Pittsburgh Dish

The Full Scope

A warm and fuzzy account of killin' season.

by Mike Gillis

It's deer season again. Or, more correctly, it's one of the deer seasons again. This is just the most popular one. Antlered and antlerless, regular old deer rifle season. There are also muzzleloader, flintlock, and archery seasons, not to mention slingshot, dig a hole and cover it with sticks and leaves, and jump out of a tree stand and yell "boogedy-boogedy-boogedy" seasons.

I'm not a hunter. Not that I'm opposed to guns or to shooting Bambi in the head. I wasn't exposed to it as a kid, as nobody in my immediate family hunts. I had a couple of uncles who hunted. My Uncle George was quite the hunter, heading out at the start of deer season even in his 80s. Hunted all sorts of feathered and furbearing critters. Liked to fish, too. He was the kind of guy who'd chop up a chub for bait then cut a piece of cheese with the same knife. Tall and athletic, Uncle George was quite the outdoorsman. Once, while fishing with his wife, his sister and her husband in the middle of Assawoman Bay, he'd apparently had quite enough of his sister blathering on and on about this and that, so he plunged overboard and swam ashore. I'd have paid to see it.

I like fishing and camping, so it's not like I don't hunt because I avoid the great outdoors-although, truth be told, I prefer car camping over hiking in. My wife and I adhere to the "take way too much shit because we have it?" school of camping. Nice dry tent, air mattress, coffee maker for the propane stove. There's roughing it and there's roughing it, you know. Think Elliott Gould as Trapper John pulling the jar of olives from his pocket in M*A*S*H. I can't wait for Coleman to come out with a propane-powered, inflatable 42 inch plasma HD widescreen with native 1080p resolution and a built-in Dish Network receiver.

I considered giving hunting a try in college. I had a couple of roommates who were way into it. Our house was adorned with ruffed grouse tails. Once one guy came roaring into the driveway, laying on the horn. We scurried out to find a deer on his roof. Now, he was a hunter, and we were in Crawford County, so that might not seem all that strange. Except he hadn't got it at dawn on November 26^th in the bitter cold and heavy snow. Nope, this one had bounded into traffic in downtown Meadville and took on a car and lost. My roommate then bounded from his car and produced a buck knife, ending the poor animal's suffering. He strapped the carcass to the roof of his light blue '69 Rambler-this was 1984-brought it home and strung it up on the front porch. In the middle of May. Two words-chick magnet.

There is much that appeals to me about hunting. Venison, for one. Tried squirrel once, too. I think deer camp would be a hoot, hanging out with some buddies, playing seven card and drinking beer so late into the morning that you can't get up at four AM to go climb into your tree stand. But that's where it gets dicey. I mean, it's not often that somebody gets seriously injured falling off that tall seat in the back of a bass boat. But every year, somebody falls out of a tree stand, suffering grievous bodily harm. And every year, several hunters die of heart attacks, most often while dragging the trophy-sized 12-point over hill and dale toward the truck or camp. I have yet to read "Bill Thomas, 52, of Turtle Creek died Friday after suffering a massive sudden heart attack while hauling a stringer full of walleye from the boat ramp."?

Then there's what you have to do to the kill. A lot of the fishing I do is catch and release, but sometimes I go kill-it-and-eat it fishing. I'm not good at the cleaning, but I can if I have to. Cleaning a largemouth bass is one thing, however. Gutting a large deer is a whole 'nuther ball game, brother, no thank you very much. I have a hard enough time watching House. Steaming deer guts I don't need.

I guess the biggest reason, though, that I prefer fishing over hunting is that I'm wary of firearms. I've only fired one once, a .22 caliber rifle, plunking at trees and cans out in the woods north of Meadville while scouting fishing spots. It was fun, and that was that. I've just heard too many stories about somebody getting shot accidentally while hunting. Another friend, an exceedingly responsible hunter, told me once he drew a bead on something rattling around in the woods, and while waiting on the perfect shot, was surprised to see the creature stand up. It was some idiot out in the woods on all fours, no orange, on opening day.

