The Freedom of Choice

Up in Smoke, Paramount Pictures 1978

There is so much to talk about this week that it was hard to know how to narrow it down, but in the end, what larger event in the world of a Steelers fan could there at this juncture in the season than the arrest of Le'Veon Bell and the now unfortunately named LeGarrette Blount for possession of marijuana and DUI.  If you follow football at all you undoubtedly know about it, if you follow the Steelers you definitely do, and it's all over the Internet and sports shows, so there's not that much to add to the facts of the case.  Despite my working only about three miles from where they were arrested, I wasn't there of course because I was doing what most of us were doing - working so we can afford to buy sports tickets, so I can't add any interesting tidbits about it.  So I was tempted to pass it by, but in the end, I decided I want to weigh in, not to everyone in general really, but to the football players themselves.  This is my open letter to all of them, Bell and Blount most especially:

Hey Guys,

As a fan, I can tell you that we adore you.  You're like rock stars to our adoring eyes.  Yet I know you're young and that's all overwhelming.  As is the big money.  Nice problem to have maybe, but I suspect it's not as easy to handle as we'd all like to think.  Lots of people look to you now with their hands held out, I'm sure.  And professional sports can raise you up, but throw you right back down in the blink of an eye.  So, at you're age, you're trying to just figure stuff out and enjoy life, all the while having a lot of pressures the rest of us don't.  I also am not so old that I can't remember that flush you get when you're first out on your own and feeling like you have the freedom to do anything you want.  Stay up late drinking and dancing in my day.  Maybe the activities have changed, but human nature hasn't, so I'm sympathetic to the core concept that is operating in your heads:  as long as it's not hurting anyone else, there shouldn't be a problem with me doing it.  My life, my choice.

Well, here's the thing you have to know:  it is your life.  And it is your choice.  But you made it already.  You made it when you aspired to play in the NFL.  You traded the freedom to have a little afternoon toke for having thousands, if not millions, of people wearing a jersey with your name on it every Sunday.  You traded so that kids go to sleep at night with a Fathead of you watching over them on their walls.  You traded for money and fame.

Fathead.com

You pay a price for that, I know.  Potentially you pay a dreadful price in your long term health.  There's a strong physical risk that you take every day you put on pads.  You pay with your privacy.  The scrutiny that we subject all of you to on and off the field is relentless in a social media world.  I can't even imagine what that's like.  But, here's the thing, this is the life you chose.  What you have to know now is that you are role models, whether you think that's what you chose to be or not.  That kid looking up at your two dimensional face on his wall every night dreams of becoming you.  You want him to be the pothead version or the talented and successful running back version of you?

You went to work for an employer who understands the reputation the league and the players have.  That employer is adamant about protecting that brand because its popularity is what's allowing all of you to become potentially very rich.  It's your choice to work for the NFL and the Pittsburgh Steelers. But if you want to, then you have to obey certain policies and procedures.  Let me tell you, out in the real world it's exactly the same.  You're not above that.  No one is.

I'm sure by now you've had it explained to you that your actions hurt not only yourselves but the team and the organization.  But you hurt all of us too:  the fans.  I don't have your money.  I struggle to pay my bills with enough left over to come see you play or to buy that jersey.  If the best team possible isn't on the field because some of the players are suspended for off field actions, then the whole of the Steelers Nation is hurt.  So, think of it like that when you're deciding on your pre-flight activities.

I have an opinion on marijuana.  I grew up in the 70's after all.  And I have a case of hard cider sitting next to my case of pumpkin ale just waiting for football to kick off, so even if I didn't have the particular opinion I do, what kind of a hypocrite would I be?  But, the fact of the matter is it's illegal in this state.  So, I don't do it.  Period.  I don't really think my life sucks because of that.  I heard what Ryan Clark said about it, so maybe you think that's a mitigating factor.  But, here's the thing: you know full well if you get in trouble out in public with it, the league has to take action.  It has to.  And you KNOW that.  So, what exactly were you thinking?

One's football career is like one's infancy.  They're both pretty intense, but short lived.  You will, before you know it, unless your name is Tony Gonzalez, have to move on to your life's true work.  Then you can live your days in a daze for all I care.  But, for now, quit being a dumbass!

Sincerely,

Your adoring fan, SteelerFanMom

99 Problems, but Lack of Sports Ain't One

I have to be honest:  the Pirates recent losing streak was gut wrenchingly painful, but there is a secret part of me that has been happy to have the break.  When I came in last night from mowing the yard until it was too dark to see any more after a full workday, frustrated that I'd easily missed half the game, I grabbed up my phone and demanded that Siri tell me the score.  She cheerfully announced that the Pirates were losing 8-1 at the top of the 6th inning.  I accepted the results with mixed feelings:  it heralded almost certainly that the Pirates were going to drop their 7th game in a row.  They are now out of the playoffs if the season were to end today.  But at least I hadn't missed much, and it would seem that I won't have to struggle next week with how I'm supposed to pay for baseball playoff tickets at the same time I'm buying my hockey package.  Sports is the greatest escape there is.  It entertains, it can inspire, but it can break your heart.  It can also cause some other issues...

