JOURNEY THROUGH

A DARK HEART

“Let joy be unconfined.”
:: Lord Byron

Passion can be a pre-cursor of joy and passion is a characteristic of many of my friends and the male members of my family. I don’t include much about my family in ‘Well’; my wife’s work as a physician, my daughter’s professorial pursuits and my son’s delight in the teaching of English. I do feel that joy, like Maslow’s ‘ecstatic moments’, can add some richness to the textures of life.

Like me, my son has a handful of passions and obsessions, which are a mystery to the females in our world. He has been a fan of the Pittsburgh Steelers since watching them win a Super Bowl with me at the age of 8. I asked him to write a short piece about the spontaneous trip that he and his 9-year old son made to Pittsburgh on the weekend of the Super Bowl to share the enthusiasm of a city whose team had finally returned to the Promised Land.

Paul & family

I should add that along with the ecstasy and the angst, the hand wringing and the high fives, the floor walking and victory dances, is a very real sense of fun and a deeply, deeply buried perspective that ‘it’s only a game’.

Journey Through a Dark Heart—My Trip to Steel City

:: By Paul Collis

Remember that speech of Hamlet’s, the one when he calls himself a rogue and peasant slave, and then goes on to ask the question, “What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba?” Hamlet had just witnessed an actor, engaged in mere fictional recall, cry a tear when reciting the lines of Queen Hecuba’s excruciating anguish for her murdered husband. What bothers the Prince of Denmark is that he has real cause for sadness, and yet this actor is outperforming him in terms of woeful demonstration.

All my life, people have looked at me during football season with similar incredulity to Hamlet watching the Player in Act II. Global warming, right wing corruption, mortality – such issues only twitch my brow of concern: my heart of hearts breaks for one master, often preceded by a fumble or missed field goal. My wife annually watches me emotionally implode and shakes her head with the kind of pity the sober feel driving past a group of alcoholics. And she’s right to recognize that each football season has, up to now, brought me one part joy and ever three parts sorrow. For twenty-six years, my self-image, my confidence, my belief in higher powers lay in tatters amidst the confetti that decorated another organization. Worse, I took the 79 Super Bowl for granted; my 8-year-old self rejoiced, sure, but saved no newspapers, purchased no memorabilia, slaughtered no live goats in thanks. And how the gods punish such hubris. Hamlet’s father knows nothing of purgatory compared to Steeler fans in the 80s.

At 7-5 this year, I began stoically steeling my soul for another spring of discontent. When we won four straight to finish the regular season with 11 victories and clinch the number six seed, I took satisfaction that, at least, when we did lose on the road, probably in loathsome Cincinnati, we could take solace in another postseason appearance. When we beat the Bungles, I pretended that the win would balance out the inevitable pain of losing to the invincible Colts, again. When we beat the Colts – by the way, the Steeler fan who suffered a heart attack when Jerome fumbled at game’s end has fully recovered – I allowed myself to think, only fleetingly, of what two more wins would mean, of what demons two more wins would exorcise. But, of course, this was the stuff of fantasy. When we beat the Broncos, when we became the first team to ever “6-seed” to The Show, when Jerome booked his ticket to his hometown, when the bookies actually favored us, well that’s when I completely succumbed to my addiction: two tickets to Pittsburgh, please. All those lessons reading carpe diem poetry to students without ever practicing what I preached. For better or worse, on February 5th I was going “home”.

I knew that I’d made the right decision when Franco Harris’ statue greeted my son and me at the airport.

Paul & Harris

For two shining days, I was not a stranger in a strange land: virtually every man, woman and child we met was wearing black and gold. I watched the game with three hundred people who cared with equal irrational devotion. I saw a girl with “Steelers” tattooed inside her bottom lip. I read about the couple that named their son “Steeler.” I saw puppies swaddled in Terrible Towels. I saw a store that not only sold Steeler lingerie, but, as a novelty, also sold Cleveland Browns toilet paper. Everywhere I looked was a mirror of my giddy, desperate self.

Finding a place to watch the game with my 9-year old son, Toby, proved more of a challenge than I expected.

Most patrons were seated seven hours before kickoff; we perched at the back of the Sheraton lobby just happy to be allowed in, as several establishments had already closed doors when filled to capacity.

Do I need to tell you what it was like downtown when Willie Parker ran for the longest run in Super Bowl history? When Randel El came off the reverse and threw the bomb to Hines? Pandemonium doesn’t describe it.

Martin—after winning a 'family and friends' football pool »

Euphoria comes close. You see, it was a combination of relief, awe, disbelief, jubilation, righteousness, vindication, hysteria, satisfaction, and most of all, unadulterated joy. It was a roar that had been building in the throats of Steeler nation for almost three decades, and it rang across the city, up to the sky, then fell upon us like rain, slaking our thirst and giving new life to our damaged hearts.

There may not be joy in Mudville, and I sympathize all too well with what the Mudville faithful feel when Casey whiffs at that third pitch. I sympathize, but I no longer share those feelings, and I will go to my grave with one for the thumb, and that’s enough.

But wouldn’t it be great if they won back to back? Somebody get me a live goat.

Paul Collis
Head of English
Heart of Black and Gold

For another look at the insights of a passionate sports fan I would highly recommend Nick Hornby’s book, ‘Fever Pitch’ about his love affair with the Arsenal soccer team.

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