 
|
||||
              
|
Monday, July 26, 1999 By Peter Leo
As you've probably heard, you can take a stab at immortality by having your name put on a brick at PNC Park, the Pirates' new home going up on the North Side.
The bricks will cover two plazas outside the park, meaning you won't have to actually go to a game to see your name. They are being offered in two sizes: small, $75 for two lines of lettering, and large, $150 for four lines, big enough to list your extended family or get off a brief message or some haiku.
Selling personalized bricks has become standard practice in the sports stadium gold rush of the '90s. I happened to be in Seattle just days before the July 15 debut of baseball's newest park, and it didn't take long to pick up on the mixed feelings swirling around that city's latest coup.
Arriving downtown, the airport bus driver, who had established an understated tour-guide style, unburdened himself of some sardonic boosterism: "On your left is the new
home of the Seattle Mariners, Safeco Field, the most expensive ballpark in the wor-l-l-l-l-ld."
Now, much of the country suffers from Seattle envy, but we could put a team of drunken lottery-addicts in charge of the PNC Park project round the clock till the end of the millennium and still not approach the $517 million (and counting) price tag for Safeco, double PNC's chintzy $252 million.
Following established custom, the Mariners sold ballpark bricks. Among the 12,500 bricks in the stadium walkway, the one purchased by Seattleites Mary Bradley and David Hurley is not to be found.
It seems the Mariners took a dim view of the message the two wanted to inscribe for the ages: "We Voted No." That would be a reference to the original public vote on the ballpark, which, as in Pittsburgh, was thumbs down, only to be outflanked by Plan B public funding that required no messy consultation with voters.
To me, the Mariners were thick as bricks on this one, humorless, oblivious to a opportunity for a fun conversation piece. And $75 poorer. Bradley and Hurley got their money back unsolicited.
I wondered if the Pirates had attracted any brickbats among the brick-buyers, since our Plan A vote was far more lopsidedly negative than Seattle's.
"We haven't," said Donna Beltz, the Pirates staffer in charge of the project. "I'm really surprised."
That's right, nary a discouraging word among the 3,100 "Bucco Bricks" sold so far. I'd hate to think it's lack of imagination. Or is chief critic, County Commissioner Larry Dunn, too cheap? Not that I want to give you naysayers any ideas. Still, the Pirates are a long way from their goal of 14,000 bricks. And it is a good cause, the money going to the Roberto Clemente Foundation, which promotes sports and education for kids.
I like the brick idea, and intend to buy one myself. But I am troubled by one question: Why didn't I think of it when we were doing the backyard patio?
There are groups I could have counted on to feel the pressure to kick in, such as Friends of the Writing Coach, Readers Who Think the Post-Gazette Commits Language Atrocities on a Daily Basis and The Semi-Retired Columnists Relief Fund.
I'm quite certain people who have been mentioned in the column over the years would have wanted to buy a brick, as the next best thing to throwing one.
A "Best always, Cyril Wecht" would have added a dash of celebrity to the patio and enhanced property values. Or if the good doctor and politician, known for his love of $10 words, wanted a big brick, I could foresee something sentimental along the lines of, "May felicity be integral to your family configuration's armamentarium on a quotidian basis."
The rest of you tightwads could have gotten by with something short and sweet: "Go Leos!"; "Barbecue responsibly"; "May this patio be safe from slugs" or "The Leo patio: cheaper than Plan B."
Of course, you could count on me to respect the First Amendment right of critics, not to mention my right to make a buck off people who disapprove of my patio financing scheme.
I'd have no problem entertaining family and friends over bricks that said: "No public bailout for the Leos"; "This family doesn't deserve help" or "Had this been put to a vote, we would have voted no."
Peter Leo is the Post-Gazette's writing coach. You can reach him at 412-263-1561 or pleo@post-gazette.com.
|
|||
