Life as a Bucco Fan

No matter what happens tonight, I'm going to enjoy something I haven't had the pleasure of doing in a long time, watch my Pittsburgh Pirates compete in a playoff game.  This blog will read like so many others you've read the past few months, yinzers thrilled for .500, then a winning season, and now this, playoffs!  While all of us were impacted differently by the unfortunate events of October 14th, 1992, I argue that those of us born in the early 80s took it the hardest.

My friends and I were 11 years old in 1992.  We were old enough to know and love baseball.  We knew the back of our favorite players' baseball cards better than we knew our phone numbers.  We could tell you batting averages, ERAs, and confidently fill out the scorecard that came in our game day program. We knew what pride meant, especially in The City of Champions.  But we were also young.  We weren't yet jaded by speculation of steroid use, or betting on the game.  We didn't know what kind of income pro athletes earned as our parents scrounged together the money to take us to dollar-dog night.  We had no idea that there were issues in the locker room.  These guys were just our baseball heroes.

I was born a Bucco fan.  My earliest photos are of me wearing a Pirate onesie.  I can't remember much being on our television growing up other than baseball.  Though my family is from Pittsburgh, I was technically born outside of Lexington, Kentucky.  Though it killed my mom to be away from home, she always said she could tolerate the tv in that part of the world because we got TBS, so she could see the Bucs when they played the Braves, we were close enough to Cincy to get the feed when they played the Reds, as well as any nationally televised games.

We moved back to Pittsburgh when I was 6 and my mom went to work for a wonderful woman named Maria, who happened to have Pirate season tickets.  Knowing my newly working and single mother didn't have endless fun money laying around, she would give up her seats nearly every Sunday so my mom could take me to the ballgame.  Her seats, by the way, were 9 rows back from first base!  And so my love affair with the Pirates began.  I had started playing baseball when I was 7, but wasn't good enough for the infield and bored out of mind in the outfield.  I complained to my grandfather (the biggest of Bucco fans).  He had a suggestion, do what he had done, become a catcher.  As he said, "You'll get to play every inning and be where the action is."  And so for the next ten years, I played catcher. Spanky LaValliere became my favorite player and 12 became my number.  I've worn number 12 in every sport I've ever played since.  I also started collecting autographs.  We would come to the ballpark early for batting practice and I used my tiny t-ball glove to start collecting signatures.  At present, there is only one notable 1991 & 1992 player missing from that glove...Andy Van Slyke.  The circumstances involving that are a different blog post, however.

My 9th birthday party was held at Three Rivers Stadium during a Pirate game.  That year I had determined that Van Slyke was my new favorite player.  No offense to Spanky, but AVS was slightly better looking.  My mom's friend Maria bought me my first, real sports jersey, #18.  I slept in it that night and so many others.  My mom once accidentally ironed the polyester sleeve, causing a part of it to burn, leading to the biggest fashion meltdown I can remember ever having.  The attachment to that jersey is unreal.

Then came the 1992 playoffs.  I won't rehash what happened, as we all already know.  But as Sid was called safe, I ran upstairs, tore off the Van Slyke jersey and cried myself to sleep.  Again, we were old enough to understand, but far too young to keep our emotions in check.  I believe I also vowed to never watch another Pirate game again.  The next year would bring a disappointing end to what I still contend is the best Penguins roster on record.  And by the time the Steelers lost to the Cowboys in 1995, we understood sports were a series of ebbs and flows.  Sadly, the Bucs never came back up, we just kept on "rebuilding."

I stuck with them though.  I used my job in Student Activities at Point Park University to purchase opening day tickets every year, even when I had to beg students to attend.  My friend Nate and I sat through all 9 innings in 2004 or 2005(?) when it was freezing rain.  I attended 7 straight opening days, praying for the Pirates to just be .500.  I once took verbal abuse from a 8 year-old in old Yankee Stadium while wearing my Sanchez jersey.  As he shouted, "The Pirates are losers!" I had no retort, we were.  We'd been losing for longer than this kid had been alive...twice as long actually.  I joined the Lady Bucs Club, which was an attempt to pair wine tasting with baseball to generate ticket sales.  I proudly sported my "Go Freddy Go" sign in the freezing cold (with many other excited fans) as Freddy Sanchez's run at the batting title brought one of the few bright spots of the past 20 years.

But I never stopped believing that we would someday be rebuilt.

And so here we are, with a playoff game this evening.  Someone asked where I would be watching the game.  I responded, "On my couch, wine in hand, Van Slyke jersey on (yes, it still fits), with a box of Kleenex nearby, for happy tears...and the endless replays of 1992 they are sure to show."

LET'S GO BUCS!  Raise It.

Does God hate Pittsburgh?

