Pittsburgh Dish

18-1

Hahahahahahahahaha!

Photo: Scene where a local Patriots fan's hopes for perfection were murdered.

What a long strange football season it was. Almost from the first week, a fourth Super Bowl victory seemed a preordained, unavoidable fait accompli of the gridiron for the New England Patriots. In the beginning, the Pats blitzkrieg looked unstoppable, as they shamelessly ran up the score in DC and Dallas. I hated them. As the season wore on, they became a more familiar villain, winning close games against the Ravens, Eagles and Giants. These were the guys who had won three Super Bowls by a combined nine points, the ones who hung around like a venereal disease and squeaked out wins in the waning moments. It was even more demoralizing than their shock and awe attack tactics. I knew this team. They were enough to quell my love for the game.

I didn’t look forward to the playoffs and by the time Super Bowl XLII rolled into Glendale, Arizona, I was dreading it. Even worse, I was already dreading the 2008 season. I felt like King Henry II inciting his henchmen to assassinate Archbishop of Canterbury. Would nobody rid me of these meddlesome cheaters?

I wasn't myself. I was more apathetic about football than ever before in my life. The Patriots seemed, literally, bullet-proof. SpyGate? But a trifle. Salary Cap? No problem. Injuries? Those are for other teams. Their march toward immortality was downright inexorable.

I could not bring myself to watch Bill Belichick equal Chuck Noll (at least so far as the record books were concerned.) I couldn’t stand to see Tedy Bruschi and his childish cohort, Mike Vrabel, celebrate again. I couldn’t stomach the talk that, not only should Randy Moss be inducted into Canton at the first possible moment, he should win the Nobel Prize for Peace for behaving like an adult for the first time in his life. I could not watch owner Robert Kraft (who aligns himself with Jerry Jones and Danny Snyer at every owners meeting, giving new meaning to the term, Axis of Evil), hoist the trophy.

I had gone completely off the reservation in my hatred of the Patriots. So disheartened was I that for the first time since Super Bowl IX, I barely watched the game, seeing probably only 10 minutes of live action. What kind of crazy voodoo had the Patriots domination of all things NFL wrought? I blame head cheat, Bill Belichick.

For football fans, Super Bowls mark the passage of time. I can tell you where I was, who I was with and, despite the adage that nobody remembers the losers, I remember them. I’m enough of a dork that I’ve committed to memory the results of Super Bowls I through VIII. And enough of a geek that I simply remember IX through XLII.

I watched some stinkers. I distinctly remember folding laundry as a gimpy Doug Williams rained down TD’s on a shell-shocked Broncos’ defense in Super Bowl XXII. I watched in my college dorm on a tiny television as the Bears dominated the Patriots in every possible way in Super Bowl XX, giving Tony Eason a certain case of post-traumatic stress disorder. I watched the amazing Niners comeback over the "Ickey Shuffle" Bengals in Super Bowl XXIII at a friend’s apartment in the East End (we ordered in some fantastic Chinese food and smoked something that you might find in Randy Moss’ ashtray. If you know what I mean.)

I remember watching Super Bowl XXV, of the infamous "wide right" Norwood kick alone in my first apartment on Butler Street. I watched the Pats first Super Bowl win in XXXVI at a party in my North Side neighborhood.

I remember freezing while watching John Elway get his first ring in Super Bowl XXXIII at a bar that had no heat. It was about 7 degrees Fahrenheit outside and not much warmer inside, but the wings and beer, football and friends were enough to keep us there.

I always associate the Ravens win in Super Bowl XXXV with my friend R.J. screaming, "Aaaah! I’m blind!" as commissioner Tagliabue passed the Lombardi Trophy to Art Modell.

The Redskins broke open Super Bowl XVII when John Riggins’ ripped off a touchdown run on a 4th and 2 play. I watched that one with my Uncle Brendan. Several years later, he died in a car crash, and although that wasn’t the last football game we watched together, it was the last Super Bowl. I’ve had a soft spot for Riggins ever since.

But no matter the company, I simply could not bear to watch that gang of beantown miscreants crow after their inevitable Super Bowl XLII win. I feared it would make me violent. Or ill. Or, more likely, violently ill with Linda Blair like projectile vomit spewing all over the beautiful HD screen.

So it came to pass that I rented season one of "Rescue Me" and turned on the game intermittently. By the time Super Bowl XLII was over, Eli Manning gave me my football groove back. I never would have guessed that my hero who would be the lesser scion of the self-proclaimed royal clan of football. The Aw Shucks Kid, the kid straight out of a central casting for a revival of Mayberry RFD, Eli Manning, beat Tom Terrific, of the Hollywood good looks and trail of super models in his wake.

And for denying the Patriots their perfect season and place among the immortals in sport, and in very Patriot like fashion, I am forever indebted to Michael Strahan, Justin Tuck and Osi Umenyiora, Eli, Tom Coughlin and Plaxico Burress. Oh, it's a good feeling.

So congrats to the New York Giants and the Mara family and especially the fans. Because it sucks to have your team travel this far and lose. Just ask the Patriots faithful.

18-1, baby, 18-1. Say it again. It feels good. 18-1. This isn’t as good as the afterglow after Super Bowl Extra Large, but it’s damned close.

Three rings, not four. 18-1. I can hardly wait for training camp.

Win one for the griper

Cheer on the Giants Super Bowl Sunday

I'm about to play upon your sympathies dear Steelers fans, to root for the New York Football Giants in this year's Super Bowl.

I know many of you don't give a toss about throwing support behind a team from the Empire State. New Yorkers think civilization ends at the tip of each of the five boroughs. Why spend Sunday night backing a team
that doesn't even play in their home state?

I humbly ask for your support for one reason: My Dad. Grandpa Dish.

Bill Van Tassell died on September 11 from complications of Alzheimer's at the age of 80. Toward the end of his life he lived in a tragic world of confusion brought on by misfiring synapses that twisted and erased his memory. The disease slowly wiped out all the things that he loved. One of these was football. Chiefly the Giants.

Dad's appreciation for the gridiron ran deep and long. In the ‘40s, he played on a semi-pro team in New York's lower Hudson Valley region called the Beacon Bears. A photo of his leather helmeted team hung in the back room of Mi-Ro's bar on Main Street until its closing in 2006. He also coached kids on how to throw a spiral in the Pop Warner league and believed that no pint-sized player should ever be benched for being less than perfect.

Nor should any football fan root for a team that is perfect.

After his team went 4-10 in 1971 following Fran Tarkenton's trade back to the Vikings, Dad threatened never to watch "those bums." He barked that for the next 35 seasons.

His green "leather" recliner, held together with duct tape which he tried to "blend in" using green(ish) Magic Marker, nearly crumpled to bits under his pounding fists on Sunday afternoons and Monday nights. The left brace of the foot rest fell off after years of watching the Giants fumble and "that jerk" Howard Cosell's post-game analysis. Duct tape to the rescue.

Dad's devotion wasn't displayed via plunking down his modest IBM salary in an NFL giftshop. Dad occasionally sported a Giants hat and windbreaker but that's as far as he'd take his sartorial fidelity. He'd simply pour a can of Knickerbocker beer into a glass, top it off with salt, settle into "his chair" and watch the game on our Zenith console. Sports bars were out of the question. His loyalty to the Giants was solitary. But never quiet.

Dad's frustrations during the lean seasons resulted in incomprehensible bellows very similar to those of Raphie's Old Man in "A Christmas Story." Just what he groused remains a secret between him and his football God.

