First Person / Rooting for Pitt
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My parents' longtime neighbors have a favorite saying at this time of year: It's tough being a Pitt fan.
Don't I know it.
My dad initiated us early on into the roller-coaster ride of nail-biting victories and heart-wrenching defeats that plagues every Pitt football fan. I have vivid memories of game day scrimmages in our backyard, my dad and me against my two older brothers. Our stock play consisted of a handoff to me followed by a screaming run down the sidelines as I desperately tried to outrun two adolescent boys far larger and more determined than I. My dad could usually hold them off, but not always. I knew I was in trouble when I would hear him yell, "Run!" I ate the turf more than once. Then we'd go inside for lunch -- bologna, American cheese and ketchup on white bread, a childhood favorite I can hardly stomach today -- and park ourselves in front of the Pitt game.
My dad, a 1960s Pitt alumnus, put his whole self into rooting for Pitt. Sometimes he put his fist into a wall. Sometimes the high-volume language directed at our console TV made me cower. But the victory celebrations made it all worthwhile: fists pumped in the air, chants of "Let's go Pitt" and unfettered hoots and hollers as Dad spun us around or tossed us in the air.
A Pitt win amplified happiness in the house. The whole world melted away -- the bad test grade at school, the "messy room" argument with Mom, the broccoli at dinner -- none of it mattered in the afterglow of a Pitt win. I learned back then how exciting a football victory could be.
Amplify that by 10 if the win happened to be over Penn State.
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I attended Pitt myself in the 1990s. Anyone who has followed Pitt football through the years will understand how difficult that was. During my tenure as a Pitt undergrad, we averaged just three wins per season. Cheers from the inebriated student section would deteriorate rapidly from "Let's go Pitt!" to "We scored first," and finally to "We can't Hackett," an ode to then-coach Paul Hackett. The only upticks of those football seasons were the well-supplied parties and mounds of "O" fries that eased our sorrows each weekend.
It didn't help that my future brother-in-law and sister-in-law attended Penn State at the time. They were merciless.
First Published October 22, 2011 12:00 am
