Made of Steel.

On Sunday night, I watched the Pittsburgh Steelers capture their eighth AFC Championship. I was at a pub with about ten other Black&Gold supporters, squashed between two gaggles of Jets fans. The bar itself had several inflated Jets players outside, and a Jets flag swayed in the frosty wind from an upstairs window. We were the minority, but we were more than okay with it.

Black and yellow.

Our server, another Pittsburgh native and high school friend of a few of us in the group, stole one of the several Terrible Towels we had displayed and at the ready on the table in order to go swing it around the kitchen where the cooks grumbled. We were nervous for the state of our food but chuckled in support.

To quote something I read this morning, “Pittsburgh has won more Super Bowl titles (six), more AFC Championship Games (eight) and played in (fifteen) and hosted more (eleven) conference championship games than any other AFC or NFC team.”

Damn.

I want to state plainly that those who say the New England Patriots are the dynasty of this era (the 1970s Steelers being the dynasty of old) might be mistaken. Yes, the Patriots won their three Super Bowls in a span of four years (the second team to do so, the other being Dallas), two of those Lombardy trophies coming in back to back (wins in 2001, 2003 and 2004), but they capped a perfect regular season in 2007 with a loss in the game that mattered (falling to the New York Giants 17-14). In both 2009 and 2010, New England was the #1 seed in the AFC and yet they lost in early playoff rounds (falling in the Wild Card to Baltimore in ’09 and losing to the Jets in Divisional Playoffs this year). Dynasty? More like Dynasty of Almost.

Please don’t be confused – I am not arguing that the present-day Steelers are worthy of the title of dynasty. They still have a lot to prove. The Steelers failed to even make the playoffs in 2006 and 2009, the seasons following their two most recent Super Bowl wins. Dynasty just isn’t a word to throw around lightly.

But should Pittsburgh win its seventh Super Bowl on February 6, 2011, it would be unprecedented in the sport of football. That doesn’t make them the “new” dynasty, but it does set the franchise apart.

Hines Ward following AFC Championship win over the Jets.

As any yinzer (read: Pittsburgher) would say, Go Stillers.

2010 : What I’ve learned (about life, love, loss, and living in a big city).

It’s 2011. Whoa.

I remember watching 1999 tick over to 2000, and for the life of me, I can’t quite wrap my head around the fact that we’re now a decade deep in the 2000’s. My brain is something of a sponge, absorbing masses of details every second I’m living and experiencing, but doing a full recall on the decade sounds a bit taxing on my noggin. And terribly boring for all of you. So, I’m going to talk about 2010.

January 2010 marked six months of living in New York City. Well, I was living in Queens and working in Manhattan, and I certainly learned the differences (real and perceived) between all of the boroughs. Absurdly (to me), there are Manhattanites who refuse to step foot in Queens. I am generally a laid-back lady, and I did not feel the same — my roommate and I gave our new-found home borough the tagline “Queens : Come as you are.” In Queens, you can leave your house in sweatpants.

Waiting for a 7 at 82nd and Roosey.

The spring was bustling, mixing concerts with visits from family members and friends, dancing in my neighborhood (please go look up Jackson Heights), dancing everywhere. Easter Weekend sangria. So many friends, mostly old and Penn State or hometown-proud (respectively amongst my closest friends), but a few new. But certainly there are downs that accompany the wonderful ups. Such is life. And during the spring, like the sporadic but necessary storms that rumble and erupt overhead, I had a decent amount of rain.
Easter Weekend sangria. Oh yeah.

The weather warmed up, and the streets became sweaty, sometimes steamy with unfortunate smells. City smells. Despite how grass-less summers in New York City may seem, I learned that you never have to give up the sports you love, even if they require a field. I was wrangled into a softball league during the summer of 2010, and though I had the same first-day jitters I had when trying out for Varsity as a measly 15-year-old, I found that I loved those jitters. I loved turning them into cockiness (read: confidence) on the field (and I got to explore places like Randall’s Island in order to get to said field), and I loved the feeling of going full-force for the first time post ACL replacement surgery in 2007.
Red Hook Fields

Fall blew in, breathing change cooly on my neck. A fresh start in a new apartment, sampling life in yet another borough (Brooklyn). New professional opportunities sparked a ferocity to continue growing in my field, I challenged myself to a 10K Mud Run (replete with military-style obstacles), I dined at restaurants I’ve never been to in neighborhoods I’d not yet explored, I took walks in the city at night. I did handstands in the middle of a basketball court in the dark. I reveled in the football and hockey seasons, getting used to being a minority fan. A displaced Pittsburgher. I learned what it felt like to spend Thanksgiving in a different state, yet still with my family.
Carolina turkey.

In the pacifying cold of winter, I felt the sadness of older relatives slipping away. And the shock of losing one who wasn’t so old. I learned that moving forward is the best direction, the only direction. I learned that drinking wine and laughing with my family is an incredibly important activity in my life. And I learned that I can love again.
Brr.

Teach me something, 2011.