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?