably any other blog, quotes former Pro Bowl receiver/bad boy, Michael Irvin, but I found this interview interesting. When a guy with Irvin's dubious reputation calls for better decision making, we should all take notice. We should also note that Irvin failed to specify if Dallas was one of the dozen or so teams that the blogosphere has rumored to be Ben's next home.

Heinz Field Showcasing New Benapalooza Apparel

A quick thanks to A Dawg for leaking us a preview of the new Benapalooza men's wear line that will soon be available in the 'Burgh. Well done A Dawg, now can you find me that Matt Cooke assassin tee shirt?



QUICK HITTERS:

• Milledgeville officials are now forecasting two to three weeks for the initial investigation to wrap up. After that, the decision of whether to pursue formal charges will be made.
• So the question has been raised: what happens if Randle El doesn't crack the top three wideout slots (which he probably won't), and he doesn't beat out Stefan Logan in the return game? Ed Bouchette raised an even more intriguing question: with all these receivers under contract, what happens if a super undervalued wideout slips in the draft? Do they pass him up, or draft him knowing that El or Battle will then most likely be cut?
• As the clock ticks, I continue to recalibrate my odds of a Fast Willie signing. As of press time, I'm saying 70/30 that the team extends a legitimate contract offer for FWP to return as a reserve.
• The word on the street is that Larry Foote should be seeing plenty of playing time in 2010. The potential to start over Farrior has been mentioned numerous times in last few days.

Ready for Some Foote-Ball?

On a day in which Steeler Nation continues to sit on pins and needles, methodically hitting the refresh button at Google News, and reading yet another scathing, albeit anonymous and uncredited account of Big Ben's crude and barbaric exploits, the front office guys again direct attention back up north by inking another former standout (and PittsburghFan favorite) Larry Foote. The Foote deal was labeled as depth, but methinks that #50 is going to see plenty of field duty this season.

With Foote's signing, the Steelers have now brought in five unrestricted free agents (most likely an all time team record), while retaining the services of vets Ryan Clark, Jeff Reed, and Casey Hampton. With a first round tender to oft criticized tackle and Ben-a-polooza member, Willie Colon, and a fourth round tender to punter extraordinaire, Daniel Sepulveda, the team now appears to have made all of it's noteworthy moves prior to the April draft. I suppose that means all team news now belongs to Milledgeville, Georgia.

QUICK HITTERS:

• Thru the help of that news generator, aka, the internet, we now have learned that Ben is not only a rapist, but a racist, a sexist, an alcoholic, and above all else, a poor tipper! Oh, and he is despised by his team, and nearly the entire city. Certainly, within the next few days, some teen girl somewhere will link Ben to Al Qaeda.
• Was Randle El serious when he said that he will compete for the #3 wideout? Hmmm, did anyone tell him about Mike Wallace?
• With Fast Willie Parker's agent drumming up next to no interest in the former standout, one must consider if a bargain deal can be struck to return the aging thoroughbred to the Heinz Field stable.