I just spent the weekend in Pittsburgh, the newest stop on my baseball stadium tour. I was excited because I had never been to PNC Park and the Pirates were playing some pretty decent ball lately, and I was going to visit my friends Jeff and Diane and their daughter Nell who was home for Fathers Day.
THE FLIGHT TO PITTSBURGH
I was leaving from LaGuardia on a Saturday afternoon which is NEVER a good idea. Generally, if you don’t get there before six in the morning, your flight is delayed at least 40 minutes. Anyone who’s been there can confirm this. Well, much to my delight, there was no real crowd at UselessAir, no problem getting through security, and no announced delay in taking off. While I was waiting for the plane, the gate attendant starts announcing that the flight was “overbooked” and they were looking for a few “volunteers” to give up their seats in exchange for a roundtrip ticket to be “used within a year and is transferable to family and friends”. That’s what they told me on ValuJet right before they changed the name to Air Tran. Fool me once I say. I watched and there was only one taker. This was not going well for the gate crew. After a few minutes, in a somewhat firmer voice, “Ted” asked again for volunteers to give up their seats, especially if “Pittsburgh was your final destination as there were people who had to make connecting flights.” He was staring straight at me. But I wasn’t buying. Call me crazy, but I don’t remember being asked to cover the mistakes of this Chapter 11 abomination of an airline. So, I ignored him and his repeated attempts to bully me into taking a later flight. Finally, some other folks decided a free trip was worth the inconvenience and took the deal. I was safe.
They announced that the plane was almost ready to board, and that if you had any carry-on luggage, “I implore you, PLEASE, take a gate check ticket now so you don’t slow down the boarding.” Begging from the podium. That’s new. So we all take a yellow ticket, tie it to our suitcases and head down the jet way. At the end of the ramp we are greeted by a roll-up stairway that was pushed to the opening that we had to walk down to the tarmac and cross over to the airplane, which had its own built-in stairway in the door. I asked one of the workers why we couldn’t use the stairway built into the jet way, and she told me, quite seriously, that “this stairway is reserved for airport workers only.” Right. Anyway, this particular puddle jumper was operated by Air Wisconsin. And who knew there was one? Visions of Packer highlights and cheddar bricks danced through my head. So I Quasimodo my way down to my seat to be greeted by a young lady reading “Appointment with Dr. Death,” the story of Jack Kevorkian. But I don’t care, because we’re getting out of La Guardia. Sure enough we’re in the air in ten minutes and I’m going to get there on time. SWEET! The flight goes smoothly enough, Dr. Death curls into a small ball and remains motionless, and about ten minutes before touchdown, the pilot comes on and tells the flight attendant to prepare for landing. I beat the LaGuardia curse! Or did I? Five minutes later I hear on the loudspeaker, “Ah, this is the flight deck. We’re going to be delayed for a bit because they just closed down Pittsburgh airport for the Air Show. They estimate it will be about 40 minutes before they reopen for commercial flights. Sorry for the inconvenience folks. The good news is that those of you who are trying to make connecting flights will have no problem ‘cause they can’t fly in or out either. We’ll keep you updated as we get more information.” Wait a minute. Did this just pop up? Surely they can’t be doing a guerilla Air Show in this toothpaste-in-quart-bag-and-take-off-your-shoes post-9/11 world. This isn’t the ‘60s where you would jump out of a Volkswagen bus in the middle of a demonstration and start doing street theater through bullhorns. I must be missing something. I call the cabin cheese head over and ask her “Didn’t you guys know about this?” She says, “Yeah, they told us. But they decided to send us anyway.” Figuring, what, our Chevy Aveo airplane can make up time in the air and sneak in before show time? Or that the supersonic jets in formation would ignore us as too puny for their attention? Or was this just their way of being able to report that the flight was “on time”? All I know is that I should have taken the free ticket. Landing 45 minutes late (but not because of LaGuardia) I’m met at the airport by Jeff and Diane.
I’ve known them since college. Jeff is still quirky (when I first met him he was wild about cowboy clothes and never went anywhere without his boots and cowboy hat) and is a true renaissance man. Diane has grown from being a J.A.P. to a J.A.M. (fill in your own blanks) and is as delightful today as the day I met her (“Do you know you can now get cancer of the scalp?”). They are the kind of friends that it doesn’t matter how much time has elapsed, it seems like you were just talking yesterday. Nell is a wonderful blend of them both (poor dear) and they have another daughter, Rachel, who lives in France and is married to the French guy who Jeff describes as the, ah, FRENCH GUY (gonna try to keep this one PG). I apologize to them for being late but they tell me “No problem. We watched the Air Show”. I was glad to be of service. We jump in their car and head back to their house to drop off my luggage before we head to the ballpark. On the way we pass the “Wal-Mart site.”