My hat shelf runneth over.  I moved here with a rather extensive collection of ball caps, 90% of which were Steelers hats dating back three decades.  You can't get rid of them.  Ever.  They all mean something.  You got them for a reason - like your team winning a Super Bowl, or two.  Looking at them brings back memories you wouldn't trade for anything. Now, I've got two other teams' hats adding to the chaos.  I've got hats hanging off bed posts, bookshelf corners, doorknobs, sitting in baskets, hanging out in my car...you get the picture.  Many more and I'll be a candidate for a show about hat hoarders.

It took two weeks before I saw Guardians of the Galaxy.  Seriously.  Best movie of the summer.  Hands down.  Completely in my preferred genre, and I struggled to find time to see it.

I'm broke.  All the time.  It was one thing to buy tickets to a Steelers game here or there.  A bit of a challenge to add in Pens tickets.  Now I've got a ticket packet for the Pirates.  Yet, imaging moving all this way only to sit at home less than ten miles from where all this excitement is going on is just unimaginable.

Being immersed in sports does not lend itself to climbing a career ladder.  If you've got to leave after eight hours to head down to the sports park, you're going to miss out on whatever your more ambitious co-worker is willing to do with the remaining hours of the day.  At this point in my life, that's a trade off I'm more than happy to allow, but I did bristle when a client accused me of "galavanting across the country" when I took two days off to attend the Stadium Series game in Chicago this past spring.  A few years ago, I would have traded in my personal happiness to serve the client's satisfaction believing it to be my duty - now I know if the Penguins had made it to the finals this year, I was going to be calling her to announce that I'd be back off galavanting.

There is laundry in a pile in front of the washer.  The dogs need baths.  Big time.  The kitchen floor could stand to have a mop run across it, and I still need to mow the front yard.  But that's not what I spent the evening doing.  What did I do?  You guessed it.

Now instead of having two sports to potentially break my heart, I have three.  Today I rode the high of learning Brett Keisel is coming back to the team, to the low of learning that Le'Veon Bell was booked on pot possession, to the final high of the Pirates snapping their losing streak.  I'm emotionally drained, and I've got less than any say in it.  Everything that happened today was completely out of my control.  All I can do is stand by my teams through the highs and lows.  All I can give them is my loyalty and my money.  They've got plenty of both.

Yeah, not having an off season any more can be expensive, exhausting and sometimes frustrating.  Would I trade any of it?  Not on your life.  Raise It, Buccos!

The Problem with Baseball: How the Problem Started

Cowboy Fan Hubby is in town visiting for a week and as we watched the baseball game wind down last night, he turned to me and said, "So, how about The Bridge?"  I looked at him somewhat blankly and responded, "What about it?  I've seen exactly an episode and a half."  He wouldn't tell me.  So, I'm guessing it's gotten even more complex and messed up then the little bit I've seen, and I'm itching with curiosity, but who knows when I'll get to sit down and catch up.  I'm still sawing through season four of Game of Thrones.  There are only so many hours in a day, and only a few days a week when baseball doesn't rule the airwaves here.  As a matter of fact, I got a Blu-Ray player for the upstairs TV for my birthday, and when I hooked it up and turned on my beloved Game of Thrones (Season 3), the "Root Sports" logo at the top right of the screen could still be seen across lovely Jon Snow's face.  I guess I watch a lot of sports upstairs...

I am the most unlikely of baseball fans.  I did not grow up with baseball fans.  My mother would on occasion sit down and watch a World Series game and maybe Dad would sit down with her, but for him it was all about the pigskin.  They didn't even have a baseball team at my high school.   And on my own I concluded it was a boring game where only brief spurts of action took place in between long periods of nothingness.  I would see pitchers whose guts looked they had, pun intended, downed pitchers of beer instead of being finely tuned athletes and dismissed it altogether as a summer distraction and nothing more.  That said, I have always loved movies about baseball because they seemed to capture an aura of Americana and nostalgia that was appealing.  Baseball movies, Bang the Drum Slowly and Pride of the Yankees notwithstanding, are often feel good movies with happy endings, telling a tale of America at its finest and proudest.  They are often tales of hope and realized glory.  So maybe the seed was in me all along and just needed a little tending to make it sprout and along came my Lovely Philly Friend, up for the task.