He’d buy the NY Post and the Daily News and religiously read them back to front in his “library.” His car radio was always tuned to 660 on the AM dial.

In the 60s and 70s Dad taught me everything he knew about football via the "Jints." I absorbed enough about the sport that, many years later when Mr. Dish and I moved to Pittsburgh, I could hold my own in this sometimes unforgiving football town.

I'm not asking you, Dear Reader, to rush out and buy a Giants flag. Just tune into Super Bowl on Saturday and root for the Old Man.

Brady Quinn: Social Disease

New Browns QB given "the treatment"

by Jody DiPerna

On my way to get some travel immunizations at the County Health Department a few days after the draft, I passed the waiting room for the sexually transmitted disease clinic. The waiters were all pointedly not making eye-contact, each perfecting his or her singular slouch of shame. You could almost smell the anxiety.

NFL GM's must be gripped by the same unease and disquiet right about now, waiting to see if their picks will bring them glory or ignominy. By now, most media dorks, I mean draft experts, believe that Brady Quinn will revive the Browns' franchise. But like all front offices, the Browns know there’s always a chance their new QB will prove to be a latter-day Rick Mirer, another overrated Notre Dame QB bust. Since my visit to the Allegheny County Health Department in Oakland, which hasn't seen the business end of a paint brush since the Nixon Administration, I started to wonder: don't we all rank potential bed mates the same way that NFL GM's rank draft picks?

And if we do, where does Quinn fit in?

The middle- to-later round picks are the guys you might pick up who are kinda cute, well-groomed and polite. He may not have perfect pedigree, but he’s good for some unencumbered snogging and maybe dating until something better comes along. There's a chance he might turn out to be special, but if he isn’t, he won’t embarrass you around your friends and you probably won't remember him in five years anyway.



Free agent pick ups show no signs of disease or mental illness ... and since it's closing time ... and it's been an awfully long time ... If this works out, you're a genius, by the way.

The high picks are good looking, smart and funny.

These are potential life-mates. They are franchise changing. Giving up a number two and next year's number one to get Quinn, it's clear that the Browns expect Quinn to be Mr. Right. He comes from a big time program, with good size, strength and a really strong arm. He's built to take the pounding of an NFL season and keep getting up.

So, let's say you're a young GM, out on the town looking for romantic company. You’re on the clock. As you make your move, you never think to yourself, "She's cute, but I wonder if she's going to give me the clap?" Regardless of whether she’s free agent type or she might be "the one," nobody expects crabs.


The level of shame, fear and anxiety produced is in inverse proportion to the expectations of about the closing bell dance partner. A free agent from Division III with gonorrhea is horrible, but there’s not much invested and a discreet trip to the docs clears it all up.

A first round draft pick out of the SEC who lands you at the sexually transmitted disease clinic is a disaster. Imagine picking up the woman of your dreams, and, instead of the house in the Shadyside with the Hummer in the driveway, you end up a nasty case of the French Pox. And she pilfered all your Clash CD's. It could take years of psychotherapy and multiple doses of penicillin to get past that.

This is the equivalent of a first round bust, particularly at the QB position. It can set a franchise's psyche back a decade, if not more. It's the worst thing that can happen. Short of picking Ryan Leaf, who has to be considered the ebola virus of draft picks. Enter Mr. Quinn, who presents like marriage material, but given his happy feet and inability to win under pressure, I wonder if he’s one of those guys who’s just good on paper, but not on game day.

Given the media spotlight, the Browns will keep sticking Quinn on the field, sure that he's just about ready to break out, and he'll show just enough promise to keep them optimistic. With a strong enough cast around him, he may even perform well enough to get them back to the playoffs. But he'll never be able to carry a team. He'll never pull off the Roethlisberger-like dramatic play; or the precise, Brady-esque soul-killing drive; he'll never even put up the mad numbers of Peyton Manning.

Yes, Brady Quinn is the next Kordell Stewart. (You thought I was going to go the Michael Vick route, didn't you?) He won't land you at the STD clinic with genital warts, but he certainly won't have you partying at a Super Bowl parade, either.

When that realization hits, probably somewhere around 2013, the powers that be at Browns headquarters will be doing a potato-bug slouch of shame to rival even the most bedraggled visitor to the Allegheny County Health Department's STD clinic.

If I'm wrong, I'll eat dinner with Charlie Weis. And get a shot of penicillin. Just to be on the safe side.

Penn State's Portland quits

Lesbians rejoice, shave legs

From SI.com:

Penn State women's basketball coach Rene Portland resigned today ending a 27-year tenure in which she won 606 games but battled allegations that she discriminated against women who like the ladies.

Lesbians around the country are celebrating.

Lilith Fair '07 is in the works, Naot will offer significant discounts to sizes 9 and over, and Bloodroot, a restaurant in Connecticut, will treat customers to Pears Isabel all afternoon.

Duquesne jocks jinxed

Outbreak of French Pox on rowing team next.

From AP:

Duquesne hockey club players hurt in hit-and-run, police say

PITTSBURGH-Three members of Duquesne University's club hockey team were struck by a hit-and-run driver after an argument at a bar early Monday morning, according to police and school officials.

One victim had a broken leg and a severe cut on his left leg requiring surgery, a second had a neck injury and facial cuts, and a third refused treatment, police said.

Mike Heath, 22, a forward from Richmond, British Columbia, was listed in fair condition, according to Mercy Hospital. A second player and a coach were also involved, but their names and conditions were not immediately available.

The hockey team is a club sport at Duquesne, according to the school.

The three got into an argument with three other people at the pub, but were separated by bar staff and left shortly afterward. As they walked across a parking lot, a passenger in a car asked what they were looking at and the driver drove at them, police said.

Police were searching for a silver Oldsmobile and had the name of one suspect, said police spokeswoman Tammy Ewin.

It is the second violent altercation involving Duquesne athletes this year.

On Sept. 17, five basketball players were shot following an on-campus party.

Invasion of the Steeler Snatchers

The team that fell asleep.

by Sports Editor Jody DiPerna

I hate everybody. I'm more depressed than Chet Baker and angrier than Johnny Rotten circa 1976. I'm more disillusioned than Morrissey. I yearn for the days of slittin' throats (metaphorically speaking, on the football field, that is.) There's no other way to say it, what the Chargers did to the Steelers in the second half was tantamount to what the Sisters did to Andy Dufresne.

There are problems all over the place. The O Line has had two good games and two bad ones, and one of the good ones was wasted against the Bengals. The wide outs have been, well, not quite ghastly, but certainly uninspired. Even Hines is dropping passes and I didn't realize that he caught with his injured hammy. Heath Miller is the best available receiving option right now, and he's only got 11 receptions on the year.

Other than in the Miami game, the defense has yet to step up and make a big play to win when they need it, save for Larry Foote's sack of Rivers Sunday night. I haven't seen such sloppy tackling since I last watched a Pitt game in the Walt Harris era. In short, it's atrocious, except Deshea Townsend and Ryan Clark. Dick Lebeau should cue up the Jack Ham highlight reel for the boys. Tackling 101, especially for PuPu.

They won't win any games playing just one half of defensive football. This from the unit that used to refer to themselves as the 60 Minute Men. Not any more. Now there like maybe "quarter hour men" or "22 minute men."

I don't even want to talk about Special Teams. I really don't. The kick return to open the 2nd half? I cannot speak or write about it. Do you think they could get through one game without a serious break down? Just one game? Never mention special teams in my presence.

The coaching has been, um, indifferent or misguided. You pick.

