Stop, Drop and Blog

It’s bye week. Everyone breathe a sigh of relief. I think a week off to let some people heal would probably be the best idea ever at this point. Sure. We beat Jacksonville and Baltimore. A win is a win. But neither game was especially pretty. Or won by a grand amount of points. The were, in fact, too close for the comfort of the Fire Family.

Some great things about bye week:

1. I don’t have to miss a game today simply because I live in Ohio and they like to shun the Steelers. I think it’s because they’re salty that they are losers, no?

2. I don’t have to miss a game because I’m going to a kid’s first birthday party this afternoon. That I already tried to go to once but arrived two hours early. And yes, I am embarrassed, thanks for asking.

3. No game at all means no late night game like last week and the last two Penn State games I’ve been able to watch. Late night games kill me come the next morning.

4. It’s too hot for the Fire Family to wear black jerseys today. It’s eighty degrees. In October. Crazy.

And so, like I said the last time that we went without Steelers action on a Sunday, I pulled a picture out of the vault for Steelers Sunday Snapshots. That picture above, in case you aren’t aware of how many hairs are on my kids’ heads, is of BigBrother, not LittleBrother. It was taken in 2006. And, yes, that’s the shirt/jersey I’m most often sporting on game day.

It was my Dad’s. You know, back in the day. When men used to wear their shirts a little more fitted. Or something. Because it totally fits me like a ladies fitted jersey, purchased in present-day-life, would fit. It’s kind of funny. Also of note: my Dad wasn’t then and isn’t now a very large man but wearing this shirt amuses me. His shoulders are much, much wider than this jersey allows room for nowadays. He sometimes complains that I swiped it and never gave it back. But I’d really like to see him fit back in this thing. Now that would be a picture to share, no?

Anyway, I love wearing my Dad’s jersey. My Dad (and Mom) taught me to love sports. I knew the rules of football, unlike some girls, and really enjoyed watching the game instead of hanging out next to the food booth waiting for cute boys to talk to me. Instead, because I knew the rules, boys talked to me. It was kind of win-win and probably not at all what my Dad was going for back in the day. All the same, I spent many a Sunday afternoon bonding with my family over Steelers games. And while I may have not totally enjoyed every moment of family time back then, I am well aware of how it has shaped my life. You know, years later, far removed from the torture of being in the same room as my brother. Woe was me.

And, so, yes, I enjoy those same moments with my boys. Teaching BigBrother to roll “Roethlisberger” off of his not-quite-three-year-old tongue. Dressing them in matching jerseys. Snapping countless pictures. And tossing the football around the living room. And, it’s true. Living in Enemy Territory, I’m sure one of them could like the Bengals (but why would they?) or the Browns (again, why would they?) but something tells me that this particular tradition will keep going. And someday I’ll throw on my Bradshaw jersey while holding one of my grandchildren in their own little Steelers jersey.

All the same: next week we play the Bengals. Which means I’ll be able to watch it in my own home. Life is good. Very, very good.