After Sunday's loss of the Steelers to the Broncos, I read a Facebook post that stated, "God may love Pittsburgh, but He loves Tebow more. #ChildofChrist."  Now it could have been many things, including the number of drinks I'd consumed, but it shook my snow globe.  Could this be?  Does God really love Tim Tebow more than Pittsburgh?  Hmm.  Before resigning myself to a life where God doesn't love my favorite city, I had to examine some things...and sober up.

Given that this Facebook poster was clearly defining "God's love" as the ability to win at sports, I had to at least consider it; I mean, we'd just lost and Tim Tebow just won, if that's not clear evidence of who God loves more, I'm not sure what is.  So I started to think back over past years...evidence of God's love for Pittsburgh is quite obvious...we have more Super Bowl titles than any other team in the league, including two in my lifetime, the Penguins have won three Stanley Cups, all in my lifetime, and the Buccos?  Well, they didn't leave town after God took Barry's ability to throw a ball to home plate away, so let's count that as a win.

Then it happened, early in 2011, Sidney Crosby suffered a major, if not catastrophic, concussion, the Steelers lost the Super Bowl and the Pirates kept, well, being the Pirates.  I think it was further evidence of God's disdain for us Yinzers that we were led, albeit briefly, to believe that the Pirates might finish above .500.

2012 hasn't proven to be much better for the 'burgh, the Steelers lost to the Broncos (and call it Divine or not, but I do believe it was a Mercy Killing) and the Penguins haven't won a game yet this year.  Perhaps we Yinzers have done something to the Gods, particularly those Gods of  Hockey.  I have to wonder, maybe our sudden recognition for something more than sports (think: Most Livable City, Better than Portlandia, Batman) has caused us to be a bit arrogant.  Maybe Karma isn't in our favor because Matt Cooke and James Harrison hurt people?  No, it must be Big Ben's sexual misconduct.  (You know, since he's the only one in the league to have ever done this, it's easy to pin Pittsburgh's lack of Godly love on him.)

Oh how the mighty have fallen...

***STOP THE PRESSES- I was just informed that when discussing God and Tebow only one God exists and he is of the Christian variety. So, even in jest, please strike Hockey God(s) from the record.  Also, Karma is not real.***

Then I began to think about Troy Polamalu.  Polamalu is a devout Orthodox Christian and is seen crossing himself after big plays...did he just not pray hard enough last Sunday?  Did Tebow pray more?  And what about Ryan Harris, a Muslim...how do we know it wasn't his prayers that got the Broncos their victory?

Or better yet, how about religion has NOTHING to do with the outcome of a sporting event?

Tebow can be admired for many things...mostly being able to (sometimes inexplicably) complete passes while on a giant piece of green grass, but also, yes, for his extensive charity work.  He does great things for families in need, much more than many players who make quite a bit more money.  I have to say, it'd be even better if some of those people he helped weren't those who believe exactly as he does...perhaps invite a kid who's gay and being bullied to the charity suite?  Oh!  And there's what I don't admire about Tim Tebow.  His alliance with Focus on the Family is enough to knock him off my Pro-Athletes to Admire list.  I do respect him for having such strong convictions and he is a nice diversion from the womanizing ways of Brady and Ben, but why we don't talk about Drew Brees for 24-hours straight on ESPN then?  And Brees has already proven he can play NFL football.  Still, I'm not sure any of this has to do with what happens on a the field or God's love.

And about Pittsburgh?  I say we're still in God's good graces.  If it weren't for the great doctors in Pittsburgh, Chris Pronger (a father of 3) may have taken a hit that cost him more than a season of hockey and Sid may have ended up like Eric Lindros.  Speaking of Sid, how about this story out of the 'burgh today?  All of the Penguins wearing make-shift C's on their jersey to show their solidarity for their teammate...that's love.

http://penguins.nhl.com/club/news.htm?id=611576&cmpid=pit-fb-pghpenguins

Photo Credit: Pittsburgh Penguins 

And finally, about Pittsburgh returning to it's winning ways?

I think we'll be okay...God willing...and Let's Go Bucs.

AP Photo/Tribune Review, JC Schisler

The Winter Classic

So I had intended to keep this blog up a bit more regularly, but it's been a little rough with The Holidays.  Alas, tonight is Game 2 this season of the Battle of Pennsylvania, so time to get writing.

Most of you that know me, know that I love the game of hockey.  I play on not one, but two teams in Philadelphia.  I stay up late to watch the West Coast Games, pay extra for both the NHL Package on Comcast, as well as, Satellite Radio (okay, that's just so I can hear Mike Lange call goals) and generally, love all things hockey.  As you might expect, I was thrilled for HBO's 24/7 to launch this season.  While I despise the Flyers,  Talbot is always good for a laugh, and while not so much anymore, the Rangers have always been the dumping ground for some of my favorite former Pens.  This year I couldn't watch the debut episode of 24/7 live, so I DVR'd it.  And you know what?  It's still sitting there...only one episode recorded...30 seconds watched.  As soon as the opening footage started to roll, tears welled up in my eyes and I suddenly got nauseous.

