The New New Thing
Dixie Chicks - Fireflies
Prince of Persia - Sands of Time
A Steelers Superbowl Or, anything from my wish list.
And why I will call Schleyer this weekend... Post Date: 1/20/05
Original Journal Date: 1/20/05 The sun is back out, and it's warm enough to sit outside with the laptop, and that makes me happy. It makes me feel active. It makes me feel as though things are good. It makes me want to write and take long runs and drink beer. It makes me want to start a garden or paint or sew or take a day trip. But mostly, it makes me want to play basketball. I don't know, go figure. I've been writing a lot, and in between writing a lot, I've been writing journal entries. I have four that I should get around to posting. One is about death. One is about babies. One is an open letter to Paul. And one is about the Steelers. Let's start with the Steelers, shall we? I still remember the last time the Steelers made it to the AFC championship game. They were a great team that year. People could start to believe that they would win the Superbowl. I remember very clearly that game before the AFC championship game, which for the record was also going to be a home game for them. They won the that game before the AFC championship game. They won by a lot, if I remember correctly. And after the game, Bill Cowher came running off the field with this huge grin on his face, his arm raised and his finger pointing up in the air, yelling as loudly as he could over the noise of the crowd, "ONE MORE GAME!!!!!" By which he meant, just in case you are not as huge an NFL fan as I am, they only had to win one more game to get to the Superbowl. And I believed! I cried and said, "They'll win the game. This is the year." Because if you grew up in Pittsburgh, or really anywhere near there, then you grew up believing in the Steelers. You talked a lot about your team's superiority, not just on the field but in the way they'd only had two coaches in your entire lifetime and gave players chances to be more than just a player on the team and really be a part of a family and a community. About how they were tough-nosed and gritty and not a bunch of West Coast pretty boys. So when Bill Cowher ran off the field that day with his arm up and his finger pointed and all the optimism in the world that this was finally going to be the year he and The Bus won a Superbowl together, I believed. And then, a week later, I got my heart broken. Actually, it was worse than broken. When your heart gets broken, you can usually pick up the pieces and superglue them back together. What I got was my heart ripped out, beaten with a meat mallet and then shoved back in. The Steelers lost. In the AFC Championship game. At home. To a team they were expected to beat. I was younger then and hadn't had my heart damaged quite as much, so I took it pretty badly. I (not joking) wailed and cried through the evening. I drank. A lot. It was worse than any boyfriend breakup I had ever had. They were so close, and I believed. And since then, I've believed less in things and been more cautious with my heart in all matters. Or at the very least, I've learned to recognize the moment right before somebody is about to damage my heart ... I've learned to know that when they come into the kitchen with their hands suspiciously behind their backs, probably there is a meat mallet tucked away back there just waiting to bruise my heart, and that's the moment I sneak out of the back door and change my phone number and email address so that they can't track me down again. But you know what? I can't run from the Steelers like that. And I can see it coming. Again, this year, I believe. I believe in the rookie quarterback who donated his game check to tsunami relief last week. I believe in the coach who grew up a local kid and has worked and waited and been good to players and the city and the people around him and deserves a Superbowl ring maybe more than any other coach in the league. I believe in The Bus, who took a pay cut to stay with his team. I believe in my NFL fantasy boyfriend Hines Ward. As much as I don't want to believe, as much as those big tubs of Gatorade on the sidelines look suspiciously like secret containers to store dozens of meat mallets in, I cannot stop believing that this could happen. That all could be right with the world, and in three weeks I'll be crying again, but this time because they won. And just, honestly, my heart's had enough in the past twelve months. It's time for something that will make it turn all rosy again. I really am just not going to be able to take it if, again, this weekend, they get that close and lose. And also, Schleyer will never let me hear the end of it, and can't it just once be my turn to call him up and say, "Sorry about your Pats." I was in Peru when the Steelers beat the Pats this season, I didn't even get to make that phone call to him. I mean, where's the justice in that? Go Steelers. It's time. On Sunday afternoon, I want to be calling Schleyer, all cutesy and innocent on the phone, and just gently asking, "So, how'd you enjoy my Steelers?"