On the Threes

After stumbling and bumbling out of the gate to the tune of a 2-3 record, the 2012 Pittsburgh Steelers are almost one third of the way to repeating a triennially historical event.  If the 1970's was the Golden Era of Steeler football, the period of 2001 through 2011 must be considered the Silver Era.  Ten seasons of .500 or better, eight playoff appearances, three Superbowls, two Lombardi Trophies.  A pretty good resume for those eleven years, most would agree.  Despite producing a competitive product nearly year in and year out, an extremely uncommon feat in today's NFL, the Steelers have managed three decline or reset years, all coming in three year increments: 2003, 2006, 2009.  Is 2012 the newest installment? 

Here's a snapshot of those terrible threes:

• 2003 - coming off a 10-5-1 record and a thrilling victory over the Cleveland Brownies in the wild card round, the 2002 team bowed out of the divisional round with a three point OT loss to (guess who), the Tennessee Titans.  The 2003 team rolled out of the gate with the underwhelming and overly confounding Tommy Gun Offense, while keeping big back Jerome Bettis's big backside parked on the bench for most of the early season.  The net result was a 6-10 record, no playoffs, and the rebirth of the most annoying and misused term in the sports dictionary "get back to Steeler Football".  If for nothing else, the forgettable 2003 team brought us one more thing - the recognition by ownership that the quarterback position must be upgraded mightily - enter Ben Roethlisberger and one of the most significant turning points in Steeler history.
• 2006 - after amassing 26 regular season wins through Roethlisberger's first two years, the team secured the 2005 Lombardi Trophy, the first new addition to the Heinz Field Great Hall trophy case.  Delivering the championship in just his second season, Roethlisberger became the youngest QB in NFL history to do so.  A few months later, the world got their first taste of the bad side of Big Ben drama when portions of his face were hosed off of Second Avenue following his June 13th motorcycle accident.  Despite escaping without major injuries, Ben lost most of the offseason to recuperating from the accident, and then an emergency (and most untimely) appendectomy.  The team limped through the first half of 2006, demonstrating true Superbowl hangover symptoms.  Despite a 6-2 second half, the team finished 8-8 and out of the playoffs.  Head coach Bill Cowher resigned shortly after, although it's still unclear whether Cowher's fatigue contributed to the decline, or whether the decline prompted his exit.  Like 2003, the step down was not all for nought - as Cowher's vacancy was filled by a confident young black man whose poise is trumped only his vast collection of catch phrases, head coach Mike Tomlin.
• 2009 - similar to 2006, the Steelers started the 2009 campaign as the reigning Lombardi Trophy holder. Just like 2006, the 2009 season ended without a playoff berth, as the "unleash Hell" unit swooned through December with a five game losing streak, mostly to beatable teams.  The team compounded poor offensive line play with a season long nagging injury to defensive playmaker Troy Polamalu.  A brief winning streak to finish the season left the team with a 9-7 mark, missing the playoffs to the discretion of the tie-breaker system.  The silver lining takeaway?  The acceptance that the offensive line was mediocre at best, horrific at worst - enter Maurkice Pouncy, the next great Steeler center.

So what does history forbode for the 2012 team?  Considering that 2010 and 2011 were powerful playoff teams, the triennial script reads fairly familiar:  the off field distraction (Mike Wallace hold out/young money drama), the key injuries, the sloppy line play, the claims that the defense seems old and ineffective.   Let's hope that Tomlin and Co. can pull this season out of the litter box and string together enough wins to garner a playoff spot.  If not, we can look forward to the parting gift again.  Perhaps that next defensive playmaker, perhaps a new hot shot coordinator, perhaps another big blue chip guard to cement the youth movement on the offensive line.

In the modern NFL it's virtually impossible for teams to achieve winning records and playoff berths every season.  If there was a team that was an exemption to this truth, it would probably be the Steelers.  The Rooney family has created a machine that churns out winners nearly every season.  The operative word is nearly.  As the great 80's crooner, Meatloaf , once exclaimed "two outa three ain't bad".

Angry

As I lie in bed late last night, trying to dodge the thumping of too many Yuenglings on my temple, I hear the familiar reverberation of my iPhone vibrating on my hardwood floor.  I look over, already knowing who the message is from.  "Angry" - read the five digits written by MP at 1:59 am.  Five drunken digits that summarized a collective feeling with more effectiveness than the vast majority of my long winded posts.  Angry was MP in LP, who witnessed in person the Steelers' epic failure in the honky tonk city last night.  Angry is he, as is all of Steeler Nation this morning, and rightfully so.  Last night's debacle was the second go-from-ahead loss to a shoddy opponent in the span of three games.  The Steelers now sit at 2-3 as they freefall further and further behind the Ravens and Bengals. One word comes to mind: unacceptable. 

