In Which A City Gets Its Wish

I don't even know where to begin.

Last night the 2013 Pittsburgh Pirates accomplished what many (most) of us only dared to dream. They beat the Cincinnati Reds in a one-and-done, wild card playoff to advance to the REAL playoffs against the St. Louis Cardinals.

Again, I say, Holy HELL!

With home field advantage, word got out via Twitter from pitcher, AJ Burnett and Andrew McCutchen for the fans to stage a black aht ("out" to non-Burghers), asking everyone in attendance to wear black in the stands. All 40,000+, including the 2,000 SRO complied.

There were even hundreds, side-by-side on the Clemente Bridge listening to the game on radios-- you can't see the field from there-- just so they could be a part of Bucco baseball history.

We tuned in at 8 nervous for the outcome, but not expecting what was to come next. Geo and I knew the team would be pumped hosting PNC Park's first ever post season play, but the crowd... Holy SHIT, the crowd was ALL IN. From the first pitch to the final out, they stayed, they cheered, they rocked the HOUSE!

They were a presence not to be denied. Whoever believes the intensity of the fans isn't a factor on a game is speaking out of their ass, because these beautiful MoFos were loud and they took control from the start. I don't just mean loud... I mean shaking the TV from it's bracket LOUD. Thunderous. I realize there are extra mics set out for post season games, but this was cacophonous and constant.

It was electric.

Even in our living room we could feel it.

A deafening chant of CuuuEEEEEEtoooeeeee rattled the Cincy pitcher to his core, making him drop the ball right before he served up a beauty which Martin hit straight out of the park.

Not a factor, my ass.

There were times that the crowd was so much of a factor, it appeared Cincinnati starter Johnny Cueto wanted to be anywhere but in the middle of a baseball diamond in the middle of Pittsburgh’s North Shore.

Don’t think for one moment that the fans didn’t have an impact on the despair felt by Cueto and, by extension, his performance. (Colin Dunlap CBS Pittsburgh)

My favorite comment in the entire broadcast came after that moment. The announcer said, "This is what 20 years of frustration dressed in black looks like."

Indeed.

There were tears. Tears all around... in our house, the field, the interwebs. Tears of pride shed at the start of game. Tears of indescribable joy at the final out--or in my case, at the highlights played over and over during the morning news.

As preeminent Pittsburgh blogger, Jane Pitt said so eloquently, "there is SO crying in baseball, Tom Hanks". Do yourself a favor and read her post. She sums up all the feelings surrounding this game better than I ever could. Plus she's funny as hell.

Back an entire generation ago in 1992, Geo and I went to game five of the playoffs against Cincinnati at Three Rivers Stadium. Van Slyke, Lavalliere, Drebek and company played their hearts out. I remember the electricity, the camaraderie, the community. We were all in it together. High-fiving, embracing each other, celebrating as one cohesive unit. One heartbeat.

That was our first, and ultimately last, playoff game. There is a sweetness to firsts. You never forget them. Your first kiss, your first love, your first post season victory. Last night's win was an entire generation's first taste of the unifying glory of baseball. Hell, most of them were zygotes or barely cognizant the last time the Pirates had a winning season.

I hope the fans present last night remember this feeling, tuck it away in their hearts to tap into during the lean years, because there really is nothing as special as the first time.

That goes for the players, too.

Congratulations, Buccos! You did it for the city, you did it for the fans and I believe you did it for Roberto. It's been a magical run. Even if you don't advance to the next round, you've done us proud. Thank you.

champagne goggle throw down
(courtesy of ian smith)

P.S.: In February, when asked how many games he expected his team to win in 2013, Clint Hurdle replied, 95. The wild card game is considered part of the regular season. That win made the Bucs final win tally... 95.

*sniff*



There's raw video of the locker room party/interviews and photos from the Trib (I know, ICK Richard Scaiffe) here.

And because there isn't enough of a cheese factor in this post, here's a highlights video found by my b-ball lovin' friend, Lizzie:




And one last mash-up of an old-school, mullet-maned 90s singer and your 2013 Pittsburgh Pirates. You Gotta Believe!!



LET'S GO BUCS!!

The Duck That Charmed Pittsburgh

Pittsburgh > your city.

It's a fact. Look it up.

