Please behold this incredible picture of Eva, Talia and Maya Rosen. Now if these beautiful girls can be transformed into black and gold fanatics in a few short years, please imagine my 11-year-old psyche in 1977 as the Steelers began their Super Bowl years. Then you will undestand why I am crashing on Eric Rosenblum’s crash Sunday night so I can get up at 3:45 and walk to the Goose and Duck with him in my Terry Bradshaw jersey.
Well that and the fct thtat my editor loved the Steelers column and wants me to go with it win or lose — lose and the heartbreak goes up on Monday. Win and it goes up on the regular slot thursday before the SB.
Big Art understands:
You’re on to something there. Sort of a “clinging to our traditions whilst in an unto foreign land”. Reminds me a certain pub in the village where I once met some rowdy Wales and Scotland soccer fans. Expats to be sure. Drunk as skunks, singing their national anthem (do you even know all the words of SSB?) at the top of their lungs. Pride and Nationalism. Gotta Love It. “Here we go…(hmmm,hmmm,hmmmmmm), Here we go (hmmm,hmmm,hmmmmmm), Here we go (hmmm,hmmm,hmmmmmm), Pittsburgh’s goin’ to the Super Bowl”. You can take the boy out of the city, drop him in Ann Arbor for some “lost years”; send him to Florida to ripen up a bit; to the Big Apple to roughen his edges; back to Ann Arbor to domesticate him some; drop him in Maplewood,NJ for some family time; and then roll him into Peking, I mean Beijing…but you can’t take the city out of the boy. Grab me an IC would ya’, I’m feeling parched!
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