I wonder what Bill is thinking when Ken Whisenhunt calls a flea flicker which won't work because the Chargers D is not going to bite on the run. Frankly, why would they have?

I think Cowher’s thinking something along the lines of, "Hmmmm, for the new study, I'd like something manly, but not stodgy. Some really rich toned woods, but lots of light and air, too. Definitely high ceilings and lots of windows. And maybe I can buy some Stickley furniture with that last bonus check."

Or what he's thinking when Kevin Spencer calls the worst fake punt in the history of faux punting. "Gee, I haven't heard back from that country club in Greensboro. I've just got to get in there and play on those greens! I have to remember to call Kay before I get on the plane and have her call them first thing in the morning."

And the quarterbacking, well, it's been downright Bristerian. The pick that Ben threw in the 4th quarter, when the Steelers were driving to try to tie the game? Vintage Walter Bubby Brister, right there.

Up to this season, one of Ben's best qualities has always been his good decision making. Now, he's tossing lollipops up there for grabs pretty consistently. And his blase wide outs haven't been helping him much. Santonio's telegraphing routes. Hines' hamstring seems to be affecting his hands. Ced Wilson's been, well, pretty much like Ced Wilson last regular season and by that I mean, pretty much non-existent.

One of Ben's other wonderful qualities has always been his preternatural strength and escapability. Brady's the best at running a two minute drill. Palmer and Grossman throw the prettiest deep ball. McNair and Favre have always been the toughest, even though their days are numbered. Peyton's the best at reading a defense. Vick's the most dangerous runner. But Ben's always been the best, I think, at escaping the rush, buying time, looking down field and occasionally scrambling for a first down or two. But he's not escaping the rush and he’s not running. Ever. He's either throwing up a jump ball or taking a sack, usually dropping the ball in the process.

Phillip Rivers took a page out of Ben’s 2004 book and took off for two key first downs that kept his team driving. They were huge pick ups for his team. It was the kind of thing that Ben did, and did with regularity in big situations in the past. I got out my magnifying glass to check his running stats this year: he's taken off running two times in three games for -1 yards. Yes, that is negative one yards rushing. Last year, he averaged 2.2 yards per carry (and he ran 31 times.) His rookie year, he ran 56 times and averaged 2.6 yards per attempt.

I don't care why the change has occurred and I don't think it's appropriate to speculate. But he sure doesn't look at all like the old Ben. With his distaste for running being obvious, it's only gonna get worse because defenses are going to come after him in swarms.

Teams have come back from 1-3 starts to get to the playoffs. The Patriots started 1-3 in 2001 and won it all in the end. I'd find that thought comforting, if the Steelers had shown the ability to put a complete game together, but they haven't shown much. And the injury bug is rearing it's head as I write this. Hines' hammy is still a problem. Polamalu is not right, no matter what he says. I find it hard to believe that he's simply forgotten how to take an angle or make a tackle. One of the few defensive bright spots, Brett Keisel, is probably out with a rib injury. Joey Porter and Deshea Townsend both injured their hamstrings in practice on Wednesday. Porter's back up, James Harrison, is out with a high ankle sprain. The only glimmer of hope on special teams, Willie Reid, is out with a mid-foot injury (whatever that is.) Kendall Simmons missed practice on Wednesday with a burn on his foot.

Somebody's gotta step up and make something happen. Last year, when they needed a spark, they had Jerome provide it in the Bears game. But he’s gone and most of the other usual suspects are nicked. So, who can do something to kick start this team? Heath Miller? Najeh Davenport? Santonio Holmes? Ike Taylor? Arnold Harrison? Please god, somebody do something. They can't lose to a Damon Huard led team.

Can they?

Fowl hat unearthed

Owner seeks help identifying mysterious chicken chapeau.

Update: Ace Post-Gazette reporter cracks the case.

From Bill Toland:

It's called the Rooster Booster, I believe. At least, that's what I've always called it. Yes, it was Steeler-related, or so I'm told. It's probably worth $600-$700 on eBay.

Just kidding, it's not worth a sack of splinters on eBay. But the Rooster Booster part, I think, is more or less accurate.

Dear Dish,

I was cleaning out a closet (and found R. Kelly! Unreal!) and came across this hat that I know was from my childhood in the 70s. It doesn't specifically say Steelers on it anywhere, but it clearly must have had something to do with sports back then. But beer and smoke have clouded my memories of childhood, so if anyone remembers what the hell a chicken wool cap is for, I'd be appreciative.

Thank you,

Patrick [photographer, i heart pgh scribe and owner of baffling chicken hat]

Mercury Rising

Sports Editor Jody DiPerna offers Steelers fans a cold compress.

Can anybody tell me how many Jaguar defenders were allowed on the field at one time on Monday night? 14? 18? They were everywhere. As my buddy Fleck wondered, did they do it with mirrors?

And still, I don’t feel so bad. After most losses, I don’t sleep well, which I realize is insane, but the fact remains that I don’t. I slept like a baby on Monday night. And maybe that’s what a Super Bowl ring does to you. In the 1970's, I was always shocked when the Steelers lost: they were so good I expected them to win every game. When they did lose (the 1976 playoffs notwithstanding) I could take it, precisely because they won so often in the clutch.

In the 1980's we all readjusted our expectations - "Steelers are losin’, So we’re boozin’" Then came the Cowher era and they started to win all the time. And yet. It was unsatisfying. 1994. 1995. 1997. 2001. 2004. It was like a form of battle fatigue or something. So when they won it all last year the sense of foreboding was gone; I don’t expect the other shoe to drop at every turn.

Like a Zen master, I’m at peace with the loss on Monday. And that’s good for me. I’m too old to toss and turn because a bunch of wealthy, young athletes who don’t know me lose a contest. But I certainly hope they don’t feel that way. I’m maintaining that Monday was a glitch. The better team won, which doesn’t mean that if they meet again, Jacksonville will be the better team, but they played a better game.

The Steelers offense just couldn't get anything going, because the O Line didn't open up many holes, Ben was off, just by a hair, really, and his receivers dropped passes. Whizzer likewise dropped the ball by going away from his tight ends, again. But mostly, the Jags really did a great job of closing off the lanes the Steelers wanted to use and forcing the Steelers into three and outs.

Chilling stat number one: the Steelers amassed a total of NINE first downs all night. That's how many days Ferris Bueller missed before his most famous day off. They converted three third downs, but I can't remember them converting any. They crossed the 50 only once, didn't even smell the red zone and held the ball for only 22 minutes.

Chilling stat number two: the Steelers starting drive averaged their own 18 yard line. Can somebody kindly explain to me the logic behind keeping Ivy League re-tread Sean Morey on the active game day roster and No. 3 draft pick Willie Reid is inactive every week? Does Morey have photos of Bill Cowher doing something he oughtn't?

I'm developing a Pavlovian response to the idiot twins back there on kicks. Before either Holmes or Colclough touches the ball, I start swearing like I'm at a tourettes convention. Of the punts that Hanson launched, only one was returned. By Colclough for 3 yards, but only after he bobbled the thing off his facemask and shoulder pads just to keep things exciting. For his part, Holmes returned two kick for 36 total yards, but it didn’t seem like he got anything on his returns. Lies, damn lies and statistics, or something like it.

Chilling stat number three: Chris Gardocki and Clint Kriewaldt were largely responsible for keeping the Steelers in this game. Kriewaldt has made himself invaluable on punt and kick coverage. He hustles, he swarms, he wraps up, he runs down, and he rarely gets flagged. Go you crazy Division III boy, go. Gardocki launched eight punts on the night, averaging 44.8 yards per punt, and pinning five of them inside the 20 yard line. Now, I never want to see Gardocki eight times in one night. Nothing personal, but I don't pay my cable bill to see the freaking punter. That being said, I was one of those idiot fans who thought the Steelers could save themselves a few bucks by getting rid of Gardocki and keeping that other punter. [He made such an impression that I don't even remember his name.] I was so wrong.