THE WAL-MART SITE
The Wal-Mart site is one of those American stories that just needs to be retold. We were passing through one of the little small towns that surround Pittsburgh (and this one was REALLY SMALL) and to the left was a hill and a road which led up to an abandoned old hospital. The land had been sitting empty for years. Recently, along comes Wal-Mart who sees the spot, knows an opportunity when it see one, and starts to negotiate (bribe?) the town fathers to purchase the land to build a Super Wal-Mart (you know, the ones with the groceries in them). Of course, the town residents are immediately up in arms and form a committee and hire a lawyer to stop what they believe will be the downfall of their way of life. (Let’s go to Wal-Mart and buy everything we don’t want BUT don’t put it in our backyard! ) In other words, a typical Wal-Mart opening. Now I believe that this has happened so often to this mega conglomerate that litigating these annoying lawsuits has been incorporated into the cost of doing business. Remember, this is the company that recently proudly announced how their $4 generic prescription plan was helping to drive down the cost of medical care in this country. (Oh, and the fact that their employees are uninsured helps too.) Anyway, somebody forgot, or ignored, this irritating little engineering study which stated that trying to level this particular hill would have catastrophic results. Seems it was unstable. But in the grand tradition of “who are you going to believe, me or your lying eyes,” construction began. For a very short time. Before the hill came crashing down, burying the existing highway. Not all of the hill of course. Plenty more for another landslide. Just enough to finally stop a Wal-Mart from locusting into town. Course the headline in the next day’s newspaper screamed “WE TOLD YOU SO.” And just like that, the little man won. Course there was still the cleanup, and the lawsuits, and the finger pointing. But it just goes to show what a great country this is.
THE GAME
Finally, we are on our way to PNC Park. Home of the Pirates. I’m feeling good about this because I’ve never been to this stadium before, the Bucs have won the previous night, they’re playing the White Sox who are really struggling this year so there’s a possibility that they could win again, and it’s ‘60s and ‘70s bobble head night. We drive downtown where the Allegheny and Monongahela (I can’t pronounce it either) meet and park across from where the stadium is. It is open from the other side of the river and you can see right into it. We cross the Roberto Clemente Bridge which is closed to vehicles during baseball games. In the middle of the bridge is a guy standing on one of the guardrails with a saxophone playing the Mexican hat dance (“da da da da da da da -clap clap”). I don’t know why. And we walk right up to the centerfield entrance to the park. The first thing that strikes me is that this looks a lot like the new Busch Stadium, which looks a lot like Citizens Bank Park in Philly, which looks a lot like Camden Yards. There is a certain cookie-cutter aspect to the new parks. They are user friendly, have great sightlines, are open so you can still see the field even when you’re at the concessions stands. The only differences I can see are the size (they announced a sellout at PNC of 36,000) and the outfields are configured a little differently. After walking through security (?) (“how are you tonight”) we enter the park and each get a bobble head. Absolutely not New York where pockets would have been padded down, security wands would have been waved, and 50,000 people would definitely have not gotten possible projectiles. Reading the bobble box I discover that this is the first in a series of “bobble head” nights at PNC. (I guess I’m not getting the set.) We stroll through the back of the bleachers, past Manny’s barbeque over to the concourse where we can find our seats. By the look of it they’re going to be pretty good, about 15 rows down and right past first base. And on the aisle to boot. Very nice. We’re a little early so we figure we can leave our stuff at the seat and go and get some food. Plowing through what turned out to be a sellout crowd (in Pittsburgh?) I find the common denominator, a stadium hot dog. This thing looks greasy, like it’s been fried in butter or some animal fat so I know it’s going to be good. Foot long, smothered in fried peppers and onions, roll slightly crispy on the outside and soft in the middle. It was darn fine. We go back to the seats, sit down, the game is beginning and the view is excellent. There’s a buzz from the crowd, and enough empty seats that I know I’ll have a nice view of the game. Then, after the game starts, they came. First, a couple with their son and they sat in the seats right in front of us, with the kid in the