One first name. One set of colors.
Pittsburgh. Black and gold.
No other city can lay claim to that distinction. All of our professional sports franchises have one name, one look and, thus, a singular identity within this passionate subculture of American society.
That doesn't mean much, obviously, next to 11 people being murdered Saturday at the Tree of Life synagogue in Squirrel Hill. To the six others who were wounded. To their families, friends and neighbors. To our children forced to grow up too soon. To our police and first responders, who'll return to work with an extra element of uncertainty.
But for now, on this gray, grim autumn Sunday afternoon that provided the most Pittsburgh possible setting, inside our always-packed football stadium along the confluence that provided the most Pittsburgh possible backdrop, and after the Steelers' 33-18 blasting of the Browns that provided the most Pittsburgh possible outcome ... it just might have been a quarterback who best summed up our collective sentiment.
"This is what Pittsburghers are. We're family," Ben Roethlisberger would say before an even greater-than-usual crush of cameras and microphones at his stall, where one reporter had asked what he could tell the people of our city to comfort them.
Stop and think about that for a second. This is a place where we still turn to Mr. Rogers in times of tragedy:
"This is Mr. Rogers' neighborhood. This is a safe neighborhood, that's incredible diverse. People feel welcome here. People who have lived here for generations and people who have lived here for a few months and people feel welcome..." PGH Councilwoman Erika Straussburger. #wpxi pic.twitter.com/UgZhr2DPBl
— Katherine Amenta (@kamenta) October 28, 2018
It's a place where our most quoted historical figure is one Charles Henry Noll, where our greatest legends in any walk of life have been Roberto Clemente, Mean Joe Greene and Mario Lemieux.
Of course we'd ask a quarterback.
"I've listened to some of the national reports of people explaining to national people what Pittsburgh is, and they described it as a big small city," Roethlisberger continued. "That doesn't surprise me. There's so much love here in this town for our sports teams, for each other, for all the different races, ethnicities, religions, everything we have here. It's such a melting pot, this city."
He paused a moment.
"For this to happen, it brought tears to my eyes last night and during that moment of silence pregame. Because we all just need to love each other and put our faith in the Lord that we'll get this fixed."
That guy just participated in an NFL game. One that mattered, at least in the proper context.
So did Cam Heyward, whose roots in the Squirrel Hill community run deep.
Watch this:
Don't skip by. Push play. Watch it.
This man had just been bashing heads for three hours, and he could barely make it through his replies.
Mike Tomlin just participated in this NFL game, as well. Squirrel Hill doesn't merely hit home with him. It is home.
"Let me start by representing our organization and saying that our hearts go out to the victims of yesterday's shooting, the Squirrel Hill community and the community of Pittsburgh at large," he began at the coach's podium before taking any questions. "I am a member of the Squirrel Hill community, and words cannot express how we feel as members of this community. We are prayerful."
Was it difficult, he was eventually asked, for him and the team to harness emotions?
"I probably live 800 yards from that church. Yes."
But when asked what it was like for the team to deal with, he bristled.
"I'm not going to make it about me or about us. We're just glad we're here to serve our community, if we can, in some small way."
He was right. It wasn't about the Steelers. It was about their first name. And the colors.
____________________
It's impossible to connect intangibles in our complex world, though we try. Fact is, had the Steelers blown this game, not a soul would have tied this civic tragedy to the final score. It would have been another football game.
And maybe that's all it was.
But maybe it wasn't.
If Norman Rockwell were to paint a picture of Pittsburgh, some panoramic freeze-frame in time, he could have done a lot worse than to blend the beautiful five minutes before this kickoff when a moment of silence was observed, followed by a a visibly emotional Donnie Iris soloing the national anthem in his trademark understated, everyman style.
[caption id="attachment_713050" align="aligncenter" width="640"]
Donnie Iris sings the anthem. - MATT SUNDAY / DKPS[/caption]
Oh, and there's no way Mr. Rockwell wouldn't have old Donnie sporting a No. 75 jersey built on those glorious block numbers that just happened to make their long overdue return on this day.