That about sums it up for me. I mean, what's the worst I'm gonna do to you fishing? Not bring enough ice for the beer? Knock over the minnow bucket? Snag you with a hook-Sorry, Dave, I didn't mean to. Stop your whining. Here, have another beer."? But I'm not going to shoot you, accidentally or otherwise. Well, not unless you didn't bring enough ice for the beer.

Pittsburgh pink lung law passes

Mike Gillis says don't stop there.

Good morning, and smoke 'em if you got 'em Pittsburgh.  I can't figure a way to defend smoking or subjecting others to second-hand smoke without sounding like an idiot.  I'm in favor of helmet and seat belt laws, so I guess I'm a hypocrite if I say it's a personal choice to smoke so get out of my business.

This is just the beginning, so buckle up your chin straps-here it comes. New York City officials want to tell chefs what they can and can't use in their recipes. My favorite part is this "...trans fats can easily be replaced with substitute oils that taste the same or better..." Now a government is deciding what tastes good? Let's flesh this out a bit. Since we are incapable of making the right choices, let's come up with a list for our governments:

Mandatory stress tests before entering Morton's or Ruth's Chris.

Proof of healthy cholesterol counts to be kept on file at pizza joints, to be updated annually.

A nation-wide ban on all-you-can-eat buffets.

A two-drink maximum at all bars, restaurants, and private clubs.

No hot dogs at ball games.

National standards of portion control.

Grocery stores will be forced to provide information on our purchases, tracked through those discount cards, and customers will be prohibited from buying unhealthy items once their "limit" has been reached.

I wish I owned a bar in Cranberry or Peters.

The P-G with a banjo on its knee

If ignorance is bliss, then the editor(s) responsible for this headline from Linden, Alabama must be enraptured. And before any of you start beating that "Southerners is so dumb" drum, Dish is taking the high road on this one, tolerating none of that nonsense.  Nope, instead, Dish has decided to present today's P-G headlines, as seen through the moonshine-induced haze experienced by the aforementioned barefoot Rebel flag-waving inbred hayseed editor. –M.G.

By Joe Miksch, Mike Gillis and Jody DiPerna

From A-1:

"Senate border bill near passage,”

Could be: "White people soon to harvest own produce."

"Dress Like a mess for success"

More accurate: "I could not be less cool or more uninteresting if I tried"

"DA says no charges over 'Top 25' list"

How about: 'Top 25' list OK by DA; Says, 'Well, Mindy does have large cans'"

From the Local section:

"The doctor is (still!) in: Oakland physician celebrates 60 years on the job."

Should read: Old coot doc treats cancer with leeches: Calls antibiotics 'passing fad.'

"Ho-hum! Yet another 1-run loss for Pirates: Familiar script plays out again as Diamondbacks sweep series with 8-7 win against Zach Duke"

More appropriate: Fuck it.

______________________________________________________________________________

P-G “Man convicted of shooting wife over dirty dishes."

M.G.-Greene County D.A. Reluctant Prosecutor

P-G“Medicaid managers say proposed payments too low”

M.G. -Melissa Hart Says Poor, Lazy Get What They Deserve

P-G “Bridgeville, South Fayette buy safer guns"

M.G. -Sarasnick Hardware Places New Cap Pistol Order; First Since Agnew Resignation

P-G“Pirates' record just keeps on slipping in 8-7 loss”

M.G. -Steelers' Porter has minor surgery on knee

__________________________________________________________________________________

PG- “Penguins to name Ray Shero general manager today”

J.D. -Flightless Waterfowl Name First Castrati GM"

PG – “Board OKs city school closings"

J.D. -Rick Santorum Ecstatic that Educational Services Will Be Less Accesible for Urban Blacks

PG – “Penn State to house terrorism research institute"

J.D. -Rene Portland Named to Homeland Security

Hart runs for re-election

In related news, toilets are on sale at Keystone Plumbing on the North Side.

by Mike Gillis

Bradford Woods PA 3/21/06: Republican Representative Melissa Hart kicked off her re-election campaign on Monday in Cranberry, ironically at the Regional Learning Alliance.