Last year's Winter Classic was great!  I watched every second of the HBO footage from the Greatest City on the Planet, laughed my ass off at Boudreau's chicken sauce soaked face and clung to every word Danny Disco said in the locker room.

Winter Classic Weekend I met Brendan Shanahan...

made 2 out of 3 shots in Sidney Crosby's dryer (would have been all 3 but I rushed #2)...

attended the Alumni Game and saw my childhood heroes skate again...

And this year?  Well, I don't care.  Okay it's not that I don't care, it's that I get too nervous watching the game.  I used to be nervous about the outcome of the game and now I'm holding my breath for what's going to happen next.  2011 couldn't have been a worse year for hockey and I can't wait for it to be over.  I feel like since January 1 of 2011 we've been taking some really hard hits, some, unbearably tragic.  The rain that day should have been a sign.  Being a Yinzer (read: highly superstitious) and also a hockey fan (read: believes in Hockey Gods) I have to believe that 2012 will be better.  I'm not someone who believes the game should be "soft" (I firmly believe that fighting has a place in the NHL) nor do I believe that every injury is avoidable, but I have to believe that the Worlds Greatest Player will return to the ice for good in 2012, and that Yaroslavl Lokomotiv will continue to find strength to play the game, and that Shanny's explanations will help future generations of young players understand what will and won't be tolerated, and that the tough guys on the ice make the right tough decisions on their mental health.

I have hockey practice with my Nationally Bound Over-30 team, the Philadelphia Voodoo, at 9pm and will miss the end of the game tonight.  Rest assured I'll spend periods 1 and 2 in the car listening to Bourquey and Lange and wildly taunt my Flyer-loving teammates.  But the outcome of the game?  The return of Talbot and Jagr?  Yeah, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter all that much...that is...until 2012.

Pens v Flyers - Round 1

What a better time to get this blog rolling than the eve of the first Pens v Flyers game of the season!  My previous blog post explained why I'm proud to be a Yinzer, so the next logical step is to explain why it is relevant that I live in Philadelphia.

Earlier this week I became engaged in Facebook Altercation with a Flyer fan (shocking, I know).  The debate had all of the usual Turnpike-Battle Banter; the '75 Flyers, the '93 Pens, Lombardi trophies, Santa Claus (he brought it up, not me), batteries, ticket prices, the air quality of Pittsburgh in the 70s, the hitting quality of the Pirates in the 90s, etc.  Of course the cliched, Sidney Crys-by was thrown around more than once.

Our closing arguments went something like this:

Me: Flyer fans are hockey illiterates that think yelling "Fight" and "Hit 'em" are how you win hockey games.

Random Friend of a Friend: You're so wrong, we know hockey. You're just like everyone else saying we're stuck in the 70s, that's only a small minority, that's not everyone. Pittsburghers just think everything with in 2 ft of #87 is a penalty.

First off, yes, I was in said Facebook Altercation with a random friend of a fairly newly introduced co-worker.  Anyway, this discussion had me wondering...was I right with my comments, were Flyer fans living in the Broad Street Bully days or had I judged this new generation of fans on their 70s predecessors?  Then I re-read the start of the thread.

It had begun when my co-worker posted about having an extra seat to The Game.  I noted that I would be at The Game...in a luxury box.  My co-worker immediately called me a "sissy."  I politely explained that I preferred to wash my hair with shampoo and conditioner and not mucus and beer, but again I was called a sissy.  The next comments pertained to how Sidney Crosby is a whiner and a diver.  Now, I'll be the first to admit that our dear Captain did have a knack for occasionally imitating a flamingo in his early days, but in the past few years, I'd argue he's been mauled more times without a call, than he's pleaded with a ref for a call on a dive.  During this discussion, it seemed the only insult anyone could drum up about the Pens was related to either A. how tough they were compared to everyone else or B. things of the past.

Now I was forced to review why I felt such animosity towards the Flyers...was it because Hextall chased Robbie Brown around the ice like a lunatic?  That my friend who I'm going to the game with had a beer dumped on his head when he was 10 for wearing a Lemieux jersey?  No...I don't live in the past.  It's because I now have to wonder if all of Max Talbot's antics were sincere or just for notoriety, mostly to get a bigger paycheck.  It's because Jagr, who once said he was "dying alive" in the city that I love, pulled the biggest tease ever saying he might come back to Pittsburgh only to sign with one of our biggest rivals.  It's because I cannot respect a group of men who call themselves a Team while allegations of players cheating with each other's wives swirl around.  It's because Chris Pronger stole game pucks that weren't his to take.  It's because Hartnell bit Kris Letang's finger in a scrum.  You see, in Pittsburgh, it's not just about being a tough guy (though you can ask DiPietro's jaw about that) but more about 'aving 'art. (That's "having heart" for those of you who so quickly forget the Therrien years.)