"Not a dry eye out there. Not one," Marcus Gilbert would later confide. "It was unbelievable."
The brushstrokes were only beginning.
Ryan Switzer, who had a day to both forget and remember, badly bungled a free kick in allowing it to land behind him, unaware -- by his own admission later -- that the rule allowed the Browns to recover. Which they did, briefly jeopardizing the victory.
"We’ve got to know that. I’ve got to know that," he'd say of the rule. "I’m looking forward to my chance to make up for it."
But somehow, Switzer still had on his mind, even after that, this sweatshirt he'd bought in the Strip District a couple days before the shootings:
Now more than ever. #LoveThyNeighbor pic.twitter.com/qW8UFMawnJ
— Ryan Switzer (@Switz) October 28, 2018
And he still seized upon the chance, facing media to describe his mistake again and again, to get his message across:
It was everywhere.
The defense, which ranged from invisible to negligible most of this season, suddenly burst back to life. Sure, it was the Browns and a rookie quarterback, but Baker Mayfield played above that level early and Nick Chubb was burning holes through the front seven. This wasn't routine. But that only wound up making it seem that much more satisfying.
What's more, chants of 'DEE-FENSE! DEE-FENSE!' a rarity in the NFL anymore, could be heard throughout the place.
They felt it, too. Something was different.
"To get the crowd involved like that ... " T.J. Watt said with a slight head shake, "that was the loudest I've heard the crowd in a long time."
"So awesome," Bud Dupree gushed after what had to have been the game of his life. "We get so much energy from that."
"All this craziness ... we wanted to do something, maybe make a little bit of a difference," Vince Williams would say. "Maybe we did."
Maybe.
More mandatory Cam viewing:
The offense, which was terribly out of sync early, found its footing, too. Roethlisberger finally linked up with Antonio Brown for a 43-yard touchdown in the second quarter, then another score shortly before halftime, and the dam broke. From zero first downs one quarter to 11 the next.
Extra energy?
Ramon Foster and other players described Tomlin meeting with the team Saturday, upon hearing the news just after their final walkthrough, to talk about the shooting. No one would divulge details, but Foster called the session "way bigger than football."
Alejandro Villanueva, who utterly emasculated the Browns' Myles Garrett after being burned by him in the opener -- Garrett's only sack came when Foster accidentally tripped Villanueva -- called this "a day of heavy hearts."
And Roethlisberger, the elder cutting to the core more than anyone, mentioned by name Michele Rosenthal, the Steelers' longtime community relations manager and a familiar, friendly presence at the front of the Rooney Complex's second floor. Her two brothers, Cecil, 59, and David Rosenthal, 54, were among the 11 killed. Both were greeters at the synagogue. Both had developmental disabilities. Both were beloved by Michele, who often relayed to players her worries over their well-being.
That alone, by one account, had some players in tears before the game.
"We love you, Michele," Roethlisberger would say before taking any questions on football. "And we are thinking about you."
Signs could be spotted through the crowd bearing the makeshift Internet-memed logo replacing one of the Steelers' hypocycloids with the Star of David. Another, held by a young fan walking through the aisles, read, "HATRED CAN'T WEAKEN A CITY OF STEEL." Yet another, much smaller one, simply said, 'SHALOM," the familiar Jewish salutation, the Hebrew word for "peace."
No one had to bring anything. No one had to say anything.
But this is Pittsburgh, and we aren't exactly the kind to hold back, are we?
____________________
Mr. Rockwell would need to reserve most of his canvas for one individual above all.
"James Conner is Pittsburgh."
That was from Foster. Conner's from Erie, actually, and proudly reminds everyone of that. But the big man can be forgiven for his statement, if only because it's still true on so many fronts.
"He's put down roots here, went to school here ... he persevered here," Foster continued. "He plays football that pure way that you love to watch it. He plays hard. He plays with a passion. ... He gets it, you know? The crowd loves him. They're chanting his name. They get it, too. They know he's one of them. What's more Pittsburgh than that?"