Although there is more than enough blame to pass around, I'm hanging this latest embarrassment squarely on the broad shoulders of Coach Mike Tomlin and his franchise quarterback, Ben Roethlisberger.  Those two can look at each other this morning and ask themselves why.

The 2012 Steelers team thus far is an undisciplined lot, playing poorly and being further hindered by bad coaching.  The mistakes and gaffes last night ranged from technique issues, scheme issues, focus issues, and strategic issues.  The fact that Tomlin opted to have rejuvenated kicker Shaun Suisham try a career long 54 yard field goal attempt with the game on the line speaks volumes about his management style and even more volumes about the state of this team.  Regardless of what Suisham did in his previous attempt, the success likelihood of the 54 yarder could not have been greater than 50/50...essentially a coin toss.  Surely Coach T could have huddled up with the franchise QB and Todd Haley, offensive genius extraordinaire, to find a single seven yard play in the book.  We all know that Tomlin is all about showing confidence in his players, but why the blind faith in a kicker and not your 102 million dollar QB? This, the quarterback that just earlier became the franchise's all time leader yardage passer, the same quarterback that the NFL Network assured us all evening that they were finally ready to permit entrance into the elite QB club?  The same QB that we all know is the master of the moment, the maestro of the fourth quarter miracle.  No, let's try the coin toss - the long field goal attempt that, if misses, puts the Titans about 20 yards outside of the range of their own kicker, one of the most prolific long bombers in NFL history.  Again, one word comes to mind: confounding.

Perhaps Tomlin's gamble was based on the faith that his defense would rise to the occasion and hold for overtime, should Suisham miss.  Three weeks ago, in Oakland, Tomlin opted to go for a fourth down deep in his own end simply because that same faith in that same defense was absent.  So, this same unit that has been victimized in crucial moments throughout the entire fall was going to hold a surging offense to under 20 yards?  Hmmm....

As I stated earlier, there is lots of blame to assign throughout Camp Steeler.  Here are my top hitters.  Feel free to comment with your own:

• There was once a time when Ike Taylor was regarded as a great corner with bad hands.  Now he's a mediocre at best corner with still bad hands.
• Keenan Lewis drops a sure interception that would have most likely been a pick six, or at least set up the offense for the game icing drive. 
• Mike Wallace - yes, he can sprint, but can he eliminate the drops?
• Dick LeBeau.  Let's go for an all out blitz with the game on the line, but let's be coy and cute about it, and drop our best pass rusher, James Harrison, off into a clear mismatched one on one with a tight end.  Really????  This is why people say that Tricky Dick has run his course.
• The entire defense - another full field TD drive in the fourth quarter.  As MP pointed out, we need to get Renegade into these road stadiums media rooms.

Beep Beep Beep goes the Wrecking Ball Truck

Wishful thinking Brian.  Seriously wishful thinking.  On the afternoon following the final page of a woefully troubling chapter in an even more woefully troubling book, we can look back at a forgettable season that, sadly and ironically, won't be forgotten any time soon.  One only had to catch the highlights, well, lowlights, from yesterday's 4-0 loss to the seemingly perennially playoff bound Atlanta Braves to get a summation of the Buccos epic second half collapse.  No runs scored, opposing runners stealing bases, game ends on a called strike three with runners on base - the 11th K of the game.  How fitting that this sad sack team finishes on a whimper, with a bat resting on Jose Tabata's shoulder.  In what should have been a critical 6 game homestand, the Bucs' offense, with renewed listlessness, managed a total of 12 meager runs, scoring 3 or less 5 times, while getting shutout twice and no-hit once.  What a great ending by a team implored by it's manager to "Finish!"  The only finish that the 2012 Pirates managed this week was the finishing of their fanbase's suffering through the merciful arrival of Out #27 of Game #162. 

Today's news brought us quips from owner Bob Nutting vowing that this injustice will not go unnoticed, while coyly no-commenting on the job statuses of his so-called Single Best Management Team in Baseball.  The gallery of Nutting critics is scoffing right now, as the vibe seems to be that nuttin's gonna change. (yes, all pun intended.).  "We're reviewing all sorts of options..."  Hmmm, really?

