It's all a little unsettling, if I'm telling the truth.
The sun blared amid pristine skies, temps soared into the 70s, and T-shirts were the clothing of choice on this Monday evening in early March, as Dali and I strolled from our home Downtown across the freshly reopened, fabulously reconstructed Sixth Street Bridge to our favorite eatery, Mike's Beer Bar, on Federal Street. We sat outside, too. No canopy. No torches.
That's how it's been here almost all of this alleged winter, and that's how it's being forecast right through the spring threshold, if not for the foreseeable future.
Crazy.
And not at all OK by me.
I love my seasons. I love my clouds, my rain, my snow, all the atmospheric swinging variables that used to set our stage. I love my moods adjusting to each change, I love the clear camaraderie in seeing those shifting moods shared by those around me ... all the common elements that make us Pittsburghers.
I love my city precisely the way it's supposed to be. And this ain't it.
Any guess where I'm going with this?
Yeah, that.
Pinpoint for me, please, the most recent occasion on which one of the Steelers, Penguins or Pirates might've inspired real belief in the citizenry as a whole.
When Ben Roethlisberger led the football team to an 11-0 start in the 2020 COVID season?
Nope. No one took that seriously. Soon enough, we'd see why:
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When the Penguins lined up against the New York teams in consecutive Stanley Cup playoffs?
Nope. Unless we've already forgotten who'd be the recipient of this Tristan Jarry outlet:
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When Bob Nutting cleaned out the Pirates' front office to open the 2020 season with a whole new set of names and faces?
Nope. Not even a 20-8 start a year ago could overcome all their countless stigmas:
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This sucks. We aren't ourselves. And not just because of the T-shirts.
We're a place that prioritizes sports over God, and I'm not coming close to exaggerating when I say that, given that our region's churches have forever adjusted mass to kickoff times, rather than vice versa. We're the only city in North America where all of our teams wear the same set of colors and, by and large, are supported by the same overlapping local fan base. And I'd love to believe that's because all the teams also bear the same first name, the one that's more important than the last.
This sucks. Losing sucks. Not having those common experiences, not having days where business casual means black and gold, not having the maternity wards wrapping newborns in Terrible Towels, not having the parades down the Boulevard of the Allies, not packing every level of the Kaufmann's parking garage to get a glimpse of two different sets of passing heroes ...
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... that was spectacular.
And this sucks.
I hate it. It's the opposite of who we are. And what's worse, we don't shrug it off. We don't simply move on to other endeavors. We don't forget the most recent ugly loss and try to bury it with a binge-watch of 'Better Call Saul.' Because it's all we'd think about from the opening credits to the close, anyway.
We're the worst at this. We aren't Phoenix or Charlotte or anywhere in Florida or any other soulless place where nobody cares outside of the three actual hours of competition, and maybe not even then. We're all-in, from that maternity ward to the casket.
We're these people ...
... who brought parents and grandparents to witness a cathartic civic cleansing that might've confused outsiders but made perfect sense to us. Just as it made sense to us that there were no lines at the PNC Park concession stands that night. Not a soul on the concourses.
Nothing remotely like that's occurred yet in this decade.
Ben's farewell was wonderful in its own way, but it also felt scary, a feeling that'd be justified as soon as anyone spoke the words Mitch and Trubisky. But that's been it for the Steelers, still led by Mike Tomlin, but still without a playoff victory since Chris Boswell's six field goals in Kansas City in 2017. If not for the Mason Rudolph cavalry, we'd have had all three of our teams miss the playoffs in the same year for the first time since 2003. And along the way, arguably adding to the exasperation, the extraordinary career of T.J. Watt's being wasted. Same for Cam Heyward. Same for Minkah Fitzpatrick.
Heck, this is as close as the city's come to truly bonding over the Steelers in seemingly forever ...
DALI KOVACEVIC / DKPS
... and we don't even have that guy to kick around anymore.
The triple-farewell of Sidney Crosby, Evgeni Malkin and Kris Letang's been wonderful in its own way, as well. It's just that the Penguins, who themselves haven't won a playoff series since 2018, have taken multiple ownership groups, multiple GMs and multiple stances toward what now, at long last, might be the pivotal week in which moves are made with an eye toward the next generation. The NHL's trade deadline looms Friday, and it looms a lot larger than the already hollow home game tonight against the Blue Jackets.
Three Cups from this three-man Core is more than anyone could ask. There should only be applause for them, including when all three have their own Jaromir Jagr days here. But there's no more pretending that they can compete, much less contend, without younger legs surrounding them.
The Pirates ... eh. I mean, they brought Andrew McCutchen home.
It's pathetic that this sentence should ever need to be typed, but they're legitimately positioned for a brighter immediate future than either the Steelers or Penguins ... except that Major League Baseball lacks a salary cap system, except that Nutting spends laughably below the norm even within that context, and except that the on-field development and instruction's become an industry-wide punchline. So they'll somehow blow it with Paul Skenes, Henry Davis and Termarr Johnson the same way they've blown it with everyone aside from a precious handful of players who've learned how to rise above.
We haven't even had big events in this decade.
Some of that was due to COVID, but that doesn't explain not having had an NHL All-Star Game since 1991, nor an MLB All-Star Game since 2006, nor an NFL big-ticket item like the Super Bowl or even the draft, nor an outdoor hockey game since 2017, nor really much of anything. Piled on top of the lack of playoffs, in general, that's a lot of lights staying out.
Have I mentioned that this sucks?
If so, have I tried comparing it to any other span since Pittsburgh became a three-sport city with the Penguins' birth in 1967?
Best I can do is to point to the 1980s as a whole: The Steelers, with the pedestrian likes of Mark Malone manning the most important position, made the playoffs four times in the post-dynasty decade, winning two of those six games, advancing once to the AFC Championship Game. The Penguins, despite the blessed arrival of Mario Lemieux, wouldn't make the playoffs with No. 66 until 1989 before winning the franchise's first two Cups in 1991 and 1992. And the Pirates, despite Barry Bonds bursting onto the scene as baseball's next big (eventually very big) thing, wouldn't make the playoffs with that crew until the three straight division titles in 1990-92.
Is that a drier spell than this?
Was the spell back then mitigated by obvious hope for the short-term future?
Is the current spell mitigated by the recent success, which cumulatively would be the envy of most any city on the continent?
Yeah, I don't know, either. I'd just say that any sporting success, anytime soon, would be as welcome around here as having the need to unearth my winter coat. Presuming I still own one.
• Thanks for reading.
• Grant 'Buck' Jackson days till Miami.
• For the audiophiles among thee:
