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Managing Editor Scott Wright has been with The Post
since 1998. He is Let me tell you about my Super Sunday By Scott Wright People always ask me why I am a Pittsburgh Steelers fan. My standard answer is this: The first Super Bowl I ever remember watching, start to finish, was Super Bowl XIII in January 1979. I was eight years old when the Steelers beat the Dallas Cowboys 35-31 in the Orange Bowl in Miami. Terry Bradshaw threw four touchdown passes and was named the game's Most Valuable Player.I wore the number 12 throughout high school largely because of Bradshaw's play in that game. That didn't make me special in those days. Most everyone I went to school with was either a Steelers or Cowboys fan in the late 1970s and early '80s. Alas, my former Cedar Bluff teammates can verify that I never got even close to being mistaken for Bradshaw on the gridiron. But at least I got to wear his number on Friday nights. That was enough for me. Going to college in a football-crazy town like Tuscaloosa made my Sunday afternoon rituals in the fall a bit more conspicuous than they had been before. Still, I stuck with the Steelers, even through the Bubby Brister years. (Steelers fans will recall the agony I refer to.) I cheered loudly for the black and gold through disappointing seasons from 1985-91, even though by then much of the rest of the country had switched their NFL wardrobes to San Francisco's more sparkling version of the latter color. My team's football future finally began to look a little brighter in the mid-1990s, after Bill Cowher became the Steelers' head coach. By 1995, we were back in big game again. We came up a little short against Troy Aikman's Cowboys, mostly because another Pittsburgh quarterback -- who was NOT sporting No. 12, by the way -- had trouble remembering which color jersey his teammates were wearing. It took another 10 years, but Cowher finally got the Steelers back to the championship. We whipped the Seattle Seahawks pretty good on Feb. 5, 2006 in Detroit, and I celebrated the 21-10 win with a house full of friends. It was a really fun time, something I figured I'd never be able to top. With a little monetary assistance from my father, however, that all changed earlier this month. (Dad never had to ask why I was such a huge Steelers fan. After all, he was the person I was lying beside in the floor when I watched Super Bowl XIII.) The morning after the Steelers beat the Baltimore Ravens to advance to Super Bowl XLIII, the old man called and offered me a ticket to the game. “But dad, that ticket is going to cost you at least $1,000,” I told him. “No son, it's going to be closer to two grand, but if you want to go I'll find the money.” So I said yes, he found the money, and I went to the Super Bowl -- by myself, with a single suitcase filled with a lifetime's accumulation of Pittsburgh Steelers jerseys and T-shirts and caps and trinkets and Terrible Towels. I left Birmingham at 7 a.m. on Jan. 31. My plane was late landing in Tampa and the guy sitting beside me never stopped squawking. The rental car company screwed up my reservation and every restaurant in town was overpriced and the weather was colder than Lambeau Field beer. I blew $100 on cab fares before I finally got my rental car – which turned out to be a freaking minivan, by the way. My sinuses were killing me from the flight and I got lost in downtown Tampa three times before I remembered my cell phone has an Internet connection. By the time I crawled into bed Saturday night, I was convinced the fates were stacked against me and morning would never arrive (or worse, that my team might lose). But the sun rose over a beautiful day in central Florida a few hours later, and because of the terrifically warm weather and a group of friendly strangers from Pittsburgh who invited me to join their tailgate party, my Super Bowl Sunday was a splendid occasion. Considering the strains of the previous day, I was expecting the worst on Sunday: Long lines at security checkpoints, overpriced beer, elbow-to-elbow crowds, and stale hotdogs. But we breezed through all the lines, the beer was cold and the wieners were still warm. The crowd was immense, but at least everyone in it was wearing black and gold (and none of it of the glittery, 49ers variety). Inside the stadium that night, I watched a thrilling first half that included the longest touchdown play in NFL history, an electric halftime show featuring the Boss himself, and a nail-biting finish that ensured the game will be remembered for decades. I sent photos and received texts from dozens of family and friends who've come to know what a Steelers nut I am; they all knew how much fun I was having when the final gun sounded. Sure enough, I screamed until my voice was gone and jumped up and down until my legs were sore. I hugged total strangers, made a few new friends, and generally had the time of my life. To everyone who called or texted or thought about me during the game, I appreciate the gesture. I wish every one of you could have been there to see me have to most exciting day of my life. If it's any consolation, believe me when I tell you I had enough fun for us all. |