In the meantime, the debate rages over whether or not Cowher should have started Ben or continued with Ben. I just love the level of reporting at ESPN. Michele Tafoya reported that Ben had a fever of 104. Hell, I can't even operate the tv remote control with a fever like that, let alone audible, check down and hit an open man. Not that Ben was doing much of that on Monday, but still, the point is, if he had a fever of 104, shouldn't he have been hospitalized? The fever, if you didn’t hear Coach Cowher’s press conference was actually 100.4, not 104. Bill played it right. His starting QB was cleared medically and was ready to go. We're not talking about David Woodley or Bubby Brister here. We're talking about Ben Roethlisberger. If he’s healthy, he plays. Period.

The lone bright light of ESPN’s coverage was Tony Kornheiser calling Norman Theesman on his flip-flopping. He also made an observation after the Steelers were flagged for hitting Leftwich low. "You can’t hit the quarterback high. You can’t hit the quarterback low. You just can’t hit the quarterback." Maybe Lambert was right and we should just put them in skirts. Little pink bubble skirts.

Looking back over my notes one last time, I realize that I wrote the same thing multiple times along the lines of, "Wow. This Jax front seven is really, really good. I didn’t know they were this good." I’ve been a fan of big-head Byron since his days at Marshall, but I have to admit, this whole Jacksonville team impressed me. They played smart and mistake free. Defensively, there were no missed or sloppy tackles -- if they had an angle on a Steeler, he went down. Of course, if they meet in again the playoffs, I expect a different outcome, but a very similar game.

In the meantime, I’m going to take a nap. Somebody wake me up for in time for the Cincy game on Sunday, okay?

Nurse photo by Kathleen Cei, New Haven, Conn.

Nurse: Dish's friend Chris of New Haven, Conn. who has no idea we did this to her. Yet.

We came, we saw, we drank

Pittsburgh Pants Party proper.

Photos by Patrick Kent

It was a lovely Saturday evening, the 16th day of September. Forgoing the pleasant weather, a handful of Pittsburgh-area Deadspinners congregated in the dank recesses of 222 Bar a couple hours before gametime. Moonshine Mike, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette scribe Diana Nelson-Jones (both pictured left), a guy in a Clinton Portis t-shirt and Pirates cap, Pat in a "Pittsburgh Baseball: Rebuilding since 1992" t-shirt, That Guy, Jewdago, Sarcastro, Mrs. Sarcastro, a fellow in a Pirates away jersey and Sarcastro's mom and dad braved the depredations of the triple deuce and began to get sauced. Deadspin overlord Will Leitch considered coming as well, but opted to go to Cincinnati to plan for his upcoming wedding and monitor the progress of race relations in the Queen City. His absence was made up for with a photo of Will displayed on a stick. More or less the same thing, right?

Sarcastro's mom was afraid to drink from the tavern's glassware, so she tippled a Smirnoff Ice. Other beers consumed were Iron City, IC Light and Yuengling (all fine Pennsylvania products). Jewdago mostly drank Bud. Sarcastro didn't like that. It seems that it might have been the second inning by the time the Deadspin and friends crew entered majestic PNC park, having remained in the 222 for a round after the first pitch. Priorities.

Inside, the group met Sarcastro family friend Tricia, landed a coveted SRO spot on the left field rotunda and settled in for the contest. And more beer. And cheese fries. And Quick-it Chicken. And pizza. And more beer. A young fellow in a Olerud jersey was asked why he wasn't wearing a batting helmet. Jason Bay was serenaded with O, Canada!

It is agreed that much more happened, but such events are lost in a fog of beer. Word is, the Pirates won 3-2. Hooray! Here are some photos by Patrick Kent.

Deadspin Pants Party in Pittsburgh update

Pregame booze event set; most other stuff up in air.

OK, we know this much. Deadspinners shall meet around 5 p.m. Saturday, Sept. 16 at 222 Bar, conveniently located at 222 Federal Street, across and up the way from Spring Hill Suites. Thanks to it being Jack Wilson bobblehead night—and anticipating decent weather—it was impossible to block out a section of seats. The plan is this: To meet at the bar, drink relentlessly, enter PNC and hang about on the rotunda en Deadspinmasse. Drop a note to editor@pittsburghdish.com with any trials, tribulations vexations.

Thanks. And Hooray, bear!

P.S.: If anyone's heading to the Pitt/Michigan State game, let me know. I'll be there as well.

Joe/Sarcastro

Sports gal returns

Dish Sports Editor Jody DiPerna curls up with the Steelers.

The Steelers started their Super Bowl defense on Thursday night with Jerome Bettis on his Bus, a giant terrible towel, four former Steeler greats, a nearly orgasmic Rich Eisen, and a spectacular light and fireworks show. And oh, yeah, they managed to win a football game.

It was a long off-season but with Troy making acrobatic, circus interceptions, Heath breaking free, Joey asserting his presence, an undrafted free agent running up the gut, and Chaz Batch throwing fade passes to a Division II, American-Mideast Conference wide out, I was grinning and mugging as much as an "American Idol" finalist.

I find I also overreacted to special teams gaffes more than Peyton Manning does to dropped passes. (If this keeps up, next week’s Dish poll will be: who does DiPerna resemble most - Andre from Season Two of "Project Runway" or Vincent D’Onofrio on "Law & Order Criminal Intent?")

In short, I couldn't be more thrilled to have the NFL back and I certainly haven't hit my mid-season stride. I guess we're all a little rusty coming off of preseason.

Coach Cowher likes to keep things fresh and I respect that. This year, his team, despite "not having accomplished anything," and "wearing a target" (patent pending) went out and beat the team that Sports Illustrated picked to represent the AFC in the Super Bowl.

It wasn’t all a bed of roses, though. The Dolphins lead by 3 points in the 4th quarter, prompting an e-mail from my buddy Smiley which pointed out that Culpepper's uniform was still clean -- simply unacceptable. Looking back, the Steelers D was a coiled up like a snake, biding their time. Once Chaz hit Heath to go ahead and Culpepper had to play from behind, LeBeau had him right where he wanted him. The defensive timing was back and Culpepper turned back into the interception machine that he was last year.

The Steelers held the Dolphins to 38 yards on the ground, recorded three sacks and forced Culpepper into a passer rating of 49.6. Of course, Culpepper didn't help his cause much, throwing a handful of Kordell Stewart type shoestring passes to his wide out on third downs. He may be the most overrated player in the NFL right now. We can now be certain of what we’ve suspected for a long time -- Culpepper’s success in Minnesota came because Randy Moss could go get his passes.

The Dolphins may not have lead at all, had the Steelers managed to stay upright, from Santonio slipping on punt returns, to Willie slipping trying to turn the corner, to Deshea and James Farrior slipping while in pursuit. What the hell is up with the turf at Heinz Field and/or the shoes for the Steelers? Either the grounds crew has to get it fixed (highly unlikely) or the Steelers equipment folks have to adjust better. (I didn't notice anybody going down like that during the Pitt-Virginia game last weekend, so, what’s wrong with the Steelers? I mean, it is their home field and all.)

