Two Shutouts
Okay, the Steelers–Jacksonville game: not such a great thing to watch.
Late in the game ESPN showed a dispiriting shot of Roethlisberger clutching his abdomen after an incomplete pass and a hit — after I described this to Nate on the phone (Nate having not watched the game, but rather having listened to it on the radio) he immediately suggested the appropriate Simpsons reference, "Oooohh! My ovaries!" Which is not, I guess, really funny when you think about it, but still somehow spot-on.
In seriousness, I really hope all of Big Ben's internal organs are OK.
I'd invited some coworkers to watch the game with me at a local sports bar, and several came. It was a blessing, I think, that few of them were actually invested at all in football. When a game swings from a 0-0 tie at halftime to dispiriting ovary-clutching in the final minutes, you'd rather have more generic conversation. And that much was really fun.
One of them, Karen, showed up a bit late and asked "Who are you rooting for, the green men or the yellow men?" Something in the Y chromosome makes people not say this even if they're thinking it. Meanwhile, my friend Carmel is proving extraordinarily stalwart, not only by driving me to Home Depot last week but by sticking out the last minutes of the game after everyone else left.
Incidentally, wings at aforementioned sports bar: very good! Ambience: not particularly good. If ambience is the right word for a sports bar in the first place, anyway.
On the other hand, I managed to watch my first and last complete Pirates game of the season on Sunday, since the Mets broadcasts reach into mid-Connecticut. The game fell conveniently in between two bouts of painting my room in a lovely shade of Behr brand Satisficient Off-White #330-C1. (That comes off as much less pink and much more beige in real life.) I plunked on the couch with some cold pizza and wasabi peas. Zach Duke pitched eight shutout innings and the Bucs won, 3-0: a fairly uneventful but fine game to watch.
The bottom of the seventh was a thing of beauty. With the Pirates up 2-0, Duffy singled and stole second; Jack Wilson grounded out to first on a 1-2 pitch to push him to third; and then Sanchez hit a solid sacrifice fly to center. Hearing the Pittsburgh crowd cheering so hard for this manufactured insurance run was great, especially the swell of applause when Wilson hustled out this easy grounder (to first base! not a chance!) and almost beat the play.
In a perfect world, you'd have a scrappy team putting together small-ball runs late in the game, always.
I like the lingering camera shots on the Pittsburgh skyline, and the Mets broadcasters (including, these days, Keith Hernandez) making a lot of hay out of Primanti Brothers sandwiches, and the inevitable discussion of what a great ballpark Pittsburgh has.
You wouldn't expect the Pirates to redeem a weekend's worth of Pittsburgh pro sports action, but there you have it.
Late in the game ESPN showed a dispiriting shot of Roethlisberger clutching his abdomen after an incomplete pass and a hit — after I described this to Nate on the phone (Nate having not watched the game, but rather having listened to it on the radio) he immediately suggested the appropriate Simpsons reference, "Oooohh! My ovaries!" Which is not, I guess, really funny when you think about it, but still somehow spot-on.
In seriousness, I really hope all of Big Ben's internal organs are OK.
I'd invited some coworkers to watch the game with me at a local sports bar, and several came. It was a blessing, I think, that few of them were actually invested at all in football. When a game swings from a 0-0 tie at halftime to dispiriting ovary-clutching in the final minutes, you'd rather have more generic conversation. And that much was really fun.
One of them, Karen, showed up a bit late and asked "Who are you rooting for, the green men or the yellow men?" Something in the Y chromosome makes people not say this even if they're thinking it. Meanwhile, my friend Carmel is proving extraordinarily stalwart, not only by driving me to Home Depot last week but by sticking out the last minutes of the game after everyone else left.
Incidentally, wings at aforementioned sports bar: very good! Ambience: not particularly good. If ambience is the right word for a sports bar in the first place, anyway.
On the other hand, I managed to watch my first and last complete Pirates game of the season on Sunday, since the Mets broadcasts reach into mid-Connecticut. The game fell conveniently in between two bouts of painting my room in a lovely shade of Behr brand Satisficient Off-White #330-C1. (That comes off as much less pink and much more beige in real life.) I plunked on the couch with some cold pizza and wasabi peas. Zach Duke pitched eight shutout innings and the Bucs won, 3-0: a fairly uneventful but fine game to watch.
The bottom of the seventh was a thing of beauty. With the Pirates up 2-0, Duffy singled and stole second; Jack Wilson grounded out to first on a 1-2 pitch to push him to third; and then Sanchez hit a solid sacrifice fly to center. Hearing the Pittsburgh crowd cheering so hard for this manufactured insurance run was great, especially the swell of applause when Wilson hustled out this easy grounder (to first base! not a chance!) and almost beat the play.
In a perfect world, you'd have a scrappy team putting together small-ball runs late in the game, always.
I like the lingering camera shots on the Pittsburgh skyline, and the Mets broadcasters (including, these days, Keith Hernandez) making a lot of hay out of Primanti Brothers sandwiches, and the inevitable discussion of what a great ballpark Pittsburgh has.
You wouldn't expect the Pirates to redeem a weekend's worth of Pittsburgh pro sports action, but there you have it.
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