Atonement: Maybe Pittsburgh Doesn't Really Suck

Bless me, my readers, for I have sinned. Yes, I've been lax in blogging lately, but that's not my sin, just the consequences of a lot of work and some nights out. Though maybe my present tiredness is the reason my guard seems to be down a bit, to the point where I'm confessing the fact that my lifelong hatred of Pittsburgh mainly stems from jealousy and that in reality I can make no definitive claims (a rarity here at spitoutyourgum) that the Three Rivers City does indeed, well, "suck" seems to be the technical, if somewhat uncouth, term.

I realize that with such an admission my proud, card-carrying status as a native Clevelander might be revoked immediately and permanently. I realize that utter scorn from friends and strangers on the street might be my lot from here unto eternity. I realize that the next time (assuming there will be a next time) I enthusiastically chant, "Here we go, Brownies, here we go! Woof woof!" I stand open to charges of insincerity, if not downright treason. I realize I realize I realize. But the truth is, with the Pittsburgh Steelers headed to yet another Super Bowl (sue me, Roger Goodell, for using the trademarked phrase without the expressed written consent of the NFL), and the Browns breaking in yet another new coach, I cannot, in good conscience, proclaim once again or ever again, the general and all-inclusive suckiness of Pittsburgh. Oh I'll still hate all things Pittsburgh (you can kill a man's spirit but you can never take away his hatred, thank the devil), but I can no longer live the sham/shame that my hatred stems from anything else but sheer jealousy. My God, the Steelers have been to seven Super Bowls already and could be 7-1 in them in a mere two weeks.

I can hear my detractors now: "Don't water down your hatred for Pittsburgh until you've been there." Well, nearly ten years ago I did visit Pittsburgh for an afternoon/evening. Besides totally driving through and past the downtown before I realized it, the city was fine. It pains me to say it even had better record stores than Cleveland. It's not paradise, but it's not a hellhole either. No reason to hate it, basically. I mean, if the situation were reversed and the Browns were regular Super Bowl participants and winners, Pittsburgh wouldn't even be a blip on my emotional map. At the age of twelve to hate Terry Bradshaw and the Black and Gold was completely natural. At the age of nearly fifty, it's irrational (though I admit I now completely respect the quarterback Bradshaw while fully despising the buffoonish TV personality Bradshaw).

So, while I'm at it, I might as well make a few other cringe-worthy confessions in the hopes of wiping clean some obviously karma-whacked slate in my life. I cried watching The Joy Luck Club. America's "Ventura Highway" sounded great the last time I heard it on the radio. I've always kind of liked Bill Bellichi(c)k (however he spells his last name). I prefer cloudy days to sunny ones. I thought Magic Johnson was a superb TV talkshow host.

There! Clean slate, no? Enjoy your umpteenth Super Bowl, Pittsburgh. Totally disregard that westerly wind blowing through your town the next two weeks, feebly chanting, "Here we go, Packers, here we go!" It's only a jealous Clevelander letting off envious steam.

P.S. I've still got a spine, mind you. I am never rescinding or qualifying my utter hatred for mushrooms (they weren't discovered in Pittsburgh, were they?). Ever.

Fine Print: No loss of any bet was the cause of this entry. Sad to say.