Despite her current residence, Lovely Philly Friend (LPF), is a Pirates fan deluxe.  Her husband perhaps even more so.  And she was devout in her mission when I first moved here, in advance of the rest of the family and therefore all alone, to introduce me to the city.  When spring came, that included baseball.  It was something to do, and I love her company, so I tagged along to some games.  The first thing you discover is that PNC Park is a jewel of a stadium.  The views of downtown, which I believe is a stunning skyline, are breathtaking.  I spent the first couple of games drinking Yuengling (PNC Park is where I discovered it) and wandering around the building.  The game going on in the background was a mere distraction.  LPF made note of my general ignorance of the game and began to teach it to me, but she had a long way to go.  When I first moved here, I referred to Andrew McCutchen as the good looking guy with dreads.  I had no idea whatsoever who he was and what he was capable of as a player.  And he was the only one of the team I could even describe that well.  I had never heard that the positions had numbers.  I don't think I even knew that a batter could pop off foul balls until the cows came home and not strike out, and certainly wasn't aware that was an actual strategy to try and stay alive at bat and wear the pitcher down.  I had no idea about pitch counts or why someone would bunt when no one else was on base, or why managers sent in pinch hitters.  What I did know was the the Pirates were a down and out team that hadn't had a winning season in almost 20 years.  And while Pittsburghers were gamely (if you will) loyal to their team after all that time, they didn't invest a lot of hard earned dollars into going to games just to watch them lose in person when they could sit at home and watch them lose for free.  That made tickets plentiful, so when the rest of the family arrived, it was an easy way to get out of the house on a summer's evening.  We went several times that first year, the husband picking up on my continuing education.

But a funny thing started to happen with the team.  They actually started winning a few.  For a brief time they actually challenged for first place in the division before collapsing to finish as per usual.  However, everyone, even me, knew that the days of perennially losing baseball might be nearing its end.  Coupled with a growing appreciation of the actual game itself and picking up on the undercurrent of excitement in the fan base, I began to actually go to games to watch the action on the field, not the cavalcade of interesting fans in the stands.

A baseball fan was being born.

The Problem with Baseball, the Introduction

This is the year as a football fan sees it:

Life truly begins on opening weekend in September.  It's a feeling like your happiness has been hibernating since late January (early February).  You get a little taste during the draft and you get to work out your dormant fandom to get it ready during training camp and preseason.  But it all truly begins that opening weekend.  Saturdays and Sundays (and Mondays and Thursdays) now seem "right" somehow.  My daughter will tell you she finds the sound of football on television soothing.  I know exactly what she means - it's the soundtrack I grew up with on the weekends.  If you're really a big fan, you've got now five days a week where you get to see actual action:  high school, college and then the pros.  But you live it and breathe it every other moment of the week.  It's water cooler fodder ("did you see that play last night...?"  "Can you believe that Ray Rice only got a two game suspension?"), it's a primary driving force for your wardrobe choice, your social life revolves around it, and it's even a deciding factor in your decorating choices.

But it's also a force to be reckoned with in terms of time management.  So, when the Super Bowl is over and the confetti has flown, there is a secret relief for a brief time because all the honey-dos that have been neglected can be attended to, all the movies you didn't see during the season can be ordered On Demand, and you can actually read a book or two.  That feeling lasts for a few weeks, until you find you miss football and begin waiting for the next season to begin.  Summer activities are just how you spend your time waiting for at least training camp to begin.  But at last the cycle begins anew.

 This is the year as a hockey fan sees it:

The last second clicks down on the last Stanley Cup final game of the season and most of us experience a bittersweet sensation if it's not our team about to hoist the trophy - we're ready for the season to be over so we can start licking our wounds and looking toward next year, but "next year" seems like a long way off.  So we busy ourselves with over-thinking what went wrong this year (unless, of course, we're that small percentage of the fan base who are the ones celebrating and having parades) and tending to yard work and summer chores, all the while absently wondering, "Is it October yet?"

When it finally is October and puck drops on a new season, it's both a relief and a burden.  Eighty-two games is a definite time commitment and hockey, if it's your team playing, demands your total attention because anything can happen in the blink of an eye.  I, for one, generally greet those little breaks dotted throughout the season as the time I scramble to get some household tasks done or spend time working late so that I'm ready for more hockey.  Time away from the game, therefore, is a necessary evil.  Just like time away from football.  But it is necessary.

In short, there is a pattern to life as either a football fan or a hockey fan that is sustainable.  I, for one, spend from May to the end of August pushing to get most of my holiday shopping done.  What I can't finish off during the summer I reserve for college football Saturdays because the Steelers are my passion and Sunday is all about chores in the morning and solid football all afternoon into the late night.  I mentally line up the books I'm going to read in the off-season.  I partake with great abandon of the summer movie season, not really worrying that the latest blockbuster actually sort of sucks as long as stuff blows up.  I take the time to sit outside and gaze out at the fireflies as the day winds down.  I lovingly detail my car most weekends.  And then, after I do all of that, as summer winds down and the leaves begin to lazily fall from the trees, I thank the sports gods because all that spare time goes away in favor of the Steelers and the Pens. Some of you who are reading this likely are nodding at this point, totally getting what I am saying.

This is the life I have lead.  This is the life I was prepared to live for the rest of my days.  And then I moved to Pittsburgh, and since I was here I dipped my toes into the waters that are professional baseball...