It can't be a long list.
It'd almost feel lazy to describe Conner's performance Sunday with simple statistics, though 212 all-purpose yards, 146 on the ground, 66 more in the air, plus two touchdowns is at least a start. He also became the first back in franchise history to rush for 100 yards and two touchdowns in three consecutive games, the first in the NFL since 2009.
Want more?
Or want to just watch him bash bodies?
Foster heard correctly, by the way: The upper deck began a chant of 'CON-NER! CON-NER!' that soon caught fire. This wasn't like the 'DEE-FENSE!' ones. It's not easy to start spontaneous, unprecedented chants in stadiums this size. Nothing like it had happened at this one since ... honestly, it's been too long to recall.
Football players aren't heroes, in and of themselves. This weekend reminds us of the true meaning. But Conner's earned his own status in that regard around here. We watched him grow up at Pitt. We watched him fight cancer. We watched him win. And now we're watching him grow up all over again, into an NFL star.
He, too, has been moved by the shooting, it's easy to tell. The synagogue is barely three miles from Pitt's campus ground.
"It's a tragedy that happened to our city," Conner would say after this. "Today was much bigger than a game of football. It was good that we got the win to try and lift some spirits of everybody in the city. But our city took a hit. And our hearts are with all of the victims and their families. We still have those in mind."
He's all that. Never question that sincerity.
"James is as real as real gets, and I think that's part of the reason the city loves him so much," David DeCastro said. "You can feel it when he's out there. We all can feel it."
A final dose of Cam on this topic, too:
Conner is this team's running back. He's this city's running back. And he's grown so much that the debate no longer really has much to do with whatever-his-name-is out in wherever-he-is.
Foster smiled slightly when asked how the Steelers could possibly go back to that other option.
"He doesn't need us lobbying for him," he replied. "The crowd was doing that, right?"
We love the underdog. We once were the underdog. Still are, in some ways.
We also love the fight. And make no mistake: We're in for a fight here.
____________________
Saturday afternoon at this same stadium, the Pitt football team was the first to compete after the shooting. Pat Narduzzi addressed it head-on afterward: "You see it happen in Florida. You see it happen wherever. But when it hits you in your backyard ... it just makes you ... makes you wonder. My kids were a half-mile from there."
Saturday night, the Penguins played in Vancouver, British Columbia. They couldn't have been farther away. But Mike Sullivan, Kris Letang and Sidney Crosby went right at it, too, with the captain powerfully stating, "Knowing Pittsburgh, I know we'll stick together. We're a proud people. We're proud of our city. It's a place that I feel pretty fortunate to live."
The Pirates aren't around this time of year, but the one member of the extended family who still lives here piped up:
I know this city well enough to know we will all mourn together, pray together and grow stronger together. To the victims and family of the victims, my deepest condolences. #PittsburghStrong
— andrew mccutchen (@TheCUTCH22) October 28, 2018
Words might not seem like much on the surface. Sports people expressing condolences, professing love over hate. Even the various undertakings such as blood drives, fundraising and the like, beginning with the ones Monday and Tuesday being organized by the Penguins at PPG Paints Arena ... all of it can seem commonplace.
But the words do matter. Because hate can never be OK. It can never be met with silence. And since, again, we aren't exactly the kind to hold back, imagine the reverberation, the loss of trust -- hell, the loss of our own identity -- if we, including our region's sports teams and people, had just shut up and shrugged off the hate. It's one thing to condemn mass murder. That's easy. It's quite another to condemn the specific, sickening fuel beneath it, and it's all the more to mean it.
We're Pittsburgh. One city. One set of colors. All looking and sounding a little different by day, yet all showing up at the same stadiums, sports bars and sofas by the end of the night. With the same sense of "family" that Roethlisberger described, the same sense of being "proud" that Crosby described. In part because of our freakish-per-capita passion for sports, in part because of our celebrated success, our shared high-fives with complete strangers, our casual conversations on a PAT bus or the T about last night's game ... it's a place like no other.
Let's fight for it. All of us. Together.
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