That Smell

Ohhh, that smell. Can't you smell that smell?

The smell is a lingering one. It arrived yesterday, about 8PM Gold Time. It wafted in from the East like a hundred angry, dirty crows. And the next thing I knew, a legitimate Brown Crown sat over the city. I was left to do my own musings...what exactly was it that had gone against the jet stream to hover over us?

After a while, I began to notice a scent and recognize it. It smelled of canned beer and sausage. Maybe I left the window open in the kitchen. At that moment, the color of the crown turned to rust, and then moved north east, to specifically hover over Pasadena. At then it all made sense.

26 years ago was the last time the Steel City felt this way (with it taking part in Super Bowl XIV, which is essentially the most gold Super Bowl ever). Or felt close to that way, at least. When you win your 4th in 6 years, it's not the same as first in 26. But the ghosts of big games past, the combination of sausage, Iron City Beer, Pull Tabs, Mustaches, towels, and polka sat and hung over Pasadena. The memories of the last big win were there, if ever so briefly. Then, like a lingering fart, it shot back east, returning to its musty home.

They'll talk about how the team is a gritty bunch, that millionaire players are "blue collar guys." The type who "take their lunchpail to work." I don't need phony baloney analogies, guys. I don't need people pretending Hines Ward is a nice guy. Give me the fans. It means more to them. Tonight, I raise my can of Hamms to you.