So it looks like another signature Bill Cowher defense - they can and will shut down the run every week. They may have some problems on 3rd down and we've all been down that road before. I expect that defense to improve as Ryan Clark becomes more ingrained in LeBeau’s defensive schemes and terminology and rookie phenom Anthony Smith finds his way onto the field more often. The offense is hard to get a handle on, but if they looked this competent with Charlie, I can hardly wait for Ben to get back.

At this point, I’m going to suggest something really radical, something that is so beyond the pale that I hesitate to even type it. I’m going to suggest that they, um, I don’t know, go to Heath Miller more. Essentially, what I’m saying is, rather than a designated short down back, a’la the greatness that is the Bus, look for Miller in those situations. By the time you read this, Duce might be filing for unemployment. And I’ve got strong money saying that if Najah Davenport replaces Duce in the line up, he’ll likewise replace him in the hot tub. In other words, don’t count on Davenport. Which leaves us with Willie, Verron and, yeah, you betcha, Heath. Just consider it, okay?

So what is there to say at the end of the day? This win was a typical Steelers win. Solid offense, good line play, porous special teams, and stingy defense with some serious heat at the end to sock the game away. It looks like the same old team. And a completely new team, too.

With Cincinnati and Baltimore winning in convincing fashion on Sunday, I'm fastening my brassiere a notch tighter, because the road to the AFC North Crown looks to be a bumpy ride.

Sing in the new season with Mr. Cafeteria

Relive old song for new season.

Anticipating this evening's beginning of the Steelers' defense of their Super Bowl title, we harken back to those heady days of yesteryear when the Steel City was girding its loins for battle in the Motor City. (Most of the loin girding was done through rapid and vigorous consumption of what we call "the booze.")

But one man stood apart and above. King of Allegheny General Hospital's cafeteria, Dennis Lunardi ("Mr. Cafeteria," to those in the know) sat hunched over a pad and, pen in hand, he crafted the finest hospital cafeteria menu known to sentient beings (see below). And then he set it to music. Then we all found it ... Dare I say?   Freakin' Spectacularly Awesome!

Listen here to said awesomeness.

The tune was broadcast on several radio stations and AGH's cafeteria menu hotline phone number was passed around with the kind of reverence one might expect reserved for Ben Roethlisberger's cup.

"I just did it for fun," Lunardi told Pittsburgh Dish. "I never thought it would be so popular. I make up funny names for dishes all the time, but I wanted to do something special for the Super Bowl, so I sat down and wrote the song." Yes, beer was involved. No, it wasn't Iron City. "It was Bud Light," Lunardi said, somewhat apologetically.

Has he favored us with a new Steelers foodie tune for tonight's tilt with the Florida Fish? Sadly, no. "I'll wait until we're into the season."

So, while Super Bowl 40 Chicken Cacciatore won't be on the AGH cafeteria menu ever again, let's welcome the return of the Roethlisfurter, as presented by Hot Dogma, the finest hot dog shop located in a church basement in Downtown Pittsburgh that Dish knows.

Mr. Cafeteria's Super Bowl 40 Menu:

Superbowl 40 Chicken Cacciatore

Tailgate chili

Touchdown Hot Sausage Calzone

Pittsburgh-style Pierogi

Kick-off Kielbasa & Kraut

Steel Curtain Wrap

Big Ben Hoagie

Big Beautiful Steeler Sheet Cake

Big Ben's travails

What'll happen next to the goateed god of Findlay, Ohio?

Update: Roethlisberger experiences actual football injury.

Ben Roethlisberger's face has been reconstructed out of space-age polymers in the wake of mashing it off some old lady's car.  He is now appendix-less as well. On Sunday he was beaned by a Falcon, resulting in a concussion. We've been doin' a little thinkin' here at Dish regarding what ailment, injury may befall the Steelers' Man-God Under Center.

Here we go:

* Trenchmouth.

* Kordellstewartitis

* The rare condition known as stoat lap.

* The incessant questioning by ignorant fans finally convinces him that he's Jewish. Shaky the Mohel botches bris.

* Trades in fancy street bike for Vespa. Helmetless, he crashes into Soapbox Derby vehicle. Hilarity, and further facial reconstruction, ensues.

* Horrid hand rash caused by Jeff Hartings' poor hygiene.

* Follows Matt Leinart into Paris Hilton, if you knows what we means. Nudge, wink, et cetera.

* Hugs Joey Porter just a wee bit too long.

* "Drinks Like a Champion" on gameday.

* Goes nuts, begins impersonating Brian Jackson.

Further predictions welcome. We laugh to ward off the temptation of mummifying Roethlisberger in bubble wrap and taking all sharp objects out of his home.

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Deadspin pants party in Pittsburgh

Drink like a champion while watching the Pirates take on the Mets Saturday, Sept. 16.

Attention Pittsburgh-area Deadspinners (and those who are up for traveling), Sarcastro of Pittsburgh Dish and commenting legend Moonshine Mike cordially invite you to witness the (at this writing) lousiest team in the National League (we're gunning for you, Cubbies) play nine innings of baseball against the Queens nine, who are really rather good (and the favorite team of Sacrastro's wife, native of Beacon, N.Y.).

The game starts at 7:05. A bobblehead will be given away. It's baseball. What's not to like?

As for pregame festivities, options abound. There's one bar called Hi-Tops that features waitresses who like to wave their boobies around. Another's called SoHo, which has nothing in particular to recommend it, aside from beer. There's Finnegan's Wake, which is rather bar-y, large and has many draft beverage options. Let's not forget Ugly, where Sarcasto's dad likes to drink. And last but not least, there's 222, which is supremely dirty, but has cheap beer. Oh, there's a stand outside that sells $3 16-ounce beers as well. And Sarcastro's house, which is a mere 10-minute walk from beautiful PNC Park, is also an option.

As for tickets, they might be a bit harder to come by than usual, with a quality opponent in town and bobbleheads (Jack Wilson, methinks) on offer. If anyone's ordering ahead, maybe the left field bleachers are the best option. UPDATE: IT LOOKS LIKE THE SATURDAY GAME (BLASTED BOBBLHEAD) IS GETTING CLOSE TO SOLD OUT, DECREASING GREATLY THE CHANCES OF US ALL SITTING IN THE SAME SECTION. OPTIONS INCLUDE SCALPERS (AND WATCHING FROM ONE OF THE ROTUNDAS) OR MOVING THE DATE TO FRIDAY NIGHT OR SUNDAY AFTERNOON, WHICH IS THE LESS ATTRACTIVE OPTION IN MY OPINION. SUGGESTIONS WELCOME.

Those interested in firming up plans, asking questions, etc., should write to editor@pittsburghdish.com.

Media hounds hounds

Bucs upstaged by barks.

About 200 panting pooches paraded into PNC Park last night for the first-ever “Pup Night at PNC Park” (among them Shirley the Docile, Dish’s delightful doggie) and for every 20 dogs there were at least two weary press photographers wishing something blew up across town.

The “Balls, not another yippy little shit in a Pirates shirt” glaze washed over them shortly after 7:30 p.m., about two- and-a-half hours into the event. Media shutterbugs wandered aimlessly through the swelling crowd on Federal Street—where the event kicked off with pre-game activites at 5 p.m.—hoping to avoid yet another portrait of inappropriate sniffing and indelicate self bathing. Overly tanned blonde women holding little dogs—especially dressed in frilly outfits or stuffed into Paris Hilton-type carriers—stole the media spotlight (and the crown from Shirley in the beauty contest. Yes, Dish entered her in a beauty contest. Gotta problem with that?).