Tomorrow's post: breaking down what went right, what went wrong, and what needs to happen for 2013.

All Aboard the Blame Train

Stunned, shocked, sickened.  How fitting that the Three S's that have plagued the 2012 Pittsburgh Pirates and their dwindling support group for most of the late summer raises their ugly heads on Sunday afternoon, as the team has once again gained their magical number - 82...losses that is.  As in true 2012 Buccos' form, this milestone was attained in epic fashion.  Clinging to the fleeting hopes of finishing with an 81/81, the mostly reliable closer Joel Hanrahan manages to blow a save by yielding a long ball to former Buc castoff Xavier Paul.  Xavier Freaking Paul, the guy who has less power than most T-ball reserve infielders?  Perhaps the insult to injury, (and there always seems to be insult to injury these days) was Jose Tabata, representing the tying run, getting gunned down at third base to open the bottom of the ninth.  A team of Hollywood writers couldn't come up with this stuff.

And with that, 82 losses and a 20th CONSECUTIVE LOSING SEASON.  As the entire free media world west of Harrisburg is now lambasting this colossal collapse ad nauseum, micro-analyzing every bad thing Bucco from ownership down to the Great Pirogi Race, it's finally time for us at PittsburghFan to hop on the blame bus.  Deservedly, there is a shit ton of blame to assign.  You can't produce a 17-38 stretch after amassing the fifth best record in all of baseball without there being a few critics in the balcony.  After vowing to never repeat the collapse of 2011, Hurdle and Co. actually managed to not only repeat it, but trump it in 2012.  Consider that the team owned a poorer winning percentage than even the woeful Astros from August 8th on, and it will start to become clearer. The Bucs deserve every ounce of disdain that they will be garnering over the next several weeks,...and there will be plenty.  Despite the anger in my heart and in my fingertips, the focus of this post will be an honest stab at listing the key areas in which I feel have been the root under the team's failure.

