Shout Out: Mum and Dad

My first in the series of "shout-outs" is to my mum and dad, Anna Mae and Jim Stark. They taught me from the ripe old age of birth the importance of being blindly loyal to your sports' teams and all the good that can come of it. (The ying to that yang is, of course, the heartache and bitter disappointment, which they taught me, by example, to handle...kind of poorly. See "Cutting Off the Steps" below.)

My dad has had a Steelers season ticket for over 40 years. (He has often remarked that his tombstone will read: Here lies Jim Stark. Worked 30+ years. Had a Steelers ticket.) He sat through endless games at Three Rivers Stadium when the Steelers were the laughingstock of the NFL. I remember an early lesson about the draft and the dismal state of affairs resulting in "Bonus Pick Gary Glick." When I was born in 1974, my mom urged my dad that he had better go watch the Steelers play in their first Super Bowl because "they may never be back." No matter that I was a few months old - off he went to New Orleans to watch the first victory of what he could probably never guess would be four Lombardis won in six years.

As a small child, I remember Steelers polkas sung along with the radio, Franco's Italian Army, a small picture I cut from an old media guide of toothless Jack Lambert taped on my closet door, black and gold ribbons in my hair, and lots of screaming about "Defense." It was, after all, the 1970's, and the Steelers were a dynasty in the making. When we went to parties with my parents' friends, they would prop me up to recite the "Front 4" of the Steel Curtain (i.e.  Mean Joe, LC, Fats, and Mad Dog) to a captive audience, which I happily did because I had been taught well. While the specifics of the game itself were mysterious to my child brain, I never wavered in my pride in being a Steeler fan from Western PA.

As the 1970's wound into the 1980's, the mood soured somewhat. Instead of fun songs, I remember my party trick was to sourly spit out "Steelers Stink" whenever prompted. Because they did. My dad and I went to a game together once when Bubby Brister started at quarterback, and the fans chanted "Bradshaw" and threw beer. I thought that was hysterical. My dad was totally disgusted. I recall my dad yelling "dummkopf!" at the television a lot on Sunday afternoons. Still, we hung in there, 'cause that's what you do.

When the Steelers would lose a bad game, a big game, a game they should have won, my dad would head to the cellar with a hand saw to cut off a step in a ritual known as "Cutting Off the Steps." I didn't really understand things like "coping skills" as a kid, but I did understand this form of dealing with disappointment. Lots of times, people would approach us in public and say "Did your dad cut off a step Sunday night?" Today, one lonely overhang remains. I don't know when it will be removed.

As I grew up and my sister was born and I learned more about the game, it became clear to me that football is life...and life is football. At least in our house. Happy Christmases hung in the balance of whether the Steelers would make the playoffs or not. When games are won, there is much rejoicing. When games are lost, there is depression, silence, and overindulgence.

The space between victories in Super Bowl XIV and Super Bowl XL took me from kindergarten to my 3rd year as a practicing attorney. That Super Bowl XL victory is probably the second greatest moment in my whole life up to that point, after my wedding day. It felt like vindication, justice, relief, and pure joy all wrapped in a bear hug of happiness. But it sure was a long time to wait! Luckily I had my family for support.

So, thanks Mum and Dad, for teaching me what's what in this world. And for all those jerseys, trinkets, and trips to live games that fostered my fandom. And for being great parents all around, especially when it comes to the black and gold.

We now can pass all this hoopla on to the next generation, to the aptly named Franco. He has no idea what he is in for! But he sure does look happy about it all!