The event was both a fundraiser for Animal Friends (Shirley’s alma mater) and a ploy for Pirates’ marketing team to curry favor with suckers like Dish. Motives aside, Pup Night proved a wagging success and dogs got their doo in the media.

(As for Shirley the Docile: She was spotted on the Jumbotron at around 10:30 by friends seated near the third baseline and Parents of Dish (PODs) spotted her on KDKA).

Photos: (top) Cora watches the Bucs not lose; Jayke, P-G's poster pooch; Shirley and Mr. Dish (hoping his pro-spay/neuter shirt that reads "I'm Fixed How About You?" might win a few votes) vie for the crown

Oh crap

They want to take me to a Pirates game.

by Shirley Van Tassell-Miksch

Hello, my name is Shirley. I am a dog and I need your help, as my parents are about to inflict an unimaginable cruelty upon me. See, my dad, Joe—or Mr. Dish, as he likes to call himself in this forum—got an email the other day from the Pittsburgh Pirates announcing that on Tuesday, Aug. 29, the North Side nine is allowing you two-legged-types to bring your pooches to the ballpark. He and my mom, Mrs. Dish—or Colleen—thought it would be a good idea to go to this event ... with me. Now, don't get me wrong, they're not cruel people, but why the hell would they subject me to this crap? Like it's not enough that they make me listen to games on the radio and watch those chumps get pummeled on television? What on earth have I done to deserve this? It's enough to put me off my kibble.

It's not that I don't like sports. I'd be more than happy to catch a Steelers or Pitt football game. Or a CMU fencing club match, even.

I don't think that I can talk them out of this, either. They want to enter me in the pregame canine beauty contest (Christ, let me have my dignity, people) and think it will be oh so swell to watch me mingle with my canine brethren and sisteren whilst the Buccos get treated by the Cubs as I treat a delicious beef bone. On the plus side, $5 of each $20 ticket goes to Animal Friends, the no-kill shelter that used to be in the Strip that moved to somewhere up on Camp Horne Road. That's where I came from and those folks treated me pretty nice. As you can see, I wasn't killed and they taught me to write. Good times.

Honestly, though, why my mom and dad don't just write a check to Animal Friends and let me lay on the sofa the evening of Aug. 29 is beyond me. People, I just don't get 'em.

The Jack O Meter

A Pirates trade tirade.

by Jack Miksch

A Post-Gazette columnist's reaction to the trades was that the Pirates stunk before and would stink after the moves were made. I thought these trades would certainly vault the Bucs to the Wild Card by helping them win every game for the rest of the season.

I am fairly sure that all Bucs fans realize that we really made only one significant trade, bringing Xavier Nady on board. Trades can never be evaluated on trade day (or in the weeks that follow). However, shouldn't we at least wait until the player puts on a uniform? Nady appears to be at least OK, and might be better than OK. Chacon, I think he's at least a number three starter. He started the season with the Yankees 4 and 1 and pitched well last year. He's likely an improvement on Kip Wells, at least.

One thing about the rest of the Bucs trades is this: No one can tell what these young pitchers will do in the future. The P-G apparently forgets that GM Dave Littlefield was not dealing from a position of strength. Wells, coming off surgery, was pitching like Wells: A few bad starts, a couple of mediocre ones, and a couple of good ones. At age 29, he may become a 20-game winner or a .500 starter. It is the last year of his contract and the Pirates weren't going to sign him. Do you think the Rangers knew that?

Craig Wilson was also in no danger of being re-signed by the Buccos. He is what he is: A weak defensive player and an average or below average hitter. Yep, I think we should have traded him for the Brewers' Carlos Lee, straight up. What's wrong with the Brewers for passing up that golden opportunity?

Roberto Hernandez—listed at 41, actual age unknown: Maybe we should have traded him to the Phillies for Pat Burrel and Billy Wagner.

Sean Casey—a singles-hitting first baseman with a huge contract. Remember, the Pirates traded Dave Williams for him. Anybody seen Dave lately? Unless you follow the Reds' minor league system, you haven't. It's my opinion that Casey's injuries—a broken back and a bum shoulder —limited his already limited power. There are likely more injury problems down the road for Casey.

So, there you have it. All-in-all, not bad. Remember, as Branch Rickey once told Ralph Kiner during contract talks: "We finished last with you, and we can finish last without you."

An aside. The Jack-o-meter presents the 2007 Pirates starting lineup: Paulino, catcher; Nady, first; Sanchez, second; Wilson, short; Bautista, third; Bay, left; Duffy, center; and Castillo, right.

MLB picks New Yorkers over locals as All Star Game guides

Pittsburghers not savvy enough to point out interesting and entertaining things about Pittsburgh.

Welcome to Pittsburgh, All Star game visitors. We're damn glad to have you. Nice town, this is. Dish is here to make your visit more enjoyable and, as a gesture of goodwill to you (or as some say around here, "yinz") out-of-towners, let us make this offer: Allow us to be your guide.

Dish is given to understand that many of the locals who volunteered with Major League Baseball to help guide guests around Pittsburgh have been replaced by New Yorkers with some sort of friendly relationship to MLB officials. You know, it's one of those situations where the MLB folks are throwing chums and underlings a bone by flying them out here for the game, putting them up in a hotel and such. Dish is told they will guide visitors by using a little cheat sheet crafted for that purpose. Good for them. Not so hot for you.

Be assured, you will be sent to one of three places: Station Square (Don't go—except to take a Just Ducky Tours ride—the place stinks. Though it does have a store dedicated to socks. Good times!), Carson Street on the South Side (which can be fun ... if you're under 30 or looking to sleep with someone under 30. Good times!), or the Strip District (Clubs and such. It isn't what it sounds like. Though there is one of those places on Penn Avenue. Great times!).

There's a lot more to our fine little town than that. Drop us a line at editor@pittsburghdish.com. We'll suggest a restaurant that's not Morton's or Ruth's Chris (both are fine, but don't you want to try something local?), a bar that's not a teenybopper/frat-jackass haunt, or a diversion that's not sanctioned by MLB. Dish knows things. We could probably suggest some shopping as well (no sales tax on clothes
in Pennsylvania).

A few Pittsburgh ground rules:

* There may be french fries on your salad. Don't be alarmed, we do that here.

* If you drive, you will get lost. Downtown's shaped like a triangle and the city fathers tried to lay it out as a grid. This begets some confusion. The rest of the city is sick with hills and rivers, which can be disorienting. Just ask Mike Pinto who came here from
Connecticut for Mr. and Mrs. Dish's nuptials.

* Turn signals are rarely used.

* A local will almost always help you if you get in trouble, lost, etc. If you insult the Steelers, however, you may be pummeled.

* In terms of local beer, Penn Brewery's products are invariably excellent. Iron City isn't so hot, but truth be told it's no worse than Bud, so give it a shot. Try a Straub if you can. Or East End Brewing.

* We've had some bad heroin going around lately. Bring your own.

* Yes, the accent is silly. What of it?

Thanks, and be in touch. We're glad to help.

Pirates seek change, stink

The odor on the North Side has finally reached the mouths of the players.

by Mark Weimer

Despite living with themselves, many Pirate regulars are only now beginning to smell themselves and their formidable stench. Amid the storm of filth that pollutes the greatest park in baseball, it seems that the Pirates have invented a whole new meaning of “disappointment." While sunlight can hardly breach the clouds of suck, several players see light in personnel changes.

While several veterans have pointed at themselves as possible trade candidates, the Pirates do have 32 men on the roster all of which cannot be overlooked. Although it is unlikely that the Pirates will be able to create a 64-man deal to effectively replace every man on the roster, it is possible that they could acquire cash and perhaps two or three pitching prospects. After all, the Marlins are doing rather well after essentially promoting their roster from the minors in the off-season. They are 22-9 in their last 31 games.

