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I married into a Pittsburgh family. Not just any Pittsburgh family, but a die-hard Steeler family. Twenty years ago our wedding rehearsal dinner was held at a fancy restaurant atop Mt. Washington that looked into the old Three Rivers Stadium. The bright stadium lights were turned on in tribute to our eventual doomed marriage (we’re friends today … it’s all good).
In the mid-’90s, with no home team, I adopted the winningest football club in the NFL that brought us legends such as Green, Bradshaw, Harris, Swann, and Lambert. Today’s Steelers are continuing the tradition of winning with future Hall of Famers Roethlisberger, Bell, and Brown, among others. Living on the West Coast over the last two decades, the only option to see every Pittsburgh game was to invest in the Sunday Ticket package which costs a few hundred hard-earned ducats. My family doesn’t spend much at the movies, shell out for pay-per-view events, and thankfully outgrew video games, but DirectTV would get our perennial donation so we could watch the majesty that is Steelers football.
No matter what else is going on in their world, each autumn Sunday my kids with their Mom and Hudson “the wonder retriever,” bleed black and gold. The meals are prepared ahead, the phone isn’t answered, and don’t even think about changing the channel. Seriously. One Sunday with Pittsburgh comfortably ahead, I had the audacity to turn to another game and … well, let’s just say Dad had to find ice for his bruised stubby fingers.