Okay, so Pittsburgh is having a great run this year. First, the Pirates have finally vanquished the Ghost-of-Miserable-Seasons-Past by finally making the playoffs (Hallelujah! Praise Baby Jesus!), bringing long overdue positive attention to our little hamlet nestled in the rivers, and now a bigass yellow rubber ducky has invaded the three rivers to the delight of MILLIONS! Okay, not millions, but damn-near close to half a mill.

it's just so freaking happy!!

As part of the Cultural Trust's Festival of Firsts, dutch artist Florentijn Hofman brought his 40 foot rubber ducky to play in our waters. The ginormous bath toy has been displayed a number of times in international waters, but Pittsburgh is the first city in America to host Hofman's ducky.

That's right. He chose Pittsburgh. 

BOOM!!

Suck it, haters.

I was beyond excited. Like, ridiculously geeked to see a 40 foot duck float in the river. I mean, c'mon. How adorable is this thing!

a snap of Marvin on the Allegheny from the artist himself

(watch the PG's video of ducky's birthing on the Ohio river here)

One thing you can say about Pittsburghers, we LOVE a party. And Dude, what a welcome party the Cultural peeps threw! (you see what I did there? I'm en fuego.) The only thing missing was fireworks, which is totally weird because we are utterly MENTAL for incendiary displays and this event kinda screamed for a Zambelli blow out. On second thought, it would have been totally uncool to blow up the ducky, let's call him Marvin, with a rogue firework ember on his first day in the Burgh.

Welcome, Marvin!! Now we will blow your butt to smithereens. WoooHOOOOOO!!! Oh, sorry Dutch Dude with the Swedish Chef sounding name.

Seriously. I can't be the only person who hears the Swedish Chef's voice in my head when I read that magnificent bastard's name?


And now you're doing it too, aren't you. You're welcome.

Anywho...

They closed the Clemente Bridge (formerly known as the Sixth Street Bridge because we love to rename shit over and over even though all of us oldsters STILL refer to aforementioned landmarks by their prior names, i.e. Macy's will alwaysalwaysALWAYS be called Kaufmann's, the Highmark building will be Horne's until the day I die and William Shatner will never stop being Captain Kirk...) .. wait, where was I?

Oh, yeah, they closed the bridge off to motor traffic, set up a big stage in the middle and food booths along the north-bound lane, allowing the minions to dance, eat and buy a crap-ton of ducky merchandise.

our friend, Carl captured Marvin from his car while stuck in traffic
he didn't even know what was going on
clearly, he lives in a vacuum

duck vs bridge

big duck, little ducks

There was an impassable mass of people at the head of the bridge, a jam for which the Squirrel Hill Tunnel would be envious. It took me 15 minutes to maneuver my way through the throng of yinzer humanity to get to the stairs leading to the shoreline.

dusk and duck

All the forced, grit-your-teeth patience it took to press through the flesh to get to the bottom was worth it once Big Ole Marvin floated into view. Gobs of excited people, young and old, lined both shore lines as well as the bridge. Marvin was greeted with exuberant cheers and chants of "Rubber Ducky" lead by Mikey and Big Bob from Kiss radio. Choruses of the Sesame Street standard, Rubber Ducky reverberated off Marvin and his flotilla.

Okay, that bit sounds downright lame, but it wasn't really. You had to be there to get caught up in the gooberness. Who knew the sight of a four-story replica of a common childhood tub toy could bring such joy. Maybe it was the common thread to our collective innocence. Maybe it was the ridiculous scale. Maybe it was that sweet, sweet face bobbing along. Whatever. Folks were giddy.

peeping duck
seriously, how could you not smile at this?

i love this photo
marvin breaks down cultural barriers
only in 'Merica

The festivities continued into the night with the guest of honor bathed in light at the foot of the bridge.

onlookers at the nesting place
(via John Johnson)

super blurry traffic cam
just before the giant spider pounces
for location purposes only

His Yellowness will be nesting at the Point, across from PNC Park until October 26, which means he'll be front and center for the Pirates Wild Card game Tuesday.

BUCS AND DUCKS, BABY!!!

(via the geniuses on the interwebs)
aaaaaaarg! quack

I hope someone puts an eye patch and jolly roger on him. How fun would that be? Please somebody make this happen!!

THAT'S what I'm talkin' about!
(thank you, interweb geniuses for jumping on this immediately)

Kudos to the Cultural Trust for hitting the mark. Friday's duckfest was big fun even with the clusterf**k at the head of the bridge. So many people in town enjoying a volume of activities on a beautiful night in a vibrant city. For those who complain there is nothing to do in Pittsburgh... Go home, you're drunk.