Possibly fed up with being a perennial loser, Jason Bay, somehow leading Soriano in All-Star voting, commented on the Pirates recent foulness. “We need to mix something up, “explained Bay. It is possible that if the Pirates do mix something up and attempt to play inebriated, they could win. Perhaps they can approach the plate relaxed, with a clear mind instead of thinking about how bad they are and how they are a disgrace to baseball.

“I only hit one home run out of the park when I was young, and it was my only plate appearance when I was drunk,” explained a Cranberry man. “Maybe they just need to get hammered… it couldn’t hurt.” The Pirates should part ways with several veterans including Jeromy Burnitz and Joe Randa. While their acquisitions were valuable for ticket sales, both players have exhausted their value, abilities, and careers. They should not step on the field again.

The Pirates need to change up the order. Let's use sense as opposed to short term fixes:

1. Freddy Sanchez. He is batting .351, .388 On-Base Percentage and hits doubles like it is his job. He deserves the extra at-bats.

2. Sean Casey. Bats .300 perennially, finds ways to get on base and bats left.

3. Jason Bay. ‘Nuff said.

4. Ronnie Paulino. Consistently hitting the ball, give him a shot to drive in some runs.

5. Craig Wilson. I never was a fan, but he is nice to have around with two outs… if the Bucs can make it to the 5 spot in one inning.

6. Jose Castillo. A sleeper who has shown tremendous power to the opposite field, but lacks consistency.

7. Jack Wilson. He needs to hit .300 before dreaming of number 2 again.

8. Bautista/McClouth/Gumby.

9. Pitcher.

Among the Pirates many problems is one that is clearly illustrated by this showing. It would look a whole lot better with a proven lead-off man at the top… which has not existed in Pittsburgh really since the moving of Lofton. It would look much better if everybody would move down a spot and make room for somebody that has a good OBP.

In short, the Pirates do need to mix it up and perhaps dump some out. To get out of the rut, stack the top with OBP, and AVG leaders. Something is bound to happen. Until then, lets us remind ourselves that there will be some baseball played in Pittsburgh. Hopefully it will not be limited to the All-Star Game.

You guys need to vote for Sanchez. He is worth a damn.

Passion prevails

Gal gridders take home opener.

One thing became abundantly clear while standing on the sideline of the South Side's Cupples Stadium last Saturday evening: When you're watching women's football, you're watching football.

For an hour of game time, the Pittsburgh Passion and Columbus Comets truly smacked the snot out of one another. Knee braces were prevalent on both sidelines. When the dust--if such a thing emanated from artificial turf--settled, the hometown's entry in the National Women's Football Association came away with a 6-0 win in their home opener, beginning the season 1-1 after a week one loss in Cleveland.

A few reflections on the game:

- After playing last season at Ambridge High School in Beaver County--where the Passion led the league in attendance--the move to Cupples Stadium has resulted in an even bigger crowd. Big and diverse enough to give you the idea that the team draws much more than just family and friends. It draws football fans.

Such as Franco Harris, who undertook the coin toss and has followed and supported the team for two years. He explained his interest by saying, "I love the game, first of all. I guess I would say that it's great to watch a segment of the population that hasn't had the opportunity to play the game play the game."

"When I first saw them play," Harris continued, "I was impressed by the level of play. I became a fan."

- It ain't sandlot football. Coaching and strategy and most definitely part of the women's game. As is serious, unfriendly-type contact. And passing. The passion's only TD of the game came on a corner route.

- The Passion has a player named Blocker. Her real name. If she doesn't get the job done, number 95, Reblock (again, legit name) can come in to clean up. A couple of things: Blocker's first name is Debi and, sadly, since she's a defensive lineman, doesn't block anyone. Perhaps the Passion should consider a position switch. Or Blocker a name change. Kim Reblock, contrary to her name, also plays defense. She's a linebacker. Someone ought to have a friendly chat with these women.

The Passion take on the Erie Illusion (71-0 losers to Columbus) at 7 p.m. Saturday at Cupples. For schedule and ticket information, go here. To listen to Sports Editor Jody DiPerna call the plays go here.

Sports Editor DiPerna mans the mic for women's football

Listen to Dish Sports Gal Jody DiPerna's debut behind the mic announcing the Pittsburgh Passion's home opener April 29. The Steel City's lady gridders open their home schedule at 7 p.m. in the South Side's Cupples stadium. Jody's dulcet tones can be heard here.

NFL Draft 2006: Not as long as The Thorn Birds but just as excruciating

This weekend, ESPN is poised to foist upon us no fewer than 20 hours of footage of suits freaking out over which college-aged kids to hire. It’s like your standard job fair in Ballroom C of the local Marriott, except this one’s broadcast live.

by Ryan Caione

Trust me, I plan to enjoy the great outdoors on Saturday, but I’ve got my DVR programmed to record the proceedings, just in case.

Now that the seasons of the Penguins and Pirates are finished, we can again devote our full attention to football. Besides the NHL trade deadline, the NFL draft is the greatest non-event in sports (and I mean that in a good way).

Our beloved Steelers have the last pick in the first round, 32nd overall, thanks to their delirium-inducing Super Bowl victory. That doesn’t mean the team will stay put, though. Coach Cowher and Kevin Colbert have presided over some very canny drafts since they began collaborating in 2001, and have been especially successful in the first round. The team gave up only a third-round pick in 2003 to move up 11 spots and draft safety Troy Polamalu 16th overall.

This year, they have three fourth rounders (two are compensatory picks) to go with the last choice in each round and could dangle one or more of those to trade up. Unlike past years, when the team’s first-round needs were obvious (safety in 2003, QB in 2004, and tight end in 2005), the Steelers are set at all 22 starting positions for next season. They have the luxury of drafting for depth and no position looks to be off-limits this weekend. Of course, there are priorities, with receiver, secondary, and linebacker highest among them.

Many mock drafts have the Steelers choosing either Ohio State center Nick Mangold, USC safety Darnell Bing, or receiver Sinorice Moss of Miami (Fla.). Hogwash, hogwash, and hogwash, I say. The team didn’t renew backup center Chukky Okobi’s contract and lavish a signing bonus upon him because he grew up a Steelers fan. Drafting Mangold would mean the team would be compelled not only to pay first-round money to Mangold, but to eat Okobi’s contract as well. I don’t see that happening. The Steelers need depth at free safety, and last season Bing played there before leaving school early. But he’s better suited for the strong side, where he spent the two prior seasons (and where Polamalu roams). Also, reports suggest Bing may not be able to handle the responsibility of calling the defensive schemes the way the Steelers like their free safeties to do.

Moss seems like a no-brainer because of his physical similarities (small and speedy) to the dearly departed Antwaan Randle El. But, unlike El, Moss never played QB in college, never returned punts. Both of the Steelers’ projected starters at WR, Hines Ward and Cedric Wilson, are both “undersized” and the team doesn’t need yet another small receiver. Randle El’s success and popularity aside, his greatest accomplishments came on gadget plays and special teams. He only averaged two receptions a game. You need more than that from a supposed #2 receiver. That said, moving up to draft Ohio State’s Santonio Holmes, who is under six feet tall, but is also the highest-rated receiver in the draft, would not be out of line.

Here are some candidates to be wearing Black and Gold next season, assuming the Steelers don’t trade up -- or even down -- in the draft. But I don’t see them using all 10 of their draft picks on players. A deal sometime this weekend is very likely.