According to a press release, Hart said that her latest campaign for congress would "focus on the importance of delivering real results," presumably as opposed to what she's delivered thus far. Ms. Hart indicated that she doesn't believe the majority of people think she is a fraudulent, cynical closeted lesbian, claiming "everybody knows I'm not that intelligent." She also unveiled a new Bush administration initiative for which she will be the national co-chairperson (with fellow Pennsylvanian Senator Rick "Dick" Santorum). The plan is for people who are concerned about their hopes, dreams, and freedoms to have a safe, in-home repository for them. Called "A Pot For Every Chicken," a one-time government subsidy will keep the cost affordable for most families.

The Grassy Noll

The Steelers are far out, man.

by Mike Gillis

Dr. Albert Hoffman, the man who discovered LSD, celebrated his 100th birthday on January 11, 2006. Dr. Hoffman has long considered the hallucinogen "...my problem child..," and has railed against its use as a recreational substance. Dr. Hoffman maintains that LSD has significant therapeutic value, and laments that its Widespread use and abuse by Grateful hippies and whacked-out Leary-eyed professors Phishing around for answers has effectively prevented full exploration of the drug's "legitimate" uses. Even his own nephew, Abbie, was a known user. Reached for comment at his home in Switzerland, Dr. Hoffman said "Get the Hell off my lawn! Fuck you and the green dragon you rode in on! I AM THE EGGMAN!!!!"

In a related story, somebody told me earlier this week that last Sunday's Steelers-Colts game was "fixed." (Yeah, I know, but the good guys won anyway.) This person, who is a Cowboys fan, also explained to me that a second football was involved in the Immaculate Reception. Whoa. I mean, what? Came from the sideline, I was told. Uh-huh. No doubt thrown by Grassy Noll, brother of Head Coach Chuck Noll, right? And he had an umbrella. Jesus. I shook my head and forgot about it.

Later that night, I received a call at home, instructing me to go to the fourth floor of the Kaufmann's garage downtown-"If you want to know the truth about the Reception." It was a male voice, and the caller refused to identify himself. I was to be there in an hour. I looked at the caller ID, and my heart began racing. It said "Coroner." Was this a joke? A forewarning? Wait-could it be? Was Cyril Wecht involved in this???? Oh my God.

I raced downtown, and parked in a relatively well-lit portion of the garage's fourth floor. I was nervous, and lit a cigarette. A breeze blew past, and I thought for a second I'd caught a whiff of Brut. Then a voice from the shadows-"Are you Gillis?"

"JESUSTAPDANCINGCHRIST!!" I responded. "I mean yes! Who are you??"

"Never mind who I am. I have what you're looking for." And with that, he emerged from the shadows, silhouetted in the night, shrouded by the blue smoke of my cigarette. A large manilla envelope came skittering across the floor and stopped about a foot away. As I reached down, the voice said, "Are you sure you want to do this? It will be dangerous."

"Hell, no, I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything. Who are you?"

"You can call me Deep Groat," the voice said. "Everything you need is in that envelope."

"How will I find you if I have questions?"

"You won't. I'll find you." And with that, he vanished.

Shaking, I picked up the envelope and got into my car. I resisted the temptation to look inside and instead drove quickly down the ramps. Fourteen dollars for 23 minutes of parking. Bob O'Connor better do something about this. Christ.

I made several turns on the way home, even once doing a 180 on Washington Road. I don't think I was followed. I even managed not to wake my wife when I got home. I tore open the envelope, and two items emerged-a thick sheaf of papers with "Warren Commission-Eyes Only President" on the cover sheet, and a circular metal case containing a reel of 8mm film, labeled "Zapruder-Reception." Holy shit!!