Pittsburgh rocks, MoFos!

*quack quack* n'at

In Which Sometimes In Life, Good Things Happen To Those Who Wait...And Wait...And Wait...

Okay, so you know how when something major occurs and people ask "where were you when such-and-such happened?" Well, this morning at zero-dark butt-crack, I kissed the patient-saint-who-is-my-husband goodbye, only this time he wasn't a warm mass of deep sleep. This morning he was conscious enough to break the news that the Bucs, the Heartbreak Kings of the kingdom, clinched a Wild Card playoff berth with a nail-biter of an ending against the Cubs.

HOLY FUCKING HELL!!

They didn't make it easy on us fans either. Nosiree, Bob. It all came down to a two-out single in the bottom of the ninth with the tying run blazing toward home and a bumbled field play...



Martin...OUT!!!

Jiminey CHRISTMAS, could there have been a more dramatic way for the Bucs to make it to the playoffs?! I don't think so. I don't care. This way was one sweet, SWEET victory. I swear to the little Baby Jesus the entire Pirates Nation stood up and yelled a big, fat collective NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! at the sight of Byrd's bobble in the shallow outfield.

raising the jolly ruckus in the locker room

Aw, man, I could watch that video over and over and over, in perpetuity. It gets me a little verklempt. I admit it brought a tear or two thousand to me foggy eyes when I first saw the playback this morning at the Special K. Okay, fine. It makes me tear up EVERY time I watch it. I'm a little misty now.

I'm a sentimental sap, so sue and/or bite me.

bubbly bath

In one reasonably dry corner of the room, hitting coach Jay Bell, a link to the club's glory days in the early 1990s, smiled as he looked on.

“This is how I remember it,” Bell said, with a catch in his voice. “This is a long time coming.”

(excerpt from Tuesday's Trib)

goggles? really?
whatev. he just got into the playoffs.

the long-suffering announcers
busting out the celebratory Cohibas

I can't even describe how crazy good this feels. The city is jubilant. Good gravy we all needed this. Somebody PINCH ME!


(locker room celebration at 1:40 and 3:33)

During the celebration, Pirates Manager, Clint Hurdle was asked a question to which he answered, ab-so-bucn-lutely. Immediately it became a trending hashtag on Twitter. Almost immediately someone designed this shirt.

please let this be real

The interwebs rule, yo.

Geo and his Mom, Stancy, a devoted Pirates fan nearly her entire 87 years, have developed a sweet tradition over the last several years. Every time the Pirates win, Geo calls her. No matter where he is, either home or away, he picks up the phone and calls her. She, in turn answers with an excited "We won! We won!" Needless to say, there have been dismal years where they didn't talk much. Not this year. With 90 wins and counting, they've spoken a LOT. Stancy's endurance has definitely been tested over the past couple decades, but unlike me, she has hung tough in her die-hard devotion to the franchise. Her longevity has paid off. She has officially lived long enough to witness another winning season.

We still have a shot at making the regular playoffs. It involves us winning, the Cards losing and the feet of a live chicken or some other voodoo mathematics, but at this point, WE'RE IN, BABY!

A wild card, one-and-done post season is not the most ideal, but hey, no one expected this team to get anywhere CLOSE to this point... except for the former GM of WYEP, Lee Ferarro who has been tweeting me one word, "PLAYOFFS!" after almost every win for the last month. I owe you a drink, buddy.

HOLY HELL!! Seriously. Somebody pinch me.


No matter what happens from here on out, no one can take away the universally felt bliss of this moment.

Buctober, Sweet Cheeks. It's happening in the 412!

"We Play For October"

HOLY HELL!

After 20 long, grueling, painful years of dismal performance, on September 8th, The Pittsburgh Pirates achieved what was thought to be the impossible... A winning season.

Cutch thanking the baby jesus and all the baseball gods for the clinch
"we play for october", BABY

A WINNING FUCKING SEASON, PEOPLE!!

Let's let that sink in a little bit. Let's savor that sweet, sweet victory.

You smell that? That's the scent of hope and long overdue promise. Go ahead. Jam your proboscis right down in there. Suck it in and hold it there. Aaaaaaaaa...


It all started with this:


A heart-wrenching loss in the playoffs to the Braves back in 1992, when a former, slow-running Pirate player beat Barry Bonds' throw to the plate with this slide. Thus began the Sid Bream Curse.

