On the day after a crushing Steelers loss (I am considering taking Dick Lebeau out of my will after that horrific lack of defense in the fourth quarter!), I have chosen to reflect on another thing that breaks my heart - one that, in fact, has been breaking my heart for approximately seventeen years. You got it: it's our Pittsburgh Pirates and their inability to have a winning season since the year my husband moved to the Steel City. (Not that he has anything to do with their failures... I think ;)
I've been a baseball fan on and off pretty much since birth. I've been able to get away with being a casual fan for some years of my life because in Pittsburgh, being a Buccos fan is not quite the essential thing that being a Steeler fan is. People will forgive you, for example, if you forget who Jim Leyland is. If you were to enter Posvar Hall on Pitt's campus for the first time and ask why there's a home plate in the middle of the ground, you would get a reasonable explanation and a look of, 'it's okay, you weren't born yet, you couldn't be expected to know what Forbes Field was.' Never would a lack of knowledge or interest in Pittsburgh baseball get you banned from the Thanksgiving dinner table such as would, say, admitting you have no clue who caught the Immaculate Reception.
I seriously recommitted myself to baseball in the spring of 2006. My husband and I had just met and started dating, and one of our first dates was a baseball game - these fantastic seats one row behind the opposing teams's dugout, right along the first base line. It was the first time I saw Ian Snell pitching, and despite his shoddy record, he quickly became my favorite (of the several games we attended that season, he pitched two and got the win in both). We still had both Wilsons at that time, Jason Bay and Freddie Sanchez, a slew of new players that showed promise, and of course, one very old player (unlike the man himself, aging Jeromy Burnitz jokes never get old!).
From that first game on, we were devoted to our Buccos. M and I were still in college, and more than a little broke, so we grabbed up free tickets whenever anyone we knew was giving them out. If we couldn't be there in person, we were watching the game on TV. For the first time in my college career, I upgraded my cable package so we could get FSN and access to almost all of the baseball action. I even listened on the radio if I was working and couldn't watch. We made it to enough games that we felt as though the can't-play-'Here-We-Go-Steelers'-in-tune saxophone guy on the Clemente Bridge was a part of our family.
In fact, in 2007, when we were preparing for our move out west, I got an automated phone call from Jason Bay and Jack Wilson, telling me just how very much they wanted me to be a season ticket holder. The call brought a tear to my eye - how much I was going to miss the fireworks after a home run, disputing ball v. strike on every questionable pitch, watching endless replays of the single amazing diving catch of a game, and evaluating which pair of baseball pants was the most flattering on each player! What would I do, three-thousand miles away from the Pirate Parrot, Oliver Onion, and the FSN crew's endless discussions of pie and argyle socks??
I decided that rather than keep up with the Pirates from afar, which would only bring me a sadness in my heart, I would become a Dodgers fan. What I didn't realize was that despite the fact that the Dodgers had a winning team, an even lower percentage of Los Angeles citizens cared about them than the percentage of Yinzers who followed the Pirates. I tried, in vain, to pay attention to the local team, but in reality, the only Dodgers game I made it to was their showdown in April 2008 against the Pirates. Our Buccos lost, of course, but M and I had the pleasure of listening in on the conversation of the displaced steel workers behind us, who were debating whether or not they'd ever be able to move back to the land of black and gold (the end result was that while they missed watching Steeler games with lunch instead of breakfast, they more importantly did not miss shoveling their driveways).
When we came back to Pittsburgh, I was determined to be a season ticket holder. The moment tickets to the home opener went on sale, I was logging in to the Pirates' website and purchasing ours. We had seats in row Y. When we got to the game on the rainy early afternoon of April 13th, I thought, "Well, at least it's not the very last row!" After climbing to our seats, we realized that there is no row Z.
The Buccos won that game - we crushed the Houston Astros, 7-0. Our starting pitcher, Zach Duke, pitched a full game, and Adam Laroche had a home run. The season was looking bright! We were feeling on top of the world - the Steelers had won the Superbowl, the Pens were headed for the playoffs, and the Buccos were finally going to have a winning season!
If you don't live in Pittsburgh or follow baseball, I will tell you how this story ends: the Pirates trade my two favorite players in a single move (shortstop Jack Wilson and pitcher Ian Snell) and our other star player (Freddie Sanchez) later that day. In the interviews on the radio, Wilson and Sanchez were both close to tears. Freddie was interviewed first, before he knew he was also being traded, and he said something along the lines of, 'I don't know what I'm going to do without my best friend with me anymore.' Later, they interviewed Jack, and he was heartbroken, talking about how much he loved this city and had wanted this team to really turn it around.
Since they've left, and despite the replacement of Nate McClouth with an even better outfielder, Andrew McCutcheon, the Buccos have gone 16-38. It is quite possible that, after the remaining seven games, we will have lost 100 games or more this season.
So, the question remaining is, why do I insist on keeping the love alive in this abusive relationship with the Pittsburgh Pirates? Why do I get pumped up at spring training each year, if all they're going to do is give me another losing season (we're at seventeen in a row, for those of you keeping score at home)? Even after my two favorite players get sent away in a single move, why do I put myself through the torment of learning to love the new guys on the team?
Why? Because I'm a Pittsburgher. I'm a Pittsburgher, and that means I'm stuck with the Pirates, good or bad. For better or worse, this is my baseball team. Like that alcoholic friend who only seems to call you when she's down and out, but once in awhile, the two of you take on the town and have a fantastic time, I can never just turn away a 3am drunk dial from my Pirates. Who knows, they may score seven runs in a single inning to come back and take the game away from their opponents! And yes, they may go through three pitchers in the first five innings, but the very next game, McCutcheon could make a leaping grab to save the game in the top of the ninth! And Matt Capps could blow a double-digit lead, but Jesse Chavez... wait. Nevermind. Poor example. :)
My point is this: through the good and the bad, I've got to be there for my Buccos. We were there for our Penguins in 2002 when they went 27-44-6, and they repaid us by bringing home Lord Stanley in 2009. We stood by our Steelers when Neil O'Donnell threw the game-ending interception in Superbowl XXX, and they've since won two more Lombardi trophies. And maybe, just maybe, if I sit in the stands and yell 'Believe in yourselves!' loud enough to my Pittsburgh Pirates, they'll hear, and suddenly remember how to play baseball, and then we will really, honestly, truly, for certainly, be the City of Champions.
(I just hope it happens before I'm as old as Jeromy Burnitz.)