First round: This draft class is particularly top-heavy at linebacker and the secondary, and the Steelers will take advantage of that. If USC running back LenDale White is available at the 32^nd slot, I think the Steelers will draft him. If there’s a run on running backs late in the first round, they might even trade up to get him. Realistically though, I see them taking a linebacker like DeMeco Ryans of Alabama. He played on the #2 defense in the nation last year and by all accounts is a choir boy off the field. Real Steeler material. As menacing as Joey Porter was during the Steelers’ season-ending winning streak, he was disturbingly quiet during the first half of the year and isn’t getting any younger. Ryans, or another linebacker such as UTEP’s Thomas Howard, could be groomed to eventually take his spot. Bobby Carpenter of Ohio St. conjures images of Kevin Greene at outside linebacker, with his golden locks flowing from beneath his helmet. Manny Lawson, a defensive end at Cowher’s alma mater, North Carolina St., could be picked here and converted to linebacker.

Ko Simpson of South Carolina might be a reach at the end of the first round, but he is the best natural free safety in the draft. He came out of college as a sophomore and newly signed free agent Ryan Clark could hold down the fort at the position until Simpson is ready. University of Texas defensive lineman Rodrique Wright is another name that keeps popping up. He played inside in college, but would most likely move outside alongside fellow Longhorn alum Casey Hampton. He’d also be a backup for at least his first year. Of course, the last time the Steelers drafted this low in the first round, they went loopy on us and picked nonentity Jamain Stephens. They could blow our minds again.

Second round: I think a trade up here is more likely than in the first round. If they stand pat, Penn State’s Alan Zemaitis, if he’s still available, would be a good fit. He’s a corner, but can play safety as well. Syracuse safety Anthony Smith can reputedly hit like Ike Turner, if not Ike Taylor. Provided the Steelers look elsewhere in the first round, I can also see them taking DE Parys Haralson of Tennessee and switching him to linebacker. Like Ryans, he has Steeler written all over him. Wide receivers Derek Hagan of Arizona State and tall-drink-of-water Maurice Stovall of Notre Dame could go at the end of the second round as well.

Third round: Assuming they’ve already addressed the defense, the best values at wide receiver are here. Mike Hass of Oregon State and Jason Avant of Michigan are solid, but not spectacular, and catch most everything in their vicinity. Sounds like what the Steelers need. Travis Wilson of Oklahoma is big and was a solid blocker for the Sooners’ running game. Martin Nance is also a big guy and was Big Ben’s go-to receiver two seasons ago at Miami of Ohio. Michael Robinson of Penn State was a quarterback in college, but also played some wide receiver and is more highly rated than many full-timers at the position. The team could also grab inside linebacker Kai Parham of Virginia, another Steelers-type player who played in a 3-4 defense in college.

The Steelers will have seven picks on the second day of the draft and if they don't make a trade on Saturday, they almost assuredly will make one the following day. They will be looking to draft a QB to challenge Rod Rutherford as the third-stringer and to be groomed to eventually backup Big Ben once Charlie Batch gets off the gravy train. In the same vein, they could kill two birds with one pick and go for a guy who was a quarterback in college, such as Iowa’s Brad Smith or Reggie McNeal of Texas A&M, and convert him to receiver, hoping to recapture some of the Randle El magic. They also will likely draft for depth on the offensive and defensive lines, if those aren’t addressed on Day One. Besides White, this draft is devoid of Bus-like bruisers at running back, but here’s a name to remember on Sunday: Gerald Riggs of Tennessee. He’s not as large as Bettis, but his daddy was an NFL running back, and Junior got all of his genes except, apparently, the work-ethic one. The Steeler Way might help him see the light.

Undoubtedly, this is all conjecture, imaginings, a time-killing until the big day. After all, the Steelers don’t need anyone telling them who to draft, do they? They’ve got the rings to prove it.

Pens' crap recapped

Not all was lost in losing season.

by Ryan Caione

Last week, the Penguins completed their worst season since, well, last season. They finished with 58 points, the identical figure they ended up with in 2003-2004 (the most recent NHL campaign), and found themselves again at the very bottom of the Eastern Conference standings.

It wasn’t supposed to be like that. The team started the hockey year with playoff aspirations and a veteran lineup. By the time the season had crashed down around them, the Penguins had suited up nearly a dozen players who made their NHL debuts. Mario Lemieux retired again. Major free-agent acquisitions Ziggy Palffy, Mark Recchi, Jocelyn Thibault, and Lyle Odelein were either no longer with the team or had their seasons ended by injuries. They set a team record for most losses in a season (60 in 82 games). And general manager Craig Patrick, who had been with the franchise for more than 16 years, was shown the door.

Patrick is in the Hockey Hall of Fame and is by far the best GM the team has ever had. After his arrival in December 1989, Patrick cleaned up the mess left behind by the ill-fated Tony Esposito/Pierre Creamer/Gene Ubriaco regime of terror and assembled the Pens’ Stanley Cup champion teams of 1991 and 1992. During his watch, he brought other Hall-of-Famers (or men who soon will be) to the team: coaches Badger Bob Johnson, Scotty Bowman, and Herb Brooks, plus players like Ronnie Francis, Joey Mullen, Bryan Trottier, and Jaromir Jagr.

But it was time for him to go. For years, Patrick was handcuffed by the team’s finances (or lack thereof) and was forced to dismantle the team player by player after their last playoff appearance in 2001. He fomented a laid-back atmosphere that accommodated what had been a veteran team, but ultimately contrasted with coach Michel Therrien’s more regimented style that is geared toward developing the team’s young talent. In other words, Patrick -- a brilliant hockey mind, but never dynamic -- grew stale. Heck, according to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the team didn'ty even have Internet access in their offices until this past December. But Patrick should have a new job as Boston’s general manager, heedlessly steering the Bruins’ ship until he sails into the sunset.

But the 2005-2006 season wasn’t all bad. Sure, the team was basically unwatchable for months at a time, but they played their best hockey down the stretch. At age 18, Sidney Crosby became the youngest player ever to score 100 points in a season and finished sixth in the NHL scoring race. He went on a Lemieux-like rampage in the team’s final 10 games, scoring seven goals and 15 assists. He is already a superstar. Recent high draft picks such as Marc-Andre Fleury, Colby Armstrong, Ryan Whitney, and Noah Welch acquitted themselves well and appear to be budding stars in their own right. The nucleus of young talent should make the Penguins an attractive destination for any number of GM candiates.

So the future looks bright, albeit hazy. Optimistically, it looks like the Penguins will remain in Pittsburgh for the foreseeable future. (The Great Dejan Kovacevic said the team isn’t going anywhere and that’s good enough for me.) Casinos are falling over one another to help fund a new arena for the team. Despite their atrocious record, the Pens saw attendance increase by around a third since last season, and the Civic Arena was at 93% capacity over the course of the year. The enthusiastic response to a dreadful team illustrates that Pittsburgh has one of the best hockey fan bases in America. When the team is sold and if ground hasn’t been broken for a new arena by 2007, anyone with enough money to buy the team hopefully isn’t stupid enough to move it to a place like Houston or Kansas City, where folks obviously don’t care about hockey like we do.

By virtue of having the second-worst record in the league, the Penguins earned one of the top two draft picks in the NHL draft for the fourth year in a row. Therrien was given a vote of confidence by team president Ken Sawyer and should be back behind the bench next year. The team’s record didn't improve much with the acerbic Therrien at the helm, but its play was appreciably better. Ser