For two decades--an entire freaking generation--parents have been teaching their children how to deal with disappointment by exposing them to the ineptitude of past Bucco franchises. Each Spring the forever hopeful would hold their breath, certain this would be the year the Bucs would hit 500, only to have their spirits crushed by mid season.

But that all ended on a steamy, Texas field last Sunday night, September 8, 2013 as the Pittsburgh Pirates won game #82, clinching a winning season! Pirates fans' long, national nightmare was over. The moniker of LOSER expunged from Bucco vernacular. The curse finally lifted.

And there was joy in Burghville.

"we play for october"

Have a look at the win for yourself right here.

You gotta love the Cutch-Byrd-Pie celebration jump mid-field. Pure joy. These kids are fun to watch.

Of course, it took awhile to capture #82 after hitting the 500 mark. Five days, in fact. What's baseball without a little drama. They had to test fans' fortitude with a bloody four-game losing streak before busting it open in Texas.

I blame you, Sports Illustrated. Every time you put one of our team's players on the cover, bad things happen.

Dear SI Douchebags:

Leave. Our. Teams ALONE!

XO-
Pittsburgh


Maybe we broke that curse, too. As it stands right now, the Pirates are at 84 wins, only a half game out from first-place St. Louis, with a magic number of 10 to reach the playoffs.

THE PLAYOFFS!

Holy SHIT! Reaching #82 was reason enough to warrant a big-ass parade, in my humble opinion, but DAAAAMN, we have a real shot at post-season play here.

Post-Season Play. The Bucs.

Pinch me.

how much gum do you think Clint Hurdle will chew in
post season?

I admit, enduring so many misery-ladden seasons, made me cautious with my support and hesitant to go all in again this time around. 20 years of heartache will do that, but this is too much fun. I am officially on board the bandwagon. I have Bucco fever, BABY! And it is sweet!

For once, so much positive attention is being given to our little-engine-that-could team with the amazing heart. No matter how one feels about sports, the cold truth is this team has been tremendous for our city. The seats are filled, the surrounding businesses are booming, the streets are teeming with people proudly donning Pirates gear. EVERYONE is talking about the Bucs. The excitement is palpable!

Steelers, who?

The fans have earned this moment of glory. It's been a long time coming.

Some people have an interesting theory about this season. This would have been our 21st losing record. Roberto Clemente, one of the greatest players of the game, wore #21. Some would argue, the spirit of Roberto is with this team and would not allow another loss connected to his number. I like it. Let's do this for Roberto, shall we.

What a season.

HOLY HELL!

The Bucs are taking the new MLB slogan to heart.

We play for October, Muthaf**ker!

RAISE IT!!!!

In Which Some Thursdays Are Far More Perfect Than Others (spending the day with the Spring Standards)

Okay, so the first time we ever ventured into Kickstarter, a crowdfunding source for music, arts and tangible objects, was to help fund an EP by a Brooklyn-based band called the Spring Standards. I had stumbled upon them and their music via my love of Rhett Miller who happened to produce their first CD, No One Will Know. Both Geo and I fell instantly in love with their harmonies, depth and full sound. We have subsequently backed all of their Kickstarter efforts.

One of the charming things about funding sites like Kickstarter is the clever way bands put together premiums for levels of support. The Spring Standards (James Cleare, Heather Robb, James Smith, heretofore referred to as JHJ), have done some very creative incentives like calling supporters from the road, creating custom videos of thanks, and creating a mix CD of their favorite music. They are youthful, resourceful and understand the importance of connecting with their burgeoning fan base.

As a special thank you for loyal supporters, JHJ (sounds like a law firm, doesn't it) sent an email offering to play house concerts for what they dubbed the Live From Your Living Room series. Needless to say, Geo and I jumped at the chance. Having hosted Francis Dunnery at the house twice over the past several years, we knew exactly how we'd set it up.

As luck would have it, the Pirates were in town playing the Marlins at 12:45pm. JHJ and Noah graciously accepted our offer to treat them to the baseball game at PNC Park. It's still amazes both of us that they readily agreed. I mean, WE know we aren't malevolent, crazy stalkers, but they took it on faith we were made of good stock. Which we are.

Anywho, after a minor miscommunication about the size of their Sprinter, Peggy Sue, we met up with them downtown and hopped in their oversized vehicle to help them find a place to stow Peggy Sue. Again, the four of them could not have been more gracious. I had a great time in the back talking with Heather, while the men-folk hunted for parking. P.S.: These Sprinters are HUGE inside.

