Stone Panels by PNC Park

Anybody know anything about the history of these stone sculptures just across from PNC Park? I'm a big fan of public art and I've admired these for 15 years. Any info would be welcome.

Fake Brett Keisel Beards for Sale

The Strip District may be my absolute favorite neighborhood in Pittsburgh. I have spent countless mornings there, and every now and again, I get really lucky and I can see the years, more than a century of life pass by me -- industry, workers, commerce, butchers, bakers, candlestick makers, immigrants arriving and becoming a part of the place, the population shifting, growing, diminishing, and somehow growing again. It is a beautiful thing and a magnificent place. Truly. But yet, for all of that time, all of those mornings and afternoons and nights spent there, I only recently noticed this - "Troy Plaza" in brass plate laid in the corner of the sidewalk at 20th and Penn Avenue.Given it's location at the epicenter of sales of all things black and gold -- t-shirts, Terrible Towels, hats, scarves, dog collars, onesies, Troy Polamalu wigs and Brett Keisel beards -- I believe that it should be renamed "Troy Polamalu Plaza." Any Burghers out there know why this is named Troy Plaza? I really do want to know.

There were a huge number of Polamalu jerseys being worn this morning (no kidding that guy is No. 1 in jersey sales in all the NFL; at least half the population of Western Pennsylvania has a #43 jersey), but I also saw a good number of other players, both current and old timers represented: James Harrison, Heath Miller, LaMarr Woodley, Ben Roethlisburger, Hines Ward, Jack Lambert, Franco Harris and Terry Bradshaw. I even saw a Ryan Clark jersey, so that was cool.

Even though moshing our way down Penn was a bit like salmon swimming upstream (they blocked Penn to car traffic before XL, why not XLV?), everybody was feeling festive, happily waiting in line for biscotti and coffee, cheese and salsas, bread and t-shirts. There was a line out the door for DeLuca's that had to have been 40 people deep. At least.

Then, this guy was stationed just past Mike Feinberg's, playing the flute along to that ridiculous "Here We Go Steelers" song. Flute solos. I just don't hear enough of them.[If you're not from Pittsburgh, you don't know the song I'm talking about and for that you should be grateful. If you are from Pittsburgh, you know what I'm talking about and, hey, sorry for the nasty earworm.]

I stopped in at Prestogeorge to pick up some Antigua Guatamala coffee and was greeted by this sign.Best story of the day came courtesy of a friend who was working down at the Pittsburgh Public Market. Sadly, I had just missed it, but a couple was fighting right next to his vendor spot, and not a cute, "Honey, you know I'm right ..." kind of fight. They were fighting, genuinely hopping mad, really yelling at each other. He thought they might come to blows. The subject of the fight?

Who got to wear the Brett Keisel Beard.

Only in Pittsburgh. Is it time for the kick off yet?

Pittsburgh Has Steelers Fever. And the Only Prescription Is More Steelers

Today I had a bunch of errands to run. My first stop was the bank, where my teller was decked out in a Heath Miller jersey and Heath Miller earrings. She loves Heath, she told me. (And I'll tell you, just from my anecdotal research, the ladies love them some Heath Miller.) I was not surprised that she (and the other staffers at the bank were wearing Steelers jerseys - three staff members - one Troy, one Hines and one Heath) because for too many years, I worked downtown where most offices relax their dress code to allow for the ubiquitous and inevitable Steelers jerseys on Fridays before games. Attorneys who have to appear in court cannot adorn themselves in such manner (though a few do), so they opt for Steelers earrings or ties or something along those lines. That's just during the regular season, mind you. Steelers fever is viral when the team advances to the Super Bowl. The hypocycliods. They are everywhere. Terrible Towels become decorating rage de rigueur.

Of course, after my transaction, my teller and I parted ways with a mutual, "Go Steelers!" I had to think that, although Pittsburgh is a city which loves and respects idle chit-chat between strangers year round, we take it to heretofore unknown heights during the playoffs, particularly Super Bowl week. Instead of passing the time with comments about the weather (always popular) or some idiotic politician or some idiot driver, etc., the idle banter goes all-Steelers, all-the-time. Productivity must fall into a veritable crevasse throughout Western Pennsylvania on a day like today.

If a person landed in Pittsburgh today, understanding not a drop of English, they would surmise based on the circumstantial use of the phrase, "Go Steelers," that it meant "good-bye" or "have a nice day."

Then it was off to Waterworks to hit a few stores (chief among them, Bed, Bath & Beyond because the g-d supermarket never has parchment paper or butcher's string and, really, why is that?) and a few other stores. As I walked from one end of the strip mall to the other, nearly every store had a sign in the door to the effect of, "We are closing at 6:00 on Sunday. Thank you for your understanding. GO STEELERS!"

It's a sickness.

Tomorrow, a dispatch from the Strip District, the epicenter of Steelers ridiculousness and fun.

Terrible Towel Maloiki

I posted this http://trueslant.com/jodydiperna/2009/10/21/the-terrible-towel-will-put-a-curse-on-you/
at True/Slant and I left to go to lunch.

There's a great little authentic Mexican joint about a block away called Mexico City. It tastes much more like the food that I've had in Central America than anything else I've ever had. It's on the corner of Smithfield and the Boulevard of the Allies, so give it a whirl if you're downtown. You won't regret it. At any rate, everybody who works there is latino and many of them speak little english. Soccer is on the tv, around the clock, really. They serve Fanta sodas. This joint is legit.

So I finish my post and walk down the street to get some banging flautas and the first thing I see when I walk in the door is a Terrible Towel hanging behind the register. I swear I snorted. Some days, I love Pittsburgh.