So not only do we Yinzers have more than a big fist to throw around, but we know the game.  Last season I saw the Toronto Maple Leafs play the Flyers in the Wells Fargo/Wachovia/Whatever the Hell it's Called building.  During a break the organist played the typical stadium jingle of "dun dun dun," that would normally lead to a cheer of, "Let's Go ____!"  Instead, it went "dun dun dun, Cros-by Sucks!"  I was shocked.  I mean Crosby is a Canadian citizen and Toronto is a city in Canada...but I was confused.  I looked to the out-of-town scoreboard assuming that the Pens must have been winning and that I must have forgotten there was a game.  Nope.  The Pens weren't playing.  In Pittsburgh, when the Pens play the Leafs the chant is usually "six-ty-seven" as in the last year the Leafs won Lord Stanley's Cup, something that is relevant to the game of hockey.

So this is why my blog is significant...any Yinzer that has to put up with this level of stupidity and asinine aggression  should at least let it be known to those back in the 'burgh.  I've also resolved, at least for now, to avoid all Altercations involving Flyer fans until they learn a thing or two about the game and stop living in the 70s.  Until then, I'll treat them as such...Losers since 75.  

Being a Yinzer

So one of the biggest problems with being a Yinzer in Philly is that many Philadelphians (how creative) don't know what a Yinzer is.  In all fairness, there's some debate amongst Yinzers as to who fits the definition.  Yinzer can be sort of like Canuck...you can say, "I like the Vancouver Canucks" and people will give you a high-five and then you can say, "Those drunken Canucks rioted in Vancouver" and you will be punched in the face.  Likewise, with Yinzer, you can say, "Yeah, he's a Yinzer...grew up dahn the run" and immediately you and your speaking partner can begin comparing the years you graduated from 'Dice.  Contrary, you say, "A bunch of drunken Yinzers" and offense is immediately taken.  As with both words, you have to be on the "inside" to have the privilege to use them and by "inside" I mean native...locals, maybe, but only after an extended tenure.

The definition of Yinzer to most is "someone who says Yinz", meaning they speak Pittsburghese.  Yinz is a Pittsburghese contraction of "yous ones" or "youses" - meaning more than one of "you."  Growing up, only my grandparents spoke Pittsburghese, my mother found it abhorrent and insisted that I wash my clothes, not worsh them and that I clean up my room, not red it up.  I went off to college believing that I had no discernible traits of Yinzer in me.  About a week into my upstate New York college experience it was pointed out that I said rad at the beginning of radiator instead of the proper long a as in radiate, I wore tennis shoes (even when going running), and my o's were quite nasally.  When trying to figure out who you are as an 18 year-old freshman, it's easy to want to be someone different than who you were in high school.  Most of the people I went to college with were from New England.  Other than a few die-hard sports fans (who knew better than to getting in a pissing contest with a Pittsburgher), most of my college friends assumed Pittsburgh was a dirty city, with no culture; just another mill town filled with people inferior to New Englanders (again, creativity points here).  If you've ever interacted with a large segment of New Englanders at once, you know, convincing them otherwise is nearly impossible.  In the end, I decided it was nice to be different from my classmates, I liked that my o's were funny and I thought the icy sidewalks were slippy not slippery, I enjoyed telling people they were nebby and even more so, I enjoyed explaining that meant. Looking around campus, where everyone resembled a walking version of a J.Crew catalog it was great to remember that there was a whole city that dressed exactly like me...in Stiller jerseys.

After college, the economy was pretty brutal, many of my friends and I were forced to move back home, where rent was free.  Many of us found jobs in the 'burgh and started to embrace what a wonderful place it is.  With my second "real" paycheck I purchased Penguin season tickets (which I still have).  I started to frequent the bars that my grandfather told me to never enter (of course Kelly's is no longer a cabbie bar, but a cool, trendy place for 20-somethings) and while Pittsburgh has a pretty solid economy now, my husband's job required us to live in a city that had more financial offerings, which is how we ended up in Philly.

So for me, Yinzer means Pittsburgher...someone who thinks the only appropriate attire for Sunday is a Stiller jersey, someone that can read, write, understand and (sometimes) speak  Pittsburghese, who has pride about the great city from which they hail and above all, understand being a Yinzer.