Having no luck finding a space in an open air lot downtown, we ended up finding a random lot on the North Shore near the Heinz plant. Fortunately there's a lovely path which hugs the river providing a beautiful vista of Pittsburgh.

Burgh Beauty from the North Shore trail

We had terrific seats on the first-base side, high enough up to be out of foul ball range, but close enough to see the action clearly.

We noshed on salty ballpark fare, drank a variety of liquids, dissed on Barmes for picking Don't Stop Believin' as his walk on music, tried to catch hot dogs and t-shirts shot from cannons, and sweat our asses off. You know, the usual stuff.

selfie before we watch our limbs swell from ballpark sodium overload
(Heather, James Smith, Geo)
(Noah, moi, James Cleare)

just chillin', baby
(Heather and Noah)

I even got to meet up with Jimmy McParkway who happened to be in town and at the game.

nice cock...a doodle

i love this doofus

The Buccos staged an exciting come back mid-game and tied it for extra innings, winning it in the tenth for a sweep of the Marlins.

RAIZE IT!

this never gets old
burghers will understand this
i swear this silly-ass composite is our lucky charm

We all parted ways to sandblast the stench of sweaty humanity from our collective epidermis before the evening's festivities. The band brought along a film crew to document each house concert for a project they plan to submit to Sundance and other festivals.

crew member avec curling stone chapeau
(we have lots of goofy shit)

They interviewed several guests on our big ole nasty porch. Geo and I gave our two cents at the end of the evening, so hopefully through creative editing, we won't sound so drunk and/or incoherent. 

"We like band. They sing pretty. *grunt belch snort*"

The trio of filmmakers were professional, unobtrusive and a lot of fun. I appreciate they took the time to chat with our teenage nephew, Alex, a budding journalist in his own right, and share some of their insights. Alex wrote a terrific blog about the evening here. Give it up for Blogger 2015! Woot! Woot!

The cool thing about house concerts is the lovely sense of community it generates. There's something about food, friends and music that just fits together organically. A modern day salon with far less pretension. 

Lizzie and Heather bonding over juicy melon 

It was a gorgeous night which lent to people sitting on the deck soaking up the remaining sunshine of the day. The band were cool about mingling, noshing and drinking with guests prior to the show. Heather and Regi talked at length about each other's world travels. Later Lizzie and Heather discovered they had a Guster connection in common. While other party goers plotted their own mutual connections. 

Everything fell together. I can't tell you how happy it made me to stand back and watch everyone eating, drinking and getting along so effortlessly. It made my heart full. Geo and I are blessed with amazing friends with whom to share equally amazing opportunities like this particular evening. We are two lucky sons of beeyatches.

Most attendees were unfamiliar with The Spring Standards, but all present were music lovers. They were a giving audience for JHJ's intimate performance. And boy howdy were the Standards OUTSTANDING!!! They joked together, played with the audience and sang beautifully. 

(This was Geo's special request, Sharks. He finally got to hear it live. Thanks, Heather!!)

(courtesy of Amy Crawford, concert photog extraordinaire)

Our Fat Head Joe Biden even made an appearance. Fitting considering two thirds of JHJ are from the great state of Delaware. 

Last year, the lovely blue-eyed one released his fourth solo effort. On it was a song originally penned by JHJ called Picture This. They gave it to Rhett who tweaked it to make it his own. The kids kindly dug into their memory banks to sing their original version, share the story behind it, and launch into some hysterical banter.

(P.S.: I have the aforementioned tote bag. I know. You're shocked. Shut up.)

Here's Mr. Miller's version with Heather as back up, purely for comparison's sake. I swear. ;-)


*le sigh*


And here's the first song I heard that sealed my love for them, Goodbye Midnight.




In concert they each play several different instruments at once. I'm not even kidding. They are tremendous musicians, open and sincere as hell. SEEK THEM OUT, PEOPLE!! You will NOT be disappointed.

cross-dressing Joe Biden says
"If you love America, support the Spring Standards!"

Listen to Joe Biden. It will do your soul good to help these young people realize their life's work. And you might even feel an unbearable lightness of being again. (the BEST Daniel Day-Lewis movie evah!)

Thanks again to James, Heather, James, Noah and the film crew for one truly unforgettable Thursday. Consider us signed up for the next round of house concerts. I'll make mango salsa...

the entire band of jolly men and women

Yeah. Like I said earlier, Geo and I are lucky SOBs.