Here's the full post from True/Slant on October 21, 2009:

The Terrible Towel Will Put a Curse on You

The Tennessee Titans are 0-6 and their stock is falling faster than AIG.
Last Sunday they were beaten 59-0, a smack-down of biblical proportions, and as much as I was tempted to say that Patriots piled on (because we know that Bill Belichick likes to pour it on), that one was on the Titans. It looked to me like many of them quit. The defensive backs looked less interested in covering New England wide outs than I am in having botox treatments. It was embarrassing.

Yeah, yeah, I know. Ice and cold and snow. But both teams played in cold and snow and ice. This kind of performance from a team that played 10 games last year before dropping even one is beyond shocking. Nobody can figure it out.

So what in the Sam Hill is going on around here? What turned these world beaters into egg beaters?

Sure, Jim Schwartz left Tennessee to go coach the Lions, and Albert Haynesworth was lured by the deep pockets of Danny Snyder. But they’ve dropped their last eight games.

I think it’s something else, something supernatural, perhaps metaphysical and well beyond the power of ordinary human comprehension (or at least that of most NFL analysts) which has done in this Jeff Fisher lead team.

It all turned in one moment of the otherwise hugely successful 2008 season, for on a warm December Sunday afternoon in Nashville, the Titans defeated the Pittsburgh Steelers. And disrespected the Terrible Towel, unleashing a great scourge on the franchise.

They haven’t won a game since.

They lost the season closer to Indy, then were slapped around by the Ravens in the playoffs. This year, it’s been more of the same and getting worse daily. Behold the power of the Towel.

For those people from any one of the other 31 NFL cities, I’m sorry. I realize that a few thousand loud, obnoxious, yellow towel-waiving Pittsburgh fans descending on your fair hamlet like so many unwashed Visigoths is probably nauseating. I get it. But the Towel itself must be respected, for it is more than just a revered symbol for Steelers fans: it has black magic and mojo. It is a Pandora’s box of voodoo pain waiting for some unsuspecting footballer to open it.

In December, 2005, T.J. Houshmandzadeh, then of the Cincinnati Bengals, wiped his shoes with one. A few weeks later, the Bengals lost in the playoffs to the Steelers and missed the playoffs every year after. That Cincinnati now sits atop the AFC North – after Houshmandzadeh’s departure for Seattle – is only more evidence of the power of the Terrible Towel.

Don’t believe T.J.? Ask the Titans how things are working out since LenDale White stomped on it, Jevon Kearse wiped his shoes on it and I think I saw one of the Titans blowing his nose in it. All that got them was a dirty towel and a world of hurt.

A moment, if you will, about the Towel itself. In 1975, Myron Cope, writer, raconteur, radio voice of the Steelers, and Pittsburgh legend came up with the notion of the Terrible Towel. The radio station he worked for was looking for a gimmick and Cope thought it should be something small, light-weight, and portable, and also something that people had at hand or could purchase cheaply. He went on the airwaves in the lead up the 1975 playoff game against the Colts exhorting fans to bring yellow or gold towels with them to the game. In his memoirs, Double Yoi, Cope remembered those first days after the conception of the Towel:

“Mind you, I did not see the Terrible Towel as witchcraft to hex the enemy. It would be a positive force, driving the Steelers to superhuman performance, but if it experienced a yen for mischief and created fatal mistakes by opponents, I would tolerate that. Not entirely sane by now, I daily intoned on the air, ‘The Terrible Towel is poised to strike!’”

You must realize that this was Myron Cope, who stood all of about 5′ 5″ and answered calls to his radio show by saying things like, “You got Cope, what’s on your noodle?” in his inimitable style with a voice that, well, to say that his voice was like chewing aspirin while working a jackhammer just begins to describe it. His voice was a hefty, hoarse Midwestern cheerleader chewing concrete mix, a Yorkshire Terrier choking on a Milkbone, a small, feral woodland creature being run over on a bike trail. It was gravely and squeaky, flat and excitable; he sputtered and stuttered and stammered. Sometimes he lost the ability to form words at all and shouted out things like “Hmmm Hah!” or “Yoi!” He seemed to be tipsy during game broadcasts from time to time.

In short, he was an unlikely radio celebrity, but Pittsburghers loved him and he us. So in 1975, when Myron Cope told fans to bring yellow towels to the playoff game, they did. And the flag of a nation, the talisman of a nomadic tribe of fans was born.

Before you knew it, officially licensed Terrible Towels were for sale, the proceeds from which Cope signed over to the Allegheny Valley School which provides care for more than 900 people with mental retardation and physical disabilities, including Cope’s autistic son.

Steelers fans can tell ourselves that it’s for a good cause, but if we’re being honest here, it’s also a compulsion. People carry them to games and bars and drape them over their television sets at home. (Heck, I took mine with me hiking all over mountains and glaciers in Patagonia because, you know, indigenous people love when we do that kind of stuff.) Steelers fans are buried with their Terrible Towels, and new parents wrap their infants in them. It’s silly and stupid; it’s possibly obnoxious and it is most certainly ridiculous. But it’s bigger than all of us. When Myron died, locals spontaneously hung Terrible Towels from their windows and on their front doors. It just happened.

Cope told us that the Terrible Towel was poised to strike, but it’s more than that: the Towel happens.

So, sacrifice small animals on the altar of your team, pray that they kick all holy hell out of the Steelers, burn Ben Roethisberger voodoo dolls at the 50 yard line and post incendiary comments on Steelers message boards.

Just don’t disrespect the Terrible Towel. Lest ye conjure a great evil.