Black & Gold
My brother is a quote machine.
“I haven’t had a three dollar beers since college!”
After last night’s $6 room service Iron City bottles, I understand and appreciate his enthusiasm. We’re at Doubleday’s on Sixth Street in downtown Pittsburgh, our third bar of the night. Every one of ’em have been absolutely throbbing with Steeler fans.
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
Our first stop on day two of shooting our doc, “Mister Rogers & Me” (you can read all about Chris and my shoot at “Making ‘Mister Rogers & Me'”) was called Sports Rock. In thirty-six years of enjoying beers, wings, and large televisions, I’ve never seen anything like it. It was packed to the rafter with Steelers fans, all shamelessly resplendite in black and gold. When the Steelers scored, strobe lights flashed, that stupid stadium anthem “Duh duh-duh duh HEY! Duh Duh…”) blared through a shoddy PA, and the mechanical bull began bouncing.
Were he on his seventh beer, I might understand his potential illness. But he was on his first. See, unlike New York City (and, I thought, the rest of the world), people can smoke in bars in Pittsburgh. And they do, like, non-stop. So we left.
Our second stop was the world-famous sandwhich shop, Primanti’s. We sadled up to the counter, ordered a few Iron Cities, and a sausage and cheese sandwhich which came just moments later piled high with cole slaw, french fries, and tomatoes.
Back at Doubleday’s, and Chri nods towards the bartender. Six four, two-fifty, and bald, his biceps are the size of my quads.
“Dude,” Chris says, “He’s definately juicin’.”
The Steelers lose in OT, and we head back to the hotel.
Of course, our work in Pittsburgh was far more substantial than our night out in The Strip. But after thirty-six hours of shooting, a few beers and a little TV is a welcome respite. Likewise sleep, which is just moments away…