I set the coffee maker brewing and lit another cigarette. It was going to be a long night. I had only one place to start, since I don't have an 8mm projector. I opened the report, and realized that this could be stuff the public didn't know about, and maybe didn't WANT to know about-the SECRET, unpublished results of an in-depth investigation into the Immaculate Reception for President Arthur J. Rooney of the Steelers. Oh, man, do I even want to know?

The Warren Commission, as you no doubt know, was a hand-picked, high-profile group tasked with finding out what really happened in Pittsburgh on December 23, 1972 around 3:47 PM. Headed, again as you well know, by former NFL great Warren Moon, the Warren Commission Report had been released to the public, albeit with much of the testimony and findings redacted. Here, in my hands, was the unexpurgated original. I poured a cup of joe, lit another cigarette and began reading.

Much of the report was boring and revealed nothing. Then, on page 32, there it was. Grassy Noll. Investigated, but found not to exist. Well, then, that's that. But wait. What's this? In attendance at that game-indeed, on the Steeler's sideline as a guest of Mr. Rooney- was NFL Hall of Famer Earle "Greasy" Neale. Greasy Neale?? Grassy Noll???? Oh God, what have I found? Mr. Neale died before the Commission could question him. "It's very unlikely that this was more than coincidence," notes Commission member and future Pennsylvania Senator Arlen Spector. Hmmmm.

The report goes on to debunk another of the pro-conspiracy points-why was Myron Cope wearing a trench coat when it wasn't raining? "Because it was my only warm coat, you see, and it was December in Pittsburgh, hmmm-HAH," he explained. NFL Commissioner Pete Rozelle accepted the findings in full, and later attempts by the Church Commission to re-visit the issue were prevented by the league. So the Single-Ball Theory was the official version of what happened that day-despite the attempts of Head Referee Jim Garrison to prove otherwise.

But what about the film? Hey, I know, I think I've got my grandfather's Super 8 projector in the attic!!! Oh, man. Into the rafters I went, and after only seconds of searching I found it. The old Bell and Howell projector. Oh, man, oh man. What will the film reveal? I'd heard Myron Cope talk about his fruitless search, years earlier, for the copy of the network broadcast he'd seen. He went through the entire WTAE-TV library and found nothing. This is it, Myron!!! I'll even give you the story. Oh, man, what's on here? Will we see for sure what happened? I know that the "official" NFL Films version of the reception is wrong in one way. It shows Ray Mansfield, The Old Ranger, number 56, lining up at center on the fateful play. But Mansfield was on the sideline for the reception. He'd been spelled by Jim Clack, number 50. Is that a clue? What would the tape reveal? What are the chances this thing will work?

I set up the projector facing a blank wall-I don't have a screen. Carefully, easy now, I removed the spool from the metal case and placed it on the, what, spindle? Knob? Hoodgie?? Anyway, I fed the brittle film into the projector, turning it on briefly to run the lead through so I can stick the end into the other spool. What will I find? Two balls? 12 men on the field? A close-up of Otis Sistrunk, only to see that it's actually G. Gordon Liddy??

I turned on the projector, and turned off the light. The familiar clicking sound commenced and the wall began to glow. As I reached for the focus, POP! the bulb burned out. Shit. Yeah, that's familiar too. Sunuvabitch, where am I going to find...and looking into the projector box I found a spare, still in ITS box. Grandpap was a practical guy. I replaced the bulb, and crossed my fingers. Here We Go...

The beginning is out of focus, no matter what I do, and shaky. Then it slowly, gradually settled, then cleared, to reveal...a wedding reception. Specifically, the reception following the wedding of Abraham Zapruder's daughter, Zelda, to Dr. David Abramowitz, a very nice boy and well-known urologist.

So there you have it, folks. No conspiracies. No mysteries. No validation for Joey Porter. Just another victory for the Steelers. Oh, I was reminded that if the Steelers do go all the way this year, they'll have as many Super Bowl wins as them Cowboys. True, true. Here's betting we'll do it. Double or nothing Dallas remains ahead, however, in Presidential assassinations.