The game was over, really, by the second inning. The hometown pitcher had been booed off the mound, and resignation had set in among the chilled faithful.
But no one was leaving early. These few thousand, properly insulated for an April night in Pittsburgh, were here for baseball. We can forgive them if from time to time they occupied themselves with their electronic devices or turned around to watch the Penguins game on a distant monitor in the luxury boxes hung from second level.
On the concourse, an employee of the Pirates was conducting a survey.
"What brought you to the game tonight?" he wanted to know. I asked him what the choices were. He scanned the list -- Family and Friends; Recent Winning Streak; T-Shirt Giveaway; Dollar Dogs; Fireworks; Post-Game Concert -- many of which did not apply.
"How about 'Baseball,'" I asked. He consulted his clipboard.
"Have to put that under 'Other,'" he said.
Before the game I had conducted my own research, curious to learn the mood of the city concerning their quarterback. I like arriving early enough to sit at a sidewalk table at a favorite Irish bar across the street from the ballpark and sip a pint of plain before the game. The menu is working-class healthful, which is to say the organic chicken sandwich comes with a mound of fries. Yet Mullen's is classy enough to feature a bathroom attendant. I asked him.
"This is a sports establishment," he told me, looking up from his newspaper and beginning cautiously.
"All kinds of sports figures come in here: fans, employees, broadcasters, athletes -- and their opinion is the same."
His tones were measured, until now.
"Big Ben is a #@*!%*#@*%!" (insert the most colorfully descriptive four syllables you can think of.)
Good to know in the City of Champions, winning isn't the only thing.
copyright 2010 J. O'Brien, all rights reserved