middle. He was about 6’2” and had spiky hair. Now we have obstructed view seats (like being in Fenway). But there is still half a row empty next to them. Next comes a couple with 2 young children who move in to the middle of the row. Spiky and folks are up, then down, then the young mom immediately has to leave with the kids. We’re up, then down. Now, comes another young couple, who are friends of the family (Spiky up, Spiky down). Two minutes later, here comes mom with the kids (Spiky up, Spiky down) and five minutes later she comes back (Spiky up, Spiky down). A few minutes after that, another couple arrives to join the group and she is seriously pregnant. Somewhere on the field, there is a baseball game going on, if only we could see it. Now, preggers gets into the act (Spiky up, Spiky down) and before she comes back, mom leaves AGAIN with the kids (Spiky up, Spiky down) and then a few minutes later preggers comes back (Spiky up, Spiky down) and then another couple comes to join these folks (Spiky up, Spiky down) and just when we are getting settled, here come mom with the kids. And now I know why they were playing the Mexican hat dance on the bridge. There’s a rhythm to this whole thing and we actually begin to start following the game. That’s when the white-trash-trailer-park-won-the-tickets-in-a-barroom-poker-game group next to us decide to get into the act. They’re up, they’re down. I finally think I get it. The team has been bad for so long that the game is just an afterthought. Mostly, they come for the exercise.
Around the sixth inning I start to get hungry again and my friends tell me that if I want a real Pittsburgh experience I have to go to Primanti’s (the T is silent). Whatever you order, this sandwich comes with coleslaw and French fries in the sandwich. Yup. I was eating a knish sandwich. I wish I was at the R&D meeting for this creation. (“What are you eating?” “A french fry sandwich.” “Sounds gross.” “No, it’s really good. We should sell it.” “ I don’t think anyone would buy it.” “Well, how about if we put some meat in there?” “Better, but seems like it’s still missing something” “Lettuce, tomato?” “Nah. That would be too weird with the fries.” “I know what you mean. What else?” Then together they exclaim “COLESLAW!” And, an institution was born. And, to add the coup de grace, they cut two hunks of Italian bread to hold this thing. I’m in line, so I read the menu, all 3 items (Cheese steak, Roast Beef, and Prosciutto) and the sign which proclaims “NO SPECIAL ORDERS UNTIL AFTER THE SIXTH INNING” (I don’t even want to know). After waiting about 20 minutes (cause this place is really popular), I order the cheese steak, which proudly boasts “voted #2 sandwich in Pittsburgh” (What’s #1?) and follow the rest of the crowd to the condiment stand because frankly, I don’t know what to do with this thing. So I watch and learn. Mayo and hot sauce on the sandwich and ketchup on the side. My blood starts to thicken and my heart slows down as I bite into it. Not bad. Very Weird! But not bad at all. But now, I think of the possibilities and I start to get excited. This means that the next time I take home a doggie bag from a restaurant, I can have a burrito sandwich with rice and beans on Italian bread with mayo and hot sauce. I just gotta keep the ketchup on the side!
I get back to the seats and the game is getting out of hand. The Pirates have gone to the bullpen and the relief pitchers seem to have learned throwing to bases from the Tigers pitchers in last years World Series. A tight game quickly becomes 6-1 but no one really cares because we’re all having a good time doing the Spiky dance, watching the racing pirogues (they run in from right field), the Sopranos takeoff with the Parrot, the Pirate and 2 of the pirogues (filling in for Meadow and AJ), not to mention voting on which rock and roll song we wanted to hear at the top of the ninth inning (Godzilla and Mothra won, and they showed the CLASSIC footage on the screen to boot). We leave the park a little early to avoid the crowd and decide that we don’t want the fun to end, let’s go to Dairy Queen! So we do. One of the old fashioned, just off the highway, enough room for 3 cars and two benches Dairy Queen. Old School! And it tastes exactly the way it always did, although I don’t remember the butterscotch dip being quite that orange (looked like one of those spray-on tans).
Sunday is Fathers Day, we go out to breakfast (another story at another time -- think yeast and lots of it), then to an arts fair downtown (goes with the breakfast story), and then a plane trip back home. All in all a fun visit. It was great to see my friends, and I can’t wait to get back to the land of the Allegheny and Mokahekanana River. But I think I’m going to wait until after I get the bypass.
Written by Medford Bob and posted by the Tank in NY.