1. The Collective Failures on the Basepaths.  For the vast majority of the 2012 season, the team failed to control the basepaths, both offensively and defensively.  An inability to throw baserunners out with any regularity, while seemingly running themselves out of innings on a nightly basis was far too much to overcome.  They lived on the edge all summer with the defensive side, brazenly assuring us that the 9% caught stealing rate was not hurting the team's outcomes, a supportable fact when they were 16 games over .500.  Then they flew to Milwaukee, and all of the sudden practically every single, walk, or hit batsman turned into a double, if not a triple.  Word spread quickly, and everyone ran, and ran, and ran. Bucco catchers, particularly Rod Barajas, were simply overmatched trying to prevent the thefts. A walk plus a stolen base plus a single equals a run, and you just can't win if you can't defend that. Things weren't any less painful during the other half innings. The offense boasts a team with certain levels of raw speed, yet at some point mid summer the baserunners seemed to collectively lace up cement sneakers while forgetting all baserunning fundamentals.  How fitting that resident numbskull, Tabata, gets nailed at third base for the first out in the ninth, ultimately solidifying the 82nd loss.  Fitting indeed.
2. The Rise and Fall of the Starting Rotation. Remember the All-Star Break this year?  Remember when AJ Burnett and James McDonald combined for the statistically best 1-2 punch in all of baseball.  Two aces on a team that rarely held a card higher than a Jack.  An oddly healthy Eric Bedard, a recently healed Jeff Karstens, and even the unflappable Kevin Correia managed enough quality starts to round out a strong rotation.  Things are a lot different these days.  Bedard, along with his 6+ second half ERA and his smug/aloof (is smaloof a word?) persona was sent packing.  Karstens went back to his home on the trainer's table, and James McDonald basically forgot how to pitch to any team other the Cardinals.  If you need one scapegoat to hang the crash on, then aim your sights at J-MAC.  You can scour the record books, and you'll have a very tough time finding a veteran starting pitcher who gains more points on a ERA after the All Star Break.  He's sporting something in the middle 7's in the second half.  All this from a guy who some felt should have started the All Star Game after mowing down hitters nearly effortlessly throughout the first half. That is historic Steve Blass Disease type stuff.
3. Lack of Veteran Bench.  Baseball people often use the term 'professional hitters' to describe a certain type of player, and make no mistake here, they aren't referring to the likes of Josh Harrison, Chase D'Arnoud, Jeff Clement, or Yamaico Navarro with this expression.  Like most seasons, the Pirates crossed into August with a mixed bag of has-beens and never-weres riding their pine.  The problem this year was that the August and September games were meaningful, dawg days type events, and those veteran hitters - those hard outs - are highly important in the late innings.  The seemingly endless string of non-productive at bats during critical moments of critical innings of critical games, was well, critical to the team's failures.  The acquisition of Gabby Sanchez, helped on paper, I suppose, but Yo Gabby Gabby's role at this juncture in his career has not been role player/utility/pinch hitter.  There were veteran role players out there, in fact, were already here, in the form of Casey McGehee. Unfortunately, the brass felt that the kids from Indy were the best bet.  It's times like these that make it really tough to fight that long running argument about the Bucs always taking the cheap way out.
4. The Regression of Jose Tabata and Alex Presley.  As a purely optimistic, my cup's half full, sort of Bucco fan, I tried to take positives away from September 2011.  Something I looked forward to was the flanking of Andrew McCutchen in the outfield with Tabata and Presley.  Although neither men were true corner outfield slugging types, they both showed the ability to go .300-ish with some good speed and a little pop.  Hitting 1-2 in front of Cutch, Jones, Walker, and Alvarez seemed like potentially good scenario for the home team.  Two leadoff hitters setting the table for the sluggers.  Rolling the clock forward to today, October 2012, and we can now view the tandem as a complete disappointment. Both men slumped mightily in the early going, each garnering all expenses paid voyages to Indianapolis.  Both players' averages are in the range of 50 points off of their high water marks, and both have been atrocious on the basepaths.  Tabata has been the true failure this year, as his offensive and defensive games have both tanked mightily.  You have to wonder about Tabata's brain at this point, as one would require at least both hands and maybe a foot to count the amount of mindless gaffes he's engineered both defensively and on base.  Two years ago, Tabata was a rising star.  Now, it's tough to envision him as a starting outfielder anywhere in the majors next April.
5. Neil Walker's Backbreaking Ending.  See #3, 'professional hitter'.  If there has been one consistently hard out in the Pirates lineup since his may 2010 recall, it's been local hero Neil Walker.  A truly clutch hitter who simply puts the ball in play with regularity, Walker has been the Bucs most consistent run producer for two plus seasons.  2012 was no exception, and Walker was on pace for at least .280, 15-18 homers, 90+ RBI.  Then there was the pinkie injury.  Then the back went.  All the sudden, the normally bulletproof Walker was spending his days in the trainer's room and his nights under heat pads.  Walker has appeared in just a handful of games since mid August, and, it's not too mysterious that his absences have been neatly paired with the Bucs' losing.  The Saber freaks will tell you all about the nebulous WAR (wins above replacement), trying to quantify the importance of a hitter like Walker.  Simply stated while using analog measurements, Walker's injuries cost the Bucs at least five wins, if not more.  Too many games were lost in August and September because of non-productive at bats in crucial moments.  One hit, one sacrifice fly, one ball in play could have swung numerous games.  The patented Neil Walker 12 pitch at bat that ends with a roped double into the gap was sorely missed in the August evenings.  Let's all hope that Neil is healthy come April.
6. Lack of Accountability.  Let's save the best and simplest for last.  Whether it was 19 inning games, blown calls, excessive rain delays that led to late flights back home, we as the fan base were force fed reason after reason for why the team couldn't beat anyone with regularity down the stretch.  The pinnacle of the cock and bull came via beleaguered (yet supposedly employment sound) GM Neal Huntington's flimsy "survivor mode" theory for the players' collective stinking up of the joint.  Truth be told, the team choked mightily.  After fading out of the divisional race, then the wild card, the team still could have delivered to their city what right now would have been practically equivalent to a Steelers Lombardi Trophy, - a winning season and the end to the longest running punch line in all of professional sports.  You cannot tell me that the men in the locker room did not appreciate the magnitude of this.  This would have been a ticker tape, end of year parade right down Federal Street.  All they had to do was win about 40% of their games for a few lousy weeks. (10-16 from September 6th on would have done it).  They couldn't even come close.  No one stood up, and every, and I do mean every, so-called leader performed at least one vanishing act when he was counted on most.  Even Burnett, the modern day Robin Hood who defiantly told baseball that even downtrodden Bucs fans have a right to happiness, hit the snooze button a few times down the stretch. Call it pressure, perhaps two decades of losing is just too deep a grave for this particular group to climb out of.  In the end, it's a choke of epic proportions, one that the super fans, like me, will not forget any time soon.  So guess what, the grave is a little deeper now, and next year won't be any easier.

Today is about the blame.  Later this week, we